Of books, covers and faces . . .

What do you do when you have been blessed with a face that looks sleepy all the time, irrespective of how fresh your mind really is ?

Most people have a basic look which their face conforms too, when the facial muscles are relaxed. Some look like Atlas who has not been able to shrug for quite some time. Some look like walking and talking posters of Happy Dent. There are others who seem as if they are afflicted by Bell's palsy. And I have a friend who looks like an angry convict most of the time. I however, look sleepy.

I wasn't always in this category. But, I guess, over time muscles take the shape of whatever you do for the most part during the time you are awake. Since I have completed three years in engineering, I have spent a majority of the time I was not sleeping in bed sitting in class in a stupor. I have evolved. My face having realised that it would have to look sleepy for around 6 hours a day, as compared to maybe 3 hours thoughful, 2.5 hours anxious, 1.45 hours pissed,.... and so on, decided to minimise its workload. And thus, as I said before, I have evolved. Pretty fast, eh ? Had Darwin been my teacher, I would surely have scored an 'S'.

The disadvantages are apparent, but there are some advantages too. For example, warding off unwanted people who want to forcibly enter your room and waste your time. I can, very conveniently, "have just woken up.. Come in, won't you.. ", or contrarily, "be going to bed. Please come some time later.. ".

What face do you have ?

Yaawn

I'm in a very bored frame of mind right now. All because it is 3.24 pm in the afternoon. To me, the afternoon is the dullest time of the day. The morning brings along with it a freshness, and that nice feeling (unless of course you have knowledge of some impending doom) about a brand new day. And of course, there's breakfast time. Similarly, noon is the next stop for the stomach. Evening's can be pretty pleasant, and to me, the night is the most exciting part, that time of the day when my brain works at its peak. Afternoons I hate the most.

Just so that I should not fall asleep, I am plodding with my fingers through this post, wondering what I should write. Well, the idea came to me to write about the songs that I like the most - songs that I can hear again and again. Songs, where the holy troika of music, voice and lyrics come together in a perfect blend. Such songs are rare creations, and a band is lucky if it is able to create such a song even once in its career.

Off the top of my head and the tip of my tongue, here goes -

Iris - Goo Goo Dolls

The Reason - Hoobastank

Imagine - John Lennon

Baba O'Riley - The Who

Comfortably Numb - Pink Floyd

Californication - RHCP

King of Pain, Every Breath You Take - The Police

We're Not Gonna Take It - Twisted Sister

I Wanna Break Free, Crazy Little Thing Called Love, Radio Ga Ga, Bohemian Rhapsody - Queen

Tub Thumping - Chumba Wumba

Karma Chameleon - Boy George / Culture Club

Jump - Van Halen

American Pie - Don McLean

Summer of '69 - Bryan Adams

It's My Life, Living in Sin, You Give Love a Bad Name - Bon Jovi

Wake Me Up Before You Go Go - Wham

Safety Dance - Men Without Hats

Islands in the Stream - Dolly Parton / Kenny Rogers

Never Say Die - Cliff Richard

Stay, Just a Little Bit Longer - George & Co. ('83)

Saw Theme, POTC Theme

I'm Shipping of to Boston - Dropkick Murphy (The Departed OST)

The Godfather love theme - Speak Softly ..

Footloose - Kenny Loggins

Baby, I'd Love You to Want Me - Lobo

I Just Called to Say I Love You - Stevie Wonder

Aerials - System of a Down

Angel, It Wasn't Me - Shaggy

Livin a La Vida Loca - Ricky Martin

Hip's Don't Lie - Shakira

A Thousand Miles - Vanessa Carlton

November Rain, Sweet Child of Mine - Guns N Roses

Porcelain - Moby

Gloria - Laura Branigan

Summer Nights - John Travolta / Olivia Newton-John

Bang Your Head - Quiet Riot

Sacrifice - Elton John

Truly Madly Deeply - Savage Garden

Dancing in the Dark - Bruce Springsteen

Portable Hard Disks – mmmmwwwaahh !

Just thought of giving all you people who intend to buy large portable hard disks some advice.

You have two options.

Buy a regular SATA/ATA hard disk, and enclose it in a casing that protects it from dust and basic damage, and also attaches an IDE-to-USB convertor to the hard disk, thus adding that crucial ‘ease-of-data-transfer’ feature. This option is cheaper, and you can buy HDs of humongous capacity, and carry them around. The disadvantage is that since this HD is really a normal HD enclosed in a casing, it is not really ‘portable’. Yes, you can carry it around. But you will need an extra power source, and the chances of the HD getting corrupted over time, especially if subjected to jerks while on power, are really high. For example, at the beginning of this year, I purchased a 232 GB (standard 250 GB) Seagate SATA HD for Rs. 3900. I also purchased a Transcend casing for 1600 bucks. (This is among the higher end ones – you can get a cheaper Chinese equivalent for around 600 bucks.) Thus I got a pseudo-portable 232 GB HD for Rs. 5500. In mid-2005, I had purchased another such HD + casing, for 2900 + 700 = 3600 bucks. Such HDs are very useful for people who have access to lot of data (movies, sitcoms, music, e-books, software, etc.).

The second option, obviously, is to go for an actually portable HD (let me call it pHD), which is of the same type of the HDs used in laptops. These pHDs do not require any extra power as they source their power from the USB port. You can carry these pHDs in you pockets, thus taking all your data with you, without worrying too much about the pHD getting corrupted. Until recently, these didn’t come cheap – what with an 80 GB Toshiba pHD costing Rs. 4000+. However, just last month, a friend of mine managed to buy such a pHD of size of 120 GB at a meager (by pHD standards) Rs. 3000. How cool is that ! Ofcourse, this was in Singapore, but if you do know someone who is going there, this is what you should be telling that person to buy. This implies that two 120 Gb pHDs (= 240 Gb) will cost just Rs. 6000, a wee Rs. 500 more than Rs. 5500 I paid 4 months back for a HD of the same size which wasn’t really portable, which was as heavy as big book and which required external power.

My next HD purchase, which won’t be until atleast 2-3 years later, is definitely going to be a large capacity pHD. I have a feeling that I might just be able to afford it then !

Posted @ 11.05 pm, July 05, 2007

The Fatal Inversion

Just now, as I was walking along the corridor outside my room, towards the bathroom area in my hostel, I saw one of those creepy-crawly insects crawling on the floor towards me. It could have gone into my room, so I raised my leg, and flicked it away with the sole of my slippers in one football-kick style swing. The insect got thrown around 2-3 metres away, and in the process landed on its back. As I passed it, I could see that it was desperately trying to turn itself, all its legs flailing wildly in the air in a futile attempt to get back on its feet. I thought nothing about it, and proceeded to go and brush my teeth. Around 15 minutes later, as I was on my way back, I saw a lot of ants on the floor surrounding that same insect. Basically, they were taking apart that insect. I don’t why, but I suddenly felt very sorry for that insect. I mean, on most other day’s, I wouldn’t have cared a rat’s hind as to what happened to it, and I would certainly have crushed it to death had it dared to enter my room. But just now, I was in a benevolent mood, feeling nothing but love for all fellow creatures, and the thought that this great creature, who otherwise was stronger than the ants, and could probably outrun, crush or eat them, had been eaten alive just because I had flipped it over onto its back, somehow made me sad. I guess it was a combination of the rainy weather, and the choral sounds I was hearing in the background which were being played by a boy practicing on his synthesizer for the Sunday choir. For want of a softer back, the life of the insect was lost ! Amen.

Posted @ 10.45 pm, July 05, 2007

Confessions of a Gluttonous Mind

I got the idea for this post when a friend of mine, who had not dined with me much, happened to glance over the amount of food I was blasting my way through. (I was bulldozing my way through a pile of Atta Parathas and Gobi Manchurian and Butter Paneer Masala - this btw, is about one-third of the menu offered at our NIT Canteen.)

A : “What ! You mean to say that you have ordered all this food and you intend to polish it all off in the next few minutes ?”
I : “Well, yes. C’mon, look at my size, I need to eat this much.”
A : “Still… tell me how many pizza slices can finish off in one sitting ?”
I : “You mean, how many pizzas, don’t you ? Let’s see, just last week, before I came to college, I was feeling hungry at around 3.30 in the afternoon. I’d had a pretty sumptuous lunch, but you know how it is with this rainy weather - makes you really hungry. So I ordered and ate all by myself two medium size pizzas. Smoking Joe’s, I think.”
A : (with dilated pupils) “!?”
I : “Anyway, the answer to your question would be, 2 x-large pizzas. Quite easily, provided the weather is right. Hot weather just kills my apetite.”
A : “!?” (Then starts laughing loudly.) “Man ! You must be spending at least 4 times as much on food as I do. Man !”

