dazed and confused

Now, a Movie Maker...

2007-12-16T12:10:00.000+05:30

Two movies which I submitted for the PFCOne competition.

THE DOOR

FISHES

Kids Nowadays

2007-11-21T22:41:00.000+05:30

Are too smart for their own good. There I was sitting, well, not peacefully, maybe a little pensive, inside the American Consulate in Chennai where I had gone to get my H1-B Visa. A little earlier, I had got drenched outside when it had rained for a bit. Then there had been a narrow escape at the prescreening on some technicality which I won’t try and explain. So there I was sitting and calming my nerves, trying to figure out what to do next.

He would have been not more than 5 years old. A dark chubby fellow with mischievous and intelligent eyes, he had trundled to the chair beside me.

“What’s your name?”

Against my better judgment, I replied honestly.

“Anand”

“What?”

“Anand”

“What kind of a stupid name is that?”

Pause. Now I was asking for it.

“What’s your name?”

“Bond”

“What?”

“James Bond”.

I am getting married next week, to the day in fact, to a girl called Meera. Those vaadiyars will be asking my name every alternate minute.

I am going to be tempted.

By the way, if you are reading this, and I haven’t yet invited you, you are invited now.

Which means you can congratulate me.

My First Screenplay

2007-09-10T11:54:00.000+05:30

I wrote ‘The End’ on it a couple of days back and heaved a huge sigh of relief. I couldn’t write the last few pages fast enough. I mean, writing an action sequence is no fun, in my opinion. But I am getting ahead of myself. Let me start from the beginning, flashback and all that you know- Imagine the page dissolving right in front of your eyes…

There I was, in one of the small bookstores in Banjara Hills out here in Hyderabad when I chanced upon the book titled ‘The Screen-writer’s Workbook’ by Syd Field. Now, I am your regular cinema junkie who can only dream about an alternate career in cinemascope while his immediate reality is dealing with day-to-day issues in his 2 to 10 IT job (9 to 5 in UK). But here was a chance. I don’t know why it hadn’t occurred to me earlier. I mean, instead of procrastinating against my family who nudged me into a mainstream Engg+MBA rather than a liberal arts education, I could have so easily done this so much sooner. Looking at the scripts that Bollywood churns out as regularly as Ajit Agarkar does length balls which go for a six, I didn’t think I could do much worse. By the time I reached home I was already visualizing a couple of scenes and licking my lips.

The book is an interesting read by itself, even if one is not trying to write a screenplay. It’s a step by step procedure and about how even a novice like me can take a good shot at writing a screenplay. Each chapter ends with an exercise which I think if faithfully done does help a lot. Anyway, I read the whole book (200 pages of it) in a couple of sittings and then sat down to actually ‘do it’.

The first thing which the author asks you to do seems pretty simple. Condense the story into three or four sentences focusing on the subject, action and character. I did that except that what I wrote seemed pretty lame. Lets move on now, next chapter.

Next couple of chapters focused on the structure and what Syd Field calls the ‘Paradigm’. He is really big on that word and keeps harping on it time and again. Essentially he asks you to split your story into three acts and two plot points. This was a very useful exercise as it helps you to keep track and not lose your way when you get into the meaty part of actually writing the damn stuff. ‘When you are in the in the paradigm, you can’t see the paradigm.’

Four pages- that’s the next chapter. Write the story in four pages. This took some time. It turned out that I was really clear about Act 1 and Plot point 1 in my head but was pretty vague about the rest. It took some effort, but I managed it. Though now I was already beginning to see why this was not going to be the cakewalk that I had initially imagined this to be.

The next three chapters talk about creating characters and you end up writing character biographies for your main characters up to the point their role begins in the movie. I wrote the biographies for the three main characters in my story. This took close to a week or even more I think and I ended up with about 15 pages of their collective life stories till the time my story begins. I didn’t really understand why I had to write about the character’s parents when they didn’t even figure in the main story but I was going with blind faith. By the time I finished those biographies, I was starting to ‘live’ with those characters in my head and later whenever I seemed to get stuck with my writing, they did all the writing for me.

That’s Part 1 of the book called Introduction, by the way. Now we move into Part 2, called Execution.