That’s probably true. Still nowadays, especially over the last year, I’ve really put tabs on my food intake. I have to – I don’t want to end up like Adnan Sami, nor do I want juvenile diabetes and a premature cardiac arrest. So, you can imagine my dietary spendings during my ‘growing-up’ years. Reminds me of that article I read which mentioned that Elvis’s daily intake of calories in the last few years before he died matched that of an adult African elephant !

I used to finish off 13 gulab jamuns in about 2 minutes flat in my mess; now I avoid gulab jamun altogether. I used to be able to eat a kilo and half of ‘bakarwadi’ in one sitting; now I don’t eat more than 10. I could finish one large packet of cashew nuts (defined as one-eighth the size of your standard pillow) and yet not need to go to the toilet the following morning; today I dare not take that risk. I have once eaten 21 slices of Brittania Cheese Slices, just like that; I shudder at that thought today.

As a result of my tendency to eat so much, I’ve been through some mentionable experiences over the years. Here’s a sampling :

* Quite a few times when I go to restaurants, the smart waiter, after taking down my/our order, automatically prepares the table for another guest. (For e.g., by turning the glass at some empty seat and pouring water in it.)

* I’ve had a fight with the guys of every mess and canteen in my college campus over the amount of puris I was eating, and on the amount of bhaji I should be getting per puri.

* My mother rarely had to clear up any food to put in the fridge throughout my school and junior college years – Non-veg dishes, dal, chapattis – I used to finish them all off the way a hungry pack of wolves would tear through a juicy moose in the snowy expanses of Alaska.

* There was a period during my school years where I don’t remember not having a stomachache after any meal I had liked.

* I was the favourite friend-of-their-son of all the mothers of my school friends. Whenever there was a birthday party, while the others used to be more interested in playing games, I used to focus all my energies on the food. Actions speak louder than words, and all these mothers used to be delighted that, finally, someone was appreciating their culinary skills ! And how !

* Once, a cousin sister of mine, knowing no doubt how much I loved eating, offered to give me a ‘treat’ in McDonald’s. (This was in those days when McDonald’s had just come to India, and going there was still an occasion.) My mother, who was standing nearby enquired of her as to the monetary size of the treat she had in mind. When she said, “100 – 200 bucks”, my mother burst out laughing.

* Whenever my mother used to get anything in the house that was tasty and edible, I used to finish it off in a couple days. She used to hide such food in various places, but I had become such an expert at ferreting out food, that I actually could find the correct tin by just picking it up. If it felt heavier than the day before, voila ! My trademark has always been that I finish off all the edible contents in the tins, and leave behind only the empty plastic / paper bag – much like the robbers who put a signature on every crime they commit. This way my mom didn’t have to spend too much time wondering where all the food she had just got, had vanished. A side effect of this has been that until recently, I’ve been the source of great embarrassment at home, whenever guests used to pay an impromptu visit. My mom would be like, ‘Okay, I’ve got this and this and that to give to them.’ She would then offer something to them, and they would acquiesce, and she would open the concerned jar and take out the plastic bag with a flourish, only to find it empty ! No problems, she would say, I’ve something else hidden there – ofcourse I’d been there too ! So on, until, well, you know !

Posted @ 11 pm, July 03, 2007

A Romantic Manifestation – By Randy Ian

Today evening I had gone to the campus canteen with some friends of mine. We dictated our order to the curly-haired rabbit-toothed ‘cheyta’ sitting at the cash counter who scribbled out something on square yellow pieces of paper in handwriting not dissimilar to that of most doctors I’ve gone to. We then handed our coupons to the black-googles wearing ‘cheyta’ behind the food counter, and went and sat at some table.

It so happened that the girl-friend of one of these friends of mine was also with him, and she was about to go back home for a few days. So, both of them were pretty sentimental and in a “cho-chweet” mood. You know how it is with couples whose ages are around 20-21 years.

She : ‘Okay, I’m gooiinngg…’.
He (after a long sigh) : ‘Hmmm. I feel like coming with you…’.
She giggles and pokes him.
She : ‘Then come naa…’.
He holds her hand and looks at her with a sad smile, ‘I wish.’.
They both play with their hands and fingers, at the same time swinging their hands, as if they are playing in some sort of a creative competition of producing different types of handshakes. Then she says, now in serious final sort of way, ‘Okay haan, now bye.’
Now he says, all serious too, ‘Baaye.’

By this point however, I was staring intently, with great concentration, at onion and chilli pieces in my Gobi Manchurian (a very popular dish in Kerala, introduced here by one the earliest of the throngs of Nepalis working all over Kerala, and a dish which now bears no resemblance whatsoever to either Gobi or Manchurian), and chomping on the morsel in my mouth with a regular rhythm !

Posted @ 10 pm, July 03, 2007

Lacuna Kyon

I've not written a post for quite some time by my usual standards. There are quite a few reasons for this - I was down for about a week with a sickening and resilient viral infection; I had no convenient internet access for some time since I wasn't at home; I was caught up in some important activities. Now, as I sit here, in the lab in my college, I do not have anything to write. And even if I did, I am not in the mood and I do not have the time. I suppose, a few days later when I do get the mood, the time, the energy and the right sort of idea to add another post, I shall delete this post. Till then this will have to do.

The difference between Americans and Europeans ?

I have come across this difference many times. Not first-hand, certainly, but in many books and articles. P. G. Wodehouse has made innumerable allusions to this great difference, often with great humorous effect. (The funniest example would be the scarab collecting American in Something Fresh.) Many writers, (e.g. Grisham) whose stuff I have read, have commented upon this. An uncle of mine who has had the opportunity to interact with people from both these regions has also mentioned this difference.

And today, in an article on Fortune.com, Jean-Marie Eveillard, a French who has work in the US for the major part of career, has been quoted as saying

"... Shortly after I retired, a friend of mine who's in the business said to me, "Ah, well now you'll have plenty of time to run your own portfolio." I told him no. I kept my money in my funds - or what used to be my funds - because it would not have shown great confidence in Charles if I had taken my money off the table.

Also, one thing about Americans - something I think is very positive - is there's this idea that God did not put us on this earth to do nothing. No matter your age. Whereas Europeans believe that once you retire, there is nothing wrong with doing nothing.

I was reading the financial newspapers, I helped teach a course on value investing at Columbia Business School, but otherwise I did not have a very active retirement."

Sartorial Gaucherie

Recently, a friend of mine, who doesn't quite maintain a certain minimum standard in wearing decent clothes, told me, quite sheepishly ofcourse, about a very amusing incident. It seems he was standing in some shop waiting for the shopkeeper to hand over to him the items he had ordered. A lady entering the shop was deceived by his appearance into thinking that he was the shopkeeper's assistant boy. She apparently stood in front of him and was staring at him, expecting him to ask her 'Memsaab, kya chaahiye ?". My dear friend was oblivious to this, and was staring somewhere into deep space, one hand on his hips, the other drumming the latest tune of some Tamil film. Ofcourse, the lady mistook his idyllic behaviour for dereliction of duty and, much to his surprise, poked him in his side, near the ribs, and snapped, "Ja, mere liye woh Fair and Lovely ka cream leke aa."

Something like that happened with me too, many years ago. Now, I am not overly fastidious as far as clothes go, but I do enjoy wearing good clothes. I may not be fashionable, but the clothes I wear outside home aren't that bad either. But there was a time when I was young, when I wasn't the slightest bothered as to what I was wearing or how my hair clumped over my head. In fact, I was anti-fashion. (Ofcourse, my hair has almost always been in a frowzled state, and though now I care how it looks like, it still is.)

I was spending my summer vacations with my grandparents, and had just arrived there the previous day. They live in a building that has three lifts - the centre one is for residents and their guests, and the two lifts on either side of this lift are for the working class people. I don't quite care for this differentiation, and back then, certainly didn't. My grandmother sent me to buy some grocery items. I checked which lift was closest to my floor, and since the third one (the working class one) was the nearest, I pressed the button for that lift. When I came back from the shopping, I saw that that all the lifts were on the ground floor. So I naturally started walking towards the centre lift.

This was me. A cheap polythene bag in my hand, containing an assortment of vegetables - dhaniya, tamaatar, onion and the like. Rubber slippers on my foot. A very shabby and old pair of shorts, and an equally shabby, and moreover stained T-shirt. There were a few holes in it too - it was one of my old favourites and its material had become soft over the years. Hence, inspite of the holes, I used to wear it, especially on hot, humid afternoons such as those of Bombay in May. And the hair. Oh, that wild sweaty dishevelled shock of hair, that has scared off so many potential caresses from loving aunts, soiled many pillow-cases and made barbers wonder whether they should borrow those grass-cutters from the nearby gardener.

Well, I was told to take the other lift. "Main yahaan rehta hoon.", said I, and walked into the centre lift, wondering whether the liftman had gone nuts. The liftman had no option but to operate the lift. He did give me some peculiar stares though.

And that was that.

More kudos Google's way

Yesterday I used Google Notebook (http://www.google.com/notebook) for the first time - and I'm very happy with it. It is an excellent piece of software, and very useful too, especially for a person like me who reads a majority of his articles online and likes to store the better ones. There are some bugs that need to be sorted out with, in the word editing section. However, they are very trivial bugs, so they did not pose much of a problem in the end as I found out a way around them. (And tell me about a word processor that does not give problems when you directly copy a highlighted amalgam of text, script and pictures from a webpage.. MS Word surely does !)

I've already made separate notebooks for all the distinct verticals I could think of - I thought that would be better idea as compared to make similar sections under one notebook. If you don't get what I'm saying, just give Google Notebook a try, it is definitely worth it. While scanning through some info on Notebook just now at Wikipedia, I found out that Micrsoft has had a somewhat similar product in its stable for quite some years now called Microsoft OneNote or some such thing. I think it is time they started offering some stuff free and online, otherwise they are going to lose many a valuable customer.

While on this topic of Microsoft, Google, open-source, piracy etc, I would like to make a mention of an article written by a friend of mine, which I thought was very good. Take a look at it. I too have some stuff to contribute on this topic, but I think I shall write it in another post.

Overheard

Location : Outside a shop called Jack's where we used hang out during a break in our coaching classes.

Faiz : "D, dude, you are like a barometer."
D : "Why man ?"
Faiz : "Because a barometer has vacuum at the top."
Burn ! Laughter for 10 minutes.

Explanatory Note 1 : D was our favourite bakra. Initials used to protect identity.

Explanatory Note 2 : It is possible that this joke might have crossed paths with the reader. However, I assure you that the joke was cracked originally on the spur of the moment by the aforementioned Faiz.

Wireless

I love things that are wireless. By wireless, I mean absolutely without wires, not just wi-fi. I believe in the literal meaning of wi-fi - wireless fidelity - loyalty to that which is without wires. And fidelity towards wireless need not be restricted to snazzy electronic gadgets - it can be applied to almost any gadget or machine.

The arrival of mobile phones, satellite communication techniques, technologies like GPRS, CDMA, 3G etc. are slowly but surely negating the need for having wired telephone and internet access. Sure, wired communication is still safer, cheaper, faster and more reliable for the general public. Sure, all internet traffic travels through gargantuan and serpentine layers of undersea cabling and a worldwide network of telephone cables. Sure, Relcom purchased Flag Telecom and recently finished laying cables across the length and breadth of India. In my opinion, however, wireless is the proverbial 'lambi race ka ghoda', the technology of the future which will render wires obsolete within the next few decades.

I dream of a world in which all voice and data communication takes place only through the wireless medium.

Today, an ever increasing number of people own personal computers. Organisations invest heavily in a lot of computer hardware - PCs, network routers, storage and backup media, etc. All these are connected with wires. The standard desktop PC is a huge mess of interweaving wires - the daily jhaad-poos-waali-bai's worst nightmare. Monitor, keyboard, mouse, speakers, printer, scanner, webcam - all have to be connected to the CPU. There are inter-speaker wires for those 5.1's and 7.1's. The iPod has to be connected with a wire as also the mobile phone. Add to that all the power cables and internet cables. It's a mad, mad world. But nowadays, wireless mice and keyboards are becoming cheaper, and hence, more popular. The other components still use wires only, but this is set to change with bluetooth and other such short-distance high-datarate technologies being invented, perfected and mass distributed. Laptops are also being used by many more people, and a laptop is one of the strongest proponents of the wireless world.

I dream of a world in which laptops and slim wifi-communicating-component-based desktops become commonplace, and all communication with PnP devices is wireless.

Some years back, these people we knew, had purchased a flat in the outskirts of Pune. Since the area was in the purlieu of city, the municipal corporation wasn't supplying water to that area. The society had to make do with a couple of borewells dug up near. However, this water contained salts and other minerals, which made it non-potable. Hence, they had to purchase those 20 liter plastic cartons of water. Later, however, they came across this machine in an ad, which converted the water vapour in the air into drinking water. The manufacturers guaranteed atleast 20 liters of water a day. I do not know whether they actually purchased the 'aquator', but it lent high-octane fuel to my imagination - it created the possibility of elimination of water pipes from our lives. In the same way, a device could be created that would 'vaporize' all the used and unclean water, or better still purify it immediately for reuse.

I dream of a world in which there are no ugly waterpipes disfiguring our homes and bathrooms, and where the atmosphere itself is a conduit for all the water that we need.

Quite a few people must have read Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged. In that, the leading hero, John Galt, invents a motor that is able to generate electricity / power from air. It is certainly a very fantastic claim. But, having seen the great leaps taken in technology over the past decade and a half, one cannot discount outright the possibility of such an invention taking place some years down the line. And if the invention is exactly the way it is described in the book, producing energy from thin air and yet not polluting it a bit, then it would solve 90% of the world's problems - think fuel shortage, oil and gas wars, related inflation, environmental problems and global warming. But, my focus is not on that. I look at the beauty of it - no horrendous transmission lines dotting the horizon. No ugly tangled masses of wires near your house. Clean standalone devices. No wires to trip over.

I dream of a world in which there are no messy wires spoiling the beauty of compact devices.

Some things that I wish for, especially those in the previous paragraph are way too far-fetched. However, the other things that are mentioned are very much feasible - and have already been implemented somewhere or the other. I really can envisage something like this happening in my house. Imagine your music system, your laptop / cool wireless compact lcd-screen desktop, your portable music player and your mobile seamlessly connected through wireless medium, offering an unimagineable fluidity as far as your data is concerned.

I dream on . . .


Disclaimer : This post has been written on the spur of the moment and without any research. So, some claims might be very far-fetched and some closer to reality than can be imagined.

Gadgets I'd like to own

I am an out-and-out gadget freak. Just seeing a new gadget can make my day. Owning a new device keeps me happy for months. If someone even touches any gadget I own, I become restless. I hate lending my gadgets - though ofcourse, nowadays I have consciously decided to become generous, because I don't like to borrow something and then not lend in return. Still, I am very particular as to who I lend my gadgets to.

As a student, who has not yet settled down on his own, I feel these are the gadgets I would like to own to feel complete from a luxury point of view - a laptop, a mobile, a flash memory mp3 player, a portable media player, a satellite radio set, a digital camera, a handycam, a good set of portable speakers and good set of headphones. Ofcourse, this is all fantasy - I don't quite have the money to own any of these gadgets !

Laptop - A Sony Viao or an Apple iMac would the most preferred. The high-end Dell or HP laptops would be good to, but I have a great attraction towards products from the stables of Sony and Apple. Since I'm in India, buying an iMac would be like buying a car that works perfectly, but only on 5% of the roads. So, Viao it is. I would love to buy that model which supports Blu-ray disc-writing - and I would like my laptop to be a powerhouse of sorts - high RAM, a humongous hard-disk and a fast dual-core processor.

Mobile - Again, the iPhone is ruled out as of now. So, I would either opt for a Nokia N series mobile in the 90+ series or the Moto Razr 2.

Mp3 player - I would like to own two mp3 players. The iPod nano and the Sony exercise walkman player, both with flash memories of 4 or 8 GB.

PMP - Without doubt, the COWON A2. A friend of mine has it, and using it is a delightful experience.

Satellite Radio - There's not much choice in India, so Worldspace it is.

Camera - The most expensive Cybershot offered by Sony.

Handycam - A digital hard-disk based handycam from Sony again.

Speaker Set - Any speakers from either Creative, Bang & Olufson or Bose.

Headphones - Since Bose has been advertising their headphones so much, Bose it is.


Aaah ! Just thinking about these gadgets has released a flood of endorphins and other happiness and exhilaration inducing chemicals in my body . . .

A wise saying in Marathi

For the past half an hour or so, I've been trying to figure out how to publish a post using the Devnagiri lipi, but my wetware is slipping, so I am forced to write it in English. Readers familiar with Marathi will, however, surely be able to understand it - and appreciate the wisdom behind it !

"Zo pahiley naak dharee,
Toch aahe paadkaree"

Translated, it means, whoever clamps his nose first in disgust at the foul smell of a possible fart, is the culprit who has let lose the noxious gases from his flatulent abdomen.

I do not expect a person unfamiliar with Marathi to find this very funny, but if you understand Marathi well and yet do not find this funny at all, then please forgive me. As a weak excuse, I would like to quote David Ogilvy, who, in one of his books has made this very memorable remark - "From my father I inherited two things - smoking a pipe and a scatological sense of humour."

My father certainly does not smoke a pipe, and neither do I, but as relatives and friends will vouch for in all earnest, I have certainly inherited a very morbid and scatalogical sense of humour from my father !

Update - For some arbitrary reason, today (Sunday, April 06, 2008), I figured out how to do it . . . here is the Marathi version

जो पहिले नाक धरी,
तोच आहे पाद्करी ||

Suicide : Crime or Not ?

I feel that committing suicide is not a crime, and a person who has tried committing suicide with sincere intentions and has failed, should not be penalized. However, I am all for suicide being a severely punishable offence. The reason is that this will serve as a deterrent for all those people who feign suicides to generate attention or sympathy. And, the declaration of a suicide attempter as a criminal, will indirectly benefit the people who really want to commit suicide, in that, they know that they cannot fail - the life which drove them to suicide will become even worse.

Dry and droll

Years ago, while leafing through Reader's Digest, I had come across this joke. A man who was going through the diary of his grandfather had sent Reader's Digest an entry on some date long ago -

"Raining heavily.
Day gloomy.
Drank 2 pegs of Scotch whiskey.
Day still gloomy."

I had found it so funny that I remember it well even after so many years. My afternoon is also passing somewhat like that.

"Very hot, humid and dull.
Day gloomy.
Drank water from one coconut.
Day still gloomy."

The Educated Cobbler

This is a true story. I repeat, this is an absolutely true story with no fabrications or exaggerations whatsoever.

-----------------------------


I was in Calicut at that time and my sandals needed repair. I remembered that quite a few cobblers used to sit lined up along the road near the local Medical College. I went there by bus, and sure enough, there were around four cobblers there, sitting solemnly on the road with their backs resting on the railing separating the road from the pavement. Each one of them was sitting on those tarpaulin mats, with a black umbrella somehow propped up to protect themselves from the heat of the sun. I picked one of them who seemed idle at that moment and removed the sandals from the plastic bag. Since I am not quite adept at the local language, I decided to avoid speaking as far as possible, and using gesticulations instead, to communicate.

I pointed at all the places where the sandals were torn, looked at the cobbler, nodded and said "Stitch haan.. here".

"So, you are a student ?".
"Uhh.. eh ? Ah, yes.. I am studying at NIT Calicut."
"And what is your name ? I am Sam."
"I'm ---."

And so on. Sam told me that he had been befriended by a professor of English at some college nearby, and this professor had taken the efforts to teach him English. Not only that, he had also lent Sam many books from his personal library. That was many years ago, and this professor was no longer alive. After that, Sam had taken to travelling in and around North Kerala and North Tamil Nadu - "cobblering" along the way - he had spent some years in Coimbatore, and now he was back in Calicut. Amazing !

"Stalin was from a humble background too. His father was a cobbler, like me."
"You mean Stalin, of Russia ?"
"Yes. The dictator of Russia."

So, this guy was really well read. I made a mental note to check this up, but I was pretty sure it would be accurate.

We continued chatting in English - about the weather, about Malayam, about English, about Bombay... A boy carrying some glasses filled with black tea, "chaaya" in local parlance came by, kept a glass near the mat, and went on with his round. The cobbler took the glass in his hands and asked me - "Would you care to have some tea ?". I politely declined. He took a sip, "It is very strong. All of us cobblers here drink this black tea. We need it - the heat makes us tired."

Now the sandals were done. He showed me the new stitches. He had really stitched the sandals well.

"How much ?", I asked.
"15 rupees."

That was very reasonable. I felt he should have asked more - and I wanted to pay him atleast 20. But, for some reason, I felt it would look odd, and he had that gentlemanly air and that pride about him which made me hesitate paying a tip. So I paid him the 15 bucks.

I wrapped the sandals in the polythene bag and turned to go. Sam took out a bidi, lit it up and said grandly, "Now I will fag !".

-------------------------------

View from PJ Towers, Dalal Street

Ambush Marketing

I recently came across this photograph under the above title in some blog, which I don't remember now. However, it is definitely worth a look. Apologies to the guy from whose blog I had saved the picture, and apologies to the concerned airlines if this photograph is a fake.

The Trip to Oooohty

Btw, if you are as sharp as Rupert Baxter, and have observed the abrupt lull in the posting frequency in the past 8 days, and have started suspecting that something fishy was going on - fear not - I had gone for short holiday to Ooty and Kunnoor with my family.

The trip was wonderful. The thing I liked the most was the temperature out there. I am a person made for cold weather - I melt and stink and feel drowsy and lethargic and totally demotivated in the hot and humid climates of Bombay and Calicut (Mumbai and Kozhikode, if you are of the unneccessarily puritanically psuedo patriotic type). However, cold weather brings back the joie the vivre which hot weather so nastily puts cold water on. My appetite increases, and for a change I can eat heartily because I know that the food will all be digested in that nice cold weather. I don't sweat at all, I feel pepped up all through the day, lethargy follows the path of the dodo and my otherwise sluggish temperament takes a back seat as I am always on the qui vive (expecting adventures to befall me ?).

Of course, no good thing is complete with a few irritations and hitches here and there. We had this story in our Bal Bharti (SSC guys will be feeling nostalgic, no doubt) about a King who is wandering in the jungle on a hunting expedition, and as he is wandering about, thirsty, in search of water, he come across a hut. A fair, beautiful, and as we come to know later, wise maiden (They are always fair and good-looking, aren't they ?) comes out, and the King requests her for something to drink. She gives him a bowl full of some thirst-quenching liquid, but sprinkles pepper all over the surface. Instead of being able to gulp the liquid down in one shot, the King has to sip the liquid carefully, by blowing away the pepper every time. He compliments her on the tasty liquid, and adds that it would have been tastier but for the pepper. Then she gives all sorts of wise fundae as to how the value of the liquid increased because of the pepper that came in the way. True, no doubt.

So, here's a brief take on a few of the irritations that made me appreciate the simple joys of life and made the trip so memorable.

1. The Bombay airport that resembles CST

You think you have attained some exclusivity by travelling by air. No, you are wrong. People throng there like the dickens - and the government will simply not increase the number of seats, so you have to stand in the lounge. The electronic board that notifies you about the status of various flights is malfunctioning, so the airport staff members move around like heralds, shouting out the flights that require security check.

2. The shameless and oversmart lady

The announcement says that people for xyz flight, please head to Gate No. 5. Everybody hurriedly gets up and a long queue gets formed. As we are approaching the gate, we see a family approaching the gate at right angles to us. This contingent is headed by the shameless lady, and consists of her husband, an ayah, a healthy and fit pair of grandparents, and one baby in the pram. They just butt into the queue and walk through the foyer. The cheek ! (I don't see any reason why they couldn't stand in the queue - the pram is no excuse, because it was a foldable pram.)

3. The crammed up space deficient airplane

We are not the Japanese. The average Indian male's height is 5'8". And these guys can just about fit in. What about the guys who are more than 6 feet tall ? What about those poor bastards like me who are a full 6'4" ? I can understand it if I am not able to sit in taxis and buses. No problemo. But, this is an aeroplane, for Christ's sake - and just because we are travelling economy doesn't mean you should be so inconsiderate.

4. Flop visit no.1

We decide to visit the Ooty lake. 4 of us cram into a rickshaw and for 30 Rs. we are taken from the hotel to the lake. One look and I know we shouldn't have come. The crowd there resembled the Chaturshringi mela in Pune. Still, we decide to take the plunge and head towards the boat-ride ticket counter. Bluuaahk. Someone vomits, and some of the vomit falls on my father's shoes. We regroup, and unanimously decide to head back to the beautiful confines of the hotel. This time however, the rickshawallahs have the upper hand and we are forced to pay 50 bucks for 2 rickshaws for the 4 of us. Nice.

5. Flop visit no.2

Everyone recommends that we go and visit Madhumalai sanctuary. 1.5 hours laters, after battling the heat, bumps and dust of a parched landscape we arrive at the sanctuary. Me and my dad walk up to the ticket counter. It's a big mess there. There is a huge queue. People are jumping the queue here and there, everybody is looking confused, the policeman there who doesn't know either hindi or english is shouting something in gobbledegook, people are waving arms, other people are just standing there in clumps, a group of goras is standing in the centre all confused and dazed and I getting this sinking feeling in my stomach. An obliging man tells me that I will have to go to the counter and take a token - after about an hour or so, they will call my number and then I have to go and buy the tickets. But what about the queue, I asked ? Oh, he says, those are the people who have a token and who are crowding there despite being told to come only when their number is called. I take the token, but the whole mess has just put me off. I take a look at the first of the buses that are leaving for the tour. Horrible. Green in colour, all ramshackle and rickety, cramped up and uncomfortable, God ! No glass, no curtain, no cushions - just hard wood and metal. Again, the great minds have a hasty conference, and after 15 minutes of intelligent debating and thoughtful reasoning, the decision to return to the hotel is taken. Our driver ofcourse, iss flabbergasted - he tries his best to convince us to stay and take the ride, but falls silent when I ask him whether there is any confirmation that we would see tigers or lions or even elephants. But you can see deer, he says, a while later. Anyway, back to the hotel we go.

And yes, my parents did stop on the way and drink some filter kaapi which they said was excellent - so the trip wasn't exactly wasted.

6. The trip from Ooty to Kunnoor

I wonder whether all these politicians, who travel around in a fleet of government vehicles and make the police barricade the traffic for hours even before they are supposed to pass through a given road, realise how much they inconvenience the general public. I suppose, even if they did know, they wouldn't care. Fine, I say, let the politicians have their way, they have to run the country I suppose. But what about all the altu-phaltu posts like the Governor ? I mean what does the Governor do ? Rather, considering the amount of tax-payer's money spent on him and on maintaining his lifestyle (what with the bungalow and amenities and servants and cars and petrol and plane travel), is it really commensurate with his contribution to the country ? God only knows, as Bharat Dabholkar says.

The reason I am asking this is because Ooty and Kunnoor are barely 40 minutes away - a mad driver can do it in half an hour. However, unfortunately for us, the governor of TN chose to pass through our very route - and traffic came to a standstill. Believe me, I have been through some really horrible traffic jams, at Lonavla on the old Bombay-Pune highway, and in Bombay itself. However, the traffic jam that we passed on the opposite side really took the cake. The thin, 2 track, potholed, winding, steep and uphill roads all joined forces to make it really miserable for the guys coming towards Ooty. Luckily, our side of the traffic kept flowing smoothly with only intermittant bottlenecks, but the other guys had a horrible time. Then, heaven opened it's floodgates and all the rain came cascading on our luggage atop the car. So, we had to step out and take the bags on our laps.

To make matters worse, our driver was a weird fellow who just irritated the hell out of all of us, without intending to, of course. This guy, when his car slowed down, (in this case, as I told you, we had to stop every now then), would shift the gear to neutral and then back to first, again to neutral then to first - even if the car slowed down for just a second or two. I really wonder who taught him driving. As if that was not enough, he used to leave such long gaps between himself and the next car - without exaggerating, 5 more cars could have fitted in between. And all this on a slow moving bottlenecked road. The shocking thing was, all the drivers there were doing this. We could make out that the opposing side had a 2-3 kilometre long traffic jam, yet, every other vehicle was leaving such long gaps on the opposite side, and making no effort to cover it too. Out here, you have bumper-to-bumper traffic, and if you leave a gap, people will openly swear at you and fill the gap up. It seems weird that this should cause irritation, but it did - and we all felt it. As my mom put it, we felt like taking a stick or a spur and prodding that guy. Go... ! At one point, this guy actually got out of the car, (as we were waiting in the jam) and started chatting with a car driver stuck in the jam in the opposite direction. Our line started moving - but this guy showed no inclination for getting into the car. I had to wave and shout before he ambled over and leisurely got going.

Lessons -

1. Home Sweet Home.

2. If and when you become very rich, make sure you buy and maintain a holiday home in some easily accessible (read very close to the airport) hill station with average temperatures in summer of about 18 degree celsius.

3. The traffic jams of Bombay are nothing compared to that of Kunnoor.

4. The weather of Bombay sucks more than ever.

5. Appreciate the taxi drivers in Bombay for how fast they (try to) drive.

Objective Journalism

Certain articles are supposed to be objective news, while others are opinions. I guess it is well-known that the media has subtle ways of showing what it feels about a particular person, celebrity or otherwise, even in articles that are meant to be objective.

We face, on a regular basis, carefully worded descriptions which can mislead us, or interviews from which sentences are dropped or quoted only partially. If you want see the full power of misquotation and misconstrueing, see the 2nd episode in the first season of That 70s Show, titled Eric's Birthday. Kelso is the protagonist in this case, and somewhere into the 8th minute ... well, I recommend you see it for yourselves. Today, however, I came to know of another way in which, we the gullible audience, can be unknowingy pushed into a particular direction without knowing it.

While browsing through the newspaper, I came across some article on Ramadoss, and the photograph of this accompanying the article was what set me thinking. It looked like some journalist had spent hours poring through various photographs to find the one in which Ramadoss had the weirdest facial expression - in this case, it was even more weird than the expression which the character played by Ranveer Shourey (have I got the spelling right ?) in Bheja Fry. Or maybe some photographer with infinte patience, lightening speed and a sadistic sense of humour waited for the correct moment, and handed it over to the aforementioned journalist. Or maybe, I'm just conjuring crazy conspiracies in my head - it was just a coincidence. "Just a coincidence" - I can imagine Seinfeld telling this to good old paranoic George. George repeats it to reassure himself, but he actually doesn't believe so. I can't believe this too, for one has to be blind to ignore it. I wonder what that journalist had against poor Ramadoss -oh ! Maybe it is because of the banning of smoking and the whole freedom of expression thing. Toohey would be proud of this guy !

I also remembered the case of a certain Perreira - the photograph accompanying any news item on him is usually the same - with him looking in a very arrogant and angry and callous way at some point in space. Now, suppose, just suppose, hypothetically, that this Perreira fellow is actually a nice, sensitive fellow and by some horrible godforsaken twist of fate, he got embroiled in whatever happened. In that case, thanks to the way the photograph has been taken - maybe that expression fell on his face for just a split second - will definitely affect the way the public takes a personal opinion on him, won't it ? Anyway, I think I have been watching too much of George and Seinfeld.

I need a break !

Nocturnal Insomnia, Diurnal Somnia

I suffer from a strange disease. I hereby christen it NIDS.

I can't go to sleep if I stay awake past around 8.30 in the night, unless I take extreme efforts to do so. Even if I haven't slept the previous, not a wink, I still can't go to bed if cross that 8-8.30 line. And much to my irritation, however much sleep I've had cannot prevent me from falling asleep any time during the day. By day, I mean the period between 8.30 in the morning, (when the sun-rays lose their innocence), till about 5.30 in evening (when they regain it). During this 'sun-time', all I have to do to fall asleep is lie down on the bed. Everything falls in place, and before I know it, I nod off to sleep. Nothing can come in between me and my sleep during this time, no noise, no heat, no mosquitoes, nothing ! But falling asleep at night - Hercules will probably cry if he is assigned this Sisyphean task of putting me off to sleep every night, and Atlas will definitely shrug.

You cannot imagine to what extent of preparation I go to, to achieve the target of sleeping at night. I set alarms for every half hour starting from 4.00 am. I enqueue about a 100 odd songs in wmp (who knows how much time I might be awake ?). I stare at the fan in the hope that my eyes will get tired and droop off. I multipy 2 and 3 digit numbers in the hope that my brain will tire out - counting sheep was hopeless, as I discovered many years ago. Most importantly, I try not to sleep at all during the day. But this I discovered, is a very very tough thing to do.

When I'm at home, around 9.30-ish in the morning, the bai comes for jhaadu-pochha, thus separating me from the computer. Having nothing to do till she finishes the cleaning, I loll about here and there, and eventually end up in the embryonic position, as snug as a bug in a rug (as Wodehouse has said), on our sofa. If I somehow muster up enough willpower to avoid this temptation, the postprandial period arrives, bringing with it a full stomach and an afternoon dullness (which only our college professors can match), which are stronger than most sedatives. And don't forget, the afternoon last for a full 4 hours - one lapse, one small blip in my willpower radar, and drowsiness swarms over me in a jiffy. There's my mobile on the bed, a few magazines strewn here and there, my watch lying under the pillow, the chaddar flowing among all this debris like a sinuous river, a water bottle here, and my head phones there - all that be damned. My body falls limp over all this, my legs half falling over, and moments later I'm but a dead log.

At college (where I stay in a hostel), it is no different. Going to college and sitting in class ranks first in the survey listing "Natural Sedatives". I don't think I need to explain how tough it is keep awake, my parents understand it, my friends also succumb to it, it is universally acknowledged. If you need more details on what goes on in class, check this out. And going to bed early - people keep knocking at that very moment when I am either contemplating going to bed, or when I have just gone to bed. Like this moron, who kept knocking on my door for around 10 mins even though the lights in the room were switched off. (I know it was 10 mins because I woke up at the first knock, and waited for a full 9 mins for him to go away, but pertinacious jackass that he was, I knew he would keep knocking, and hence I finally opened the door. Turns out, he was some first year. I use the words moron and jackass with certainty because I saw his face in the light later, and he definitely was one. Long haired friend of mine, if you ever do read this, you know whom I'm talking about.)

Aaah ! It is approaching 11.35 pm - come what may, I have to lie down in bed. Readers, please pray that I may fall asleep !

A tribute to Julie Andrews

I came across this in some arbitrary blog I was going through, and thought it was worth sharing.

To commemorate her 69th birthday on October 1, actress/vocalist, Julie Andrews made a special appearance at Manhattan's Radio City Music Hall for the benefit of the AARP. One of the musical numbers she performed was "My Favorite Things" from the legendary movie "Sound Of Music". Here are the lyrics she used :

Maalox and nose drops and needles for knitting,
Walkers and handrails and new dental fittings,
Bundles of magazines tied up in string,
These are a few of my favorite things.
Cadillac's and cataracts and hearing aids and glasses,
Polident and Fixodent and false teeth in glasses,
Pacemakers, golf carts and porches with swings,
These are a few of my favorite things.

When the pipes leak, when the bones creak,
When the knees go bad, I simply remember my favorite things,
And then I don't feel so bad.

Hot tea and crumpets and corn pads for bunions,
No spicy hot food or food cooked with onions,
Bathrobes and heating pads and hot meals they bring,
These are a few of my favorite things.
Back pains, confused brains, and but keep on winnin'
Thin bones and fractures and hair that is thinnin',
And we won't mention our short shrunken frames,
When we remember our favorite things.

When the joints ache, when the hips break,
When the eyes grow dim,
Then I remember the great life I've had,
And then I don't feel so bad.

(Ms. Andrews received a standing ovation from the crowd that lasted over four minutes and repeated encores.)

The Future of Gadgets and Interfaces

Somewhere in the middle of last semester, a video titled "The Future of Computing" popped up on our hostel LAN. Obviously some one had downloaded it from YouTube - and on searching I did find it there. The stuff shown is mind-blowing and even a gadget-centric person like me had never imagined something as wonderful as this. Incidentally, this is my first video-blog-post . . . symbolic, don't you think ?



One of the earliest applicants of this technology is Apple, in their maiden mobile phone effort - the Apple iPhone. If you haven't already seen the amazing features in the iPhone, take a look at this clip :



Makes you go "Ooooh!", doesn't it ?

Naak Se Ga Ja, Baar Baar Aaja Aaja

You know Himesh is successful when

. . . you start singing 'Afsana banaa ke bhool na jaana' out of the blue for no rhyme (in my case 'with no rhyme' too) or reason

. . . a pink-floyd-is-god friend of yours who listens to nothing other than modern and classic rock starts crooning 'Ek baar aaja aaja aaja aaja aajaaa' and then curses himself for that

. . . you flip through 9 straight tv channels only to find that all of them are playing Himesh songs

. . . all six radio buttons in your car stereo set are playing the same Himesh song and you are forced to manually select Vividh Bharti

OTMTATST

As with many people of my generation, I do a majority of my reading online. Some of my regular stops are rediff.com, economictimes.indiatimes.com, timesofindia.indiatimes.com, nytimes.com, newyorker.com, and of course wikipedia. Google.com itself qualifies as a stop, because that is the portal to many avenues. In fact, recently, as part of coursework, we had to submit a summary of any relevant and recent research paper. As I was scouring through a few of these papers, (pdfs obviously, and incidentally obtained through Google scholar) searching for a suitable and preferably easy one, I came across something funny. As you might know, every research paper has a section called 'References' at the end. One such paper had a similarly listing, and somewhere down the line was 'google.com'. Now, isn't that strange !

As I was saying, I read a lot online. Of late, I've started observing that I suffer from a new-age malady, the opens-too-many-tabs-at-the-same-time syndrome. Ever since Mozilla Firefox introduced tabs (which IE soon introduced too), there no longer is the cumbersome problem of having too many windows clustering the taskbar. Whenever there is a link to some new articles or information, I can very conveniently open it immediately in a new tab, as opposed to coming to that place later on.

Because of this, I tend to sometimes leave the original article unread and go on to read the offshoot. I also maniacally keep opening multiple tabs whenever I see newer links, which I feel might be worth a read. So much so that my Internet Explorer has crashed a few times. So now I limit myself to about 15 odd tabs. Opening so many tabs is still alright if I am going to read all what I have opened. But no ! Nowadays, I tire easily, and after some time I start feeling crushed under my own enthusiasm. Neither do I have the energy to read all the open stuff, nor do I have the heart to close it. So I have started hibernating my comp now, with all the tabs and the windows in minimized state. This continues for days on end. Whenever I want to check my mail or read some fresh news, I open a window anew, with tabs anew. It is the same old story. The stuff piles up, till one day the browser or the OS crashes. This actually is a relief for me because I know I never would have read all that stuff.

Strange malady, this is. It is time some doctor came up with a latin name for it.

Let's Go !

It was 5.21 pm in the evening. My tuition class was over. I trooped out, weary and tired. My parents were going to pick me up at 5.30, so I had to wait until then. I stood by the roadside, at the usual spot. The sun had just set, and the colour in the sky was that wonderful mix of azure and orange that makes you feel wistful for no reason. There was a gentle breeze blowing, the kind that generally blows at 5.30 in the evening. My eyes were tired due to concentrating in class for such a long time and my face muscles were twitching in a tired sort of a way. The breeze was ruffling my hair the way a grandmother would fondle her grandchild. It was surreal. I watched the cars whizzing by, with black smoky trails following most of them. The murmur of the traffic, the occasional blaring of horns and the sounds of the few odd birds in the sky could be heard in the backdrop. As I said before, it was surreal.

The approaching road that would bring my parents' car had an undulating path. I stared at the point from where the cars were emerging one by one, like Ursula Andress from the sea. It was the same pattern. First, I would see the tires and the number plate. Then, slowly, the windshield would appear and simultaneously the tires would disappear as the car crossed the curve. And then the whole car. I kept looking at the same spot waiting for the car to arrive. It was 5.30 now, yet, no car. I kept looking at the cars. An Esteem, then a Zen, then 2 motorcycles, then an Ikon, then a rickshaw. I looked at the wrist watch again. It was 5.40 now. I reverted my gaze to the horizon of the road. Then, far in the distance, I saw it. Even though I could not see the inhabitants or the number plate, I recognized the car. I straightened my frame, all 6 feet 3 inches of it, and raised my arm to signal where I was. My eyes were fixed on the car, as it manoeuvred itself through the traffic, changing lanes so that it could come to where I was standing. I dropped my hand and took a step forward onto the road in anticipation. Suddenly, a rickshaw came to a screeching halt and stopped right in my face. I looked at it closely - it was a Garuda, a shared rickshaw. Ah ! Some idiotic passenger must have felt the need to get down immediately. I started walking around the rickshaw to go and sit in my car which was waiting just behind. As I was passing the side, I turned to the rickshawalla to give him an angry look. To my surprise, he was looking at me expectantly. I wondered to myself, what now ? You stop in my path and expect me to apologize ? I looked at the passengers. There was one girl, 2 ladies and 1 man, and all of them were looking at my expectantly too. Expecting me to do what, I wondered again. Then I realized that no one had got off the rickshaw. There was this moment, when I was looking at them and they were looking at me.

Then, I neatly stepped around the rickshaw in a dignified manner, sat down in the car, looked at my father and said, "Hmm. Lets go !"

Quotable Quote

One day, as I sat
Sad and lonely and without a friend,
A voice came to me saying
"Cheer up,
Things could be worse".
So I cheered up,
And sure enough,
Things got worse.

(Rudyard Kipling)

And I agree with him . . .

Last year, the government decided to increase the number of reserved seats in central government-run elite educational institutes like the Indian Institutes of Technology, Indian Institutes of Management and AIIMS by 27 per cent for the Other Backward Classes, taking reservations up to 50 per cent. Students on campus were upset and agitated. Rediff.com quoted Aman Jagannathan, 18, second year MBBS student at the All India Institute of Medical Sciences as saying :

"I know I am not saying anything illegal but I just want to be careful. I don't want to be known on as being against OBCs because I am not. I am just against the idea of reservation. I don't want to be misunderstood.

I am not against social justice but I feel merit should be appreciated. Reserve seats for those who don't have the economic means. Reserve seats for the children of those in the armed forces. Nobody will protest if you reserve seats for those who earn less than a lakh every year. Why should caste be the overarching factor? It's not my fault I was born a Brahmin."

And I agree with him . . .

I have so far chosen to remain dispassionate about the whole issue of reservations. There have been many friends of mine who written pageloads of stuff on why reservations are unfair and reflect regressive thinking and will ruin India . . . I am not saying they are wrong , and I am not saying they are totally right either . . . but I am a cynic, and I think, what is the point of all this . . . I think of the futility of raving seriously on such things.

As a certain Suresh Kamath says, "Reservation based on caste is going to divide us further. Reservation should be based on economic criteria alone. We should learn to forget our past and start looking at the future. What have today's children got to do with what some people did in the past ?"

On a lighter note, check out what this blogger had to say about the Machiavellian Villain behind this regressive step. I found it really hilarious !

Number Theory, Cryptography and some Humour

I have my Number Theory exam tomorrow - and I had to start studying at some point of time - so I was going through some slides by a gentleman named William Stallings. There is a slideshow per chapter. At the beginning of each chapter, he quotes somebody. For the chapter on Euler's Thm and Fermat's Thm, he has quoted the following text, which I found so funny, that I had to put it up right here, right now.

The Devil said to Daniel Webster: "Set me a task I can't carry out, and I'll give you anything in the world you ask for."
Daniel Webster : "Fair enough. Prove that for n greater than 2, the equation a^n + b^n = c^n has no non-trivial solution in the integers."
They agreed on a three-day period for the labor, and the Devil disappeared.
At the end of three days, the Devil presented himself, haggard, jumpy, biting his lip.
Daniel Webster said to him, "Well, how did you do at my task ? Did you prove the theorem ?"
"Eh ? No . . . no, I haven't proved it."
"Then I can have whatever I ask for ? Money ? The Presidency ?"
"What ? Oh, that — of course. But listen ! If we could just prove the following two lemmas — "

- The Mathematical Magpie, Clifton Fadiman

- William Stallings, Cryptography and Network Security - 3/e

The Engineer's Dilemma

The most confused person on earth is the third year B.Tech engineering student who is not very much interested in his branch. (Ladies, esp. feminists, please forgive me if do not say the polite "his or her", I am too lazy for that.) I have initiated this discussion with many of my ilk, and few disagree.

Let me define my ilk. We come in all sizes, shapes, weights and heights, and from amazing different geographical and cultural backgrounds, and can be classified into two main types. The first is the one who either had or thought he had a lot of interest in this particular field, and worked very hard to get into that branch in some institute which he thought was esteemed in the academia. The other is one (very much a like a friend of mine) who did nothing in his 11th and 12th (plus two, as some call it) and was so overwhelmed when he cleared AIEEE (which he thought was a tough exam to clear, but which apparently gives ranks to every person who cares to write it), that in a fit of "man!-now-that-i-have-got-admission-here-i-should-not-leave-it" took whatever he could get in the great institute.

Anyway, for people like us first year whizzes past us, and second year is like nirvana - we become enlightened in the sense that we know how disenlightened we were ! The horrible realization dawns upon us that what we thought was or would be interesting, is not interesting to us at all. There are others around us who absolutely love what they are doing and seem to find the subjects very interesting (like another friend of mine who grunts and yelps with orgasmic delight whenever he sees videos of rockets and aeroplanes). But we are the guys who take more interest in other things, which seem inane in the context and the course, but which would have been very helpful had we been doing something else. By the time we reach third year, the serious guys are already talking about scary things like MS, internship at engineering or software firms, "fundu" projects and the mother of all nightmares and the father of all nighthorses GATE-MTech.

We, however face the big dilemma - what should we do after we pass out from here ? A corresponding person pursuing a degree in medicine or law or any other major branch will never face this problem of choice. The moment he enrols himself in the medicine/law program, barring a few exceptional cases, he knows that he will be a doctor/lawyer in life. Not so for an engineer. We could do higher studies in a vast assortment of fields - engineering itself (within which also do we face so many choices that it makes our heads swim), law, management, etc, etc. Whew...

Take MS in the US for e.g. Choosing the field, and within the field the track, and then choosing the appropriate university and the program is very confusing, to say the least. As I am about to finish my third year, you can imagine the choices I am bombarded with !

All I can say is God help me ! And as I am an atheist, I doubt whether even God will help me. Darn !

Faux News

One of my favourite sub-genres of humour is spoofing - news, brands / ads, characters, etc. I discovered this site called theonion.com which creates spoof news on a daily basis. I visit this site every now and then, and some of the articles over the years have been really hilarious. I haven't visited this site for quite some time. I was reminded of it, however, when I was reading some other blogs on the net.

Last year, I was one of the persons in charge of bringing out the daily newsletter for our fest. Running short of articles to fill up our newsletter, we thought of spoofing some ads that appear in the papers. This is what I am most proud of ;) -

Visitation of a Verbose Verbiage

I do not know how many of you have seen 'V for Vendetta'. It is a 2006 film with screenplay by the same guys who created 'The Matrix' and it stars Natalie Portman and a masked character. They meet very early in the movie, and he introduces himself to her in these words :

Voilà! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of Fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is a vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished. However, this valorous visitation of a by-gone vexation, stands vivified, and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin vanguarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition. The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta, held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous. Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose so let me simply add that it’s my very good honor to meet you and you may call me V.

Whew... ! Needless to say, I was tempted to commit it to memory !

Risk-management

Today, we had our "Principles of Management" paper. There were a couple of problems based on the 'Pay-off' matrix and the 'Opportunity-Loss' matrix. I just wanted to find out whether both will give the same answer, given the probabilistic distribution of each event. While going through some pdfs, I came across this :

In decision-making under pure uncertainty, the decision maker has absolutely no knowledge, not even about the likelihood of occurrence for any state of nature. In such situations, the decision-maker's behavior is purely based on his/her attitude toward the unknown. Some of these behaviors are optimistic, pessimistic, and least regret, among others.

Optimist: The glass is half-full.
Pessimist: The glass is half-empty.
Manager: The glass is twice as large as it needs to be.

Optimists are right; so are the pessimists. It is up to you to choose which you will be. The optimist sees opportunity in every problem; the pessimist sees problem in very opportunity. Both optimists and pessimists contribute to our society. The optimist invents the airplane and the pessimist the parachute.

Nice, eh ? Especially the last line.

The GRiP of the Wealthy

I am an MBA aspirant, hence, read a lot of business and corporate news. I read articles on rich Indian companies and rich Indian people. I read interviews of and articles on the various owners, CEOs and MDs of Indian companies. I can't help noticing that more than 95 % of the richest guys are basically from Gujarat, Rajasthan or Punjab. Basically, the Indian corporate scenario is ruled by a combine of Marwadis, Gujaratis, Sindhis, Punjabis and Parsis. These five communities control most of large companies. Not only that, a majority of the high posts in most MNCs as well as other companies are with this guys.

I have opened in an alongside tab, the Forbes 2006 list.

The list goes like this : (the ones in caps are not from the GRiP !)

l n mittal
m ambani
a ambani
A PREMJI(nb : gujarati speaking! )
k p singh
s mittal
k birla
t tanti
R CHANDRA(I don.t know where he is from !)
p mistry
a agarwal
s & r ruia
a godrej
SHIV NADAR(Tamil Nadu, I think)
i jain
d sanghvi
r bajaj
so on and so forth.....

Basically, Mittals, Birlas, Ambanis, Agarwals, Singhs and Jains rule the roost.

A favourite poem of mine

While in school, we had two textbooks for English. One was the Radiant Reader (RR) and the other was the Bal Bharti (BB). These textbooks used to comprise of an assortment of short stories and poems. Among all the poems, the ones I liked the most were Daffodils and Colonel Fazackerley Butterworth-Toast. There was also that poem "Home they brought the warrior dead" which was quite nice.

Surprisingly, the poem on Colonel Fazackerley is not very well known. I think it is a wonderful and wonderfully funny poem. I googled for it, and here it is. From what I remember, the 2nd para begins like this
"On the very first evening, while waiting to dine,
The Colonel was feeling rested and fine,"
and, I don't think the fourth para was included in the textbook.

COLONEL FAZACKERLEY BUTTERWORTH-TOAST
by Charles Causley

Colonel Fazackerley Butterworth-Toast
Bought an old castle complete with a ghost,
But someone or other forgot to declare
To Colonel Fazack that the spectre was there.

On the very first evening, while waiting to dine,
The Colonel was taking a fine sherry wine,
When the ghost, with a furious flash and a flare,
Shot out of the chimney and shivered, 'Beware!'

Colonel Fazackerley put down his glass
And said, 'My dear fellow, that's really first class!
I just can't conceive how you do it at all.
I imagine you're going to a Fancy Dress Ball?'

At this, the dread ghost made a withering cry.
Said the Colonel (his monocle firm in his eye),
'Now just how you do it, I wish I could think.
Do sit down and tell me, and please have a drink.'

The ghost in his phosphorous cloak gave a roar
And floated about between ceiling and floor.
He walked through a wall and returned through a pane
And backed up the chimney and came down again.

Said the Colonel, 'With laughter I'm feeling quite weak!'
(As trickles of merriment ran down his cheek).
'My house-warming party I hope you won't spurn.
You MUST say you'll come and you'll give us a turn!'

At this, the poor spectre - quite out of his wits -
Proceeded to shake himself almost to bits.
He rattled his chains and he clattered his bones
And he filled the whole castle with mumbles and moans.

But Colonel Fazackerley, just as before,
Was simply delighted and called out, 'Encore!'
At which the ghost vanished, his efforts in vain,
And never was seen at the castle again.

'Oh dear, what a pity!' said Colonel Fazack.
'I don't know his name, so I can't call him back.'
And then with a smile that was hard to define,
Colonel Fazackerley went in to dine.

Guest Columnist : Takla

I thought I would display some articles that I liked in my blog. This one, written in some other blog by a friend of mine called Takla (It is not that he suffers from premature baldness and we make fun of him. It so happened that when we all first met him, he had just returned from Tirupati with a shiny scalp as blessings, and since we weren't very familiar with his name - Anantharaman is quite some name - the name Takla stuck. In fact, many students in our campus don't even know him by his real name. Sample this piece of conversation.

Someone : "Hey, do you know anything about the robotics event to be held ?"
Me : "Why don't you go and meet Anantharaman ?"
that Someone : "Who Anantharaman ?"
Me : "Arre, don't you know him ? 3rd year mech.. I think I saw you talking with him the other day."
that same Someone : "No.. who ?"
Me : "We all call him Takla ... well how do I describe him ?"
Someone : "Ohhh.. Takklllaa .. I thought that was his name... so his name is Anantharaman is it.. ?" )

Anyway, here's the piece.

"Ah! Home at last". This was the only thought that raced through my mind as the train hurtled past the final stations of the journey. I was only too aware of the fact that my mood was going to change drastically in the next few minutes. "Oh! Home at last?" was to be the updated version of my thoughts, and sadly it hasn't changed a bit over the past few days. My mother had arrived at the station. The conversation was quite normal till we arrived at the parking lot. Till then it had been quite harmless, seasoned with occasional remarks regarding changes in my anatomy over the past semester. It was only when we were comfortably seated in the car that she looked me in the eye, and asked THE QUESTION (Er.. you know what they are bound to ask the day after your exam ends). I quickly browsed through the gallery of my 'ready – to - wear expressions'. I couldn't find any of the latest 'fraudo' looks. So I decided to execute the backup, which was a part of the ' winter 2004 ' compassion show. It was of a pale hue, and made me look like a quarter quintal of cow dung. But it served the purpose and some temporary, well-earned mercy was shown. Phew! That was close. Unfortunately this was only the beginning. The toughest times were yet to come. They were those moments in the middle of some arbitrary conversations when I knew that if I were to utter just one more word, the outcome would be an hour's sermon on how to revamp my CGPA. I would have to spontaneously change the topic from, "The funniest professor on campus" to "Hey! That dog's pissing on our car!". The first time I was successfully caught off guard was over dinner yesterday night. I was explaining how beautiful our campus was, to my grand mom, and the freedom that we were given here. "Are also allowed outside at night?" "Oh! Yes we are!" was my prompt reply. "Then, do you roam around when it's dark?" Engulfed in a fit of machoism, I replied "Oh yes we do!"(With due apologies to manu and venky). That was enough for her to conclude that I missed the first lecture frequently, to which I pleaded guilty after a few minutes of desperate attempts at defending my cause. The outcome can be assumed by anyone who has read this far. Please pray for me guys, till the results arrive. Jai Yanthra Dharma!"

Airport Blues !

A few days back, I had taken a flight from Bombay. I was accompanied by a friend of mine, N, and while we were wandering about in the lobby, we met another friend of ours, A, who was basically from Ahmedabad, and who would be flying on the same flight as ours. This was not a coincidence really, because college was reopening the next day. Soon it was time to board, and we had to walk through the security check. I am very particular as to what I carry in my handbag - batteries, nail-cutters, pointed objects, matchboxes, anything that can be construed to be harmful. Those who travelled by air in the 15-20 months following 9/11 will remember the extreme precaution taken by most airlines.

Next in line was N. His first handbag, a backpack (Jansport if a remember aright), came through clean. There was apparently some problem with his second bag. The airline official asked N to open the bag so that he could sift through the contents. The main compartment did not reveal anything even remotely suspicious, much to the airline official's surprise. N was giving me looks like - "Phaltu mein tang karte hai... ". The guy then opened the side compartment. Out tumbled 1 plastic box, 1 plastic pouch and 2 deodorant tins. The plastic box contained, much to my disbelief, 2 long thin razor sharp cutters, 1 tester, a couple of screwdrivers, something that resembled a time-bomb - that too digital, lots of wires and an assortment of small electronic objects. (At this point, it is important to note that N was studying Electronics in our college !)

I blurted out, without thinking, grinning from ear-to-ear, "Dude, you can assemble an entire bomb here !". (A few years ago my dad had the chance to visit Turkey, and since at that time foreign good-quality deodorants weren't available in India, he purchased quite a few of them. Since many of them were quite expensive, he innocently kept them with him, in his handbag. At the security check, he was held aside. As many of you might be knowing, deodorant cans are inflammable. At that time my dad didn't know that. The Turkish officer wasn't very fluent in English. And my dad decided to play it safe by keeping a poker face throughout, as if he wasn't understanding anything. The officer couldn't fathom why somebody would want to carry so many deo cans in a flight, unless it was to blow them up midair. He tried asking my father the same. Blank face. Finally, the Turk took my dad into another room, took a lighter, held it alight in front of the deo can, and sprayed the deo through the flame. He then turned to my dad and said "See - fire !". My dad stilled maintained his poker face. The guy got exasperated, and let off my dad, as a hopeless case ! )

Anyway, the airline guy looked up at N with a look that said "?". N started explaining, ofcourse. Meanwhile, both me and A, or J- as we fondly call him, went a little ahead and laughed our heads off. Later, N joined us, looking very sheepish. It turns out that the thingamujjig was an ammeter-cum-voltmeter, and that N didn't know about the explosive nature of deo cans. Luckily for him, he got to keep the deos, the razors went straight into the dustbin, and the remaining kit was given to the steward for safekeeping for the length of the flight, with instructions to hand them over to N after the flight landed safely at the other end !

That, was one hilarious experience.

Feet larger than a Foot

I have something in common with Bipasha Basu and Esha Deol. All three of us have large feet. (We have something else in common too - we are all muscular !)

The size of my feet (thankfully it has stopped growing now) is 14. It had shot beyond 12 when I was in 8th itself. This has led to a series of unusual predicaments for me. Initially, when I was in school and brown leather shoes were compulsory, I had to make do, till I passed out of school, with a really old pair of shoes whose leather had stretched enough to fit me. However, I could not find a pair of sports shoes or sandals of my size in the whole of Bombay and Pune. As far as I know, as of now, footwear beyond size 12 isn't available in most places. It wasn't as if you couldn't get shoes at all - you did, but either they were of bad quality or they were custom-made and ugly !

There are only two advantages of having gargantuan sized feet. Firstly, the chances of your footwear getting stolen are very tiny. Who will want to steal my sandals - they are double the size of most sandals, and occupy an unbelievably large amount of space. Secondly, large feet provide free temporary air-conditioned sitting lounges.

A few years ago, me and my family had gone to Simla, and on our way, we stopped for a couple of days at Delhi. After seeing Lodhi gardens, India gate, the Lotus temple, etcetara, we had nothing else to do. So we decided to see the real Delhi. We went to Palika bazaar, Nerula's and just walked around Connaught place and Ring road. We were tired and just wanted to sit for sometime before making our way back to our hotel. Then, I came up with an economically viable solution ! So confidant was I of not getting footwear of my size, (after years of shoe-searching), that we went to the nearest shoes store, and asked for shoes of my size. Now, the shop keeper wasn't willing to admit immediately that he didn't have shoes of my size. (they always do that.. and we wanted to capitalize on that) So, they pretended to search for shoes, in the meantime trying to engage our interest in other things. Blah, blah, blah ... basically we got what we wanted - the comfort of a soft seat and an a/c. The rest is history ... !

README

There are different styles of writing blogs. After reading quite a few blogs, I think I can classify blogs.

1. Intimate Personal Diary blogs
2. General blogs with a mixture of personal thoughts, quoted articles and other stuff
3. Information blogs
4. Quiz blogs
5. I-think-I-am-the-next-Bertrand-Russell blogs

I hate the first and last kind of blogs. I sincerely hope mine doesn't fall under either category !

The Inauguration

Nowadays, I have started reading a few of the many blogs on the internet. After having read many-a-blog, I have come to the conlusion that besides being very entertaining, they are also very informative. I had started my own amateurish efforts at blogging about a year back. This was what I had said in my first post : "I thought that even i should have a blog of my own - blogger / blogspot is owned by Google - so it was an automatic choice ! Funny, my life revolves around Google. The start page for my browser is google.com. I use gmail for my mail, orkut for socializing, google-earth (extensively) for looking at maps and studying roads, gtalk sometimes, and now - blogger !"

However, I didn't quite like the name of the link to the blog. It was very unimaginative, I thought. So, I have found a better one. One that describes me a lot. I guess, people who know me, even those who have known me for only minutes maybe, will find this title quite apt !