Sorry, this has already become a longer write-up than I imagined it would be, somewhat like my Act 1, so I think I will stop here. Anyway, it’s not important. What is important is that 45 days and 122 pages later, I have finished the first draft. It’s been a wonderful adventure and an extremely satisfying one. A couple of friends have told me that I am completely wasting my time but I disagree. Writing is its own reward. I am never gonna be a rockstar but it’s not going to stop me from strumming my acoustic guitar, I tell them. Same difference.

The last couple of chapters of the book deal with the rewrites. But I can no longer bear to even give a complete reading to my screenplay anymore. I don’t know why it’s like that at all. I am completely sapped of all energy; almost as if I regret that the whole project has almost ended. Not sure what the future holds for this story of mine, will it ever see the light of day or will it for ever be confined within the depths of my hard disk?

Hey, but I will always have Dazed and Confused.

Offshored

2007-07-14T11:13:00.000+05:30

I wrote this post a few months back and somehow managed to forget all about it.

T was leaving his company where he had worked for the past 10 years.

We had taken away his job.

That is, my company, not moi per se. His job was the last one to be off shored to a techie now sitting in Hyderabad. For the past six months, my team and I had worked closely with him on all aspects of support and development of the IT systems that he was a crucial part of.

I understand a little better now, the expression ‘a stiff upper lip’ that the British are famous for. I had anticipated a certain degree of hostility when I, along with my team, first landed up in their office in Bristol on a cold Monday morning in December. Fortunately, we found T and others to be courteous and cooperative, which was frankly more than we had expected. I had been forewarned from at least a couple of people back home who had executed similar transition projects in the US that it might not be a pleasant experience.

Actually, pleasant, it was not. But we were pleasantly surprised with what we got, so I guess I’ll go with pleasant as the adjective. They were polite, courteous and cooperative, yes, but friendly, no. I found that out pretty early as T and others politely declined our offers to join us during our coffee breaks. They never invited us as well and we let it go at that. The rules of engagement were well defined and we worked satisfactorily, if not happily, within those. A few months later, I had a feeling that if a similar offer were renewed, it would not be declined, but I did not take the trouble to find out.

We have superior techno-functional skills. When it became apparent, I saw first disbelief, irritation, consternation and finally grudging respect as we delivered better service levels consistently. But our delivery would not have been possible without his help and cooperation for which I am grateful. I like to think that in the last few months we helped him to improve his skills as well. We involved him in the enhancements that we performed on the applications and he thus broadened his technical skill sets. On the last day, he asked me for a configuration document that I had prepared. I knew he would probably pass it off as his own in his future job applications. But I didn’t have to think twice before I sent it across. He sent back some code he had written which he said were some special shortcuts to specific problems we might face in future.

We were even.

On his last evening, he invited me for some drinks along with the couple of managers whose jobs were safe and a couple of others who had already left the company, their jobs already off shored. I knew by then that T was a kind of a beer connoisseur and he took all of us to three pubs where he declared one could find quality authentic English bitters. All three were small, old taverns with a great old worldly ambience. I enjoyed the beers too; they were quite different from the usual lagers that I would usually choose. As for the conversation, it was jovial and spirited. I asked T what his most memorable day was working with the company.

“Today!” he said and asked for another pint.

All of us trooped over, a little drunk, to an Indian restaurant for a ‘Curry’ dinner. I answered the usual questions about India. They all seemed to be a little surprised that I was a bit eager to go back home in a few months time.

T doesn’t have a job yet. He mentioned that he will take the opportunity to get his garden in shape before searching for his next vocation.

I wish him well.

Behind the Blogging Vacuum

2007-07-03T04:17:00.000+05:30

It’s 4.01 AM on my computer toolbar and I have been unsuccessfully trying to convince sleep for the past two hours, shifting and rolling uncomfortably on another strange bed. I don’t know if it’s the jet lag or whether it’s the indulgently long afternoon nap which is to blame.

I am back in Chennai by the way, taking a short holiday at home before resuming work in Hyderabad. Bristol already seems like a distant memory in a different world, if not a different life. It will all come back, am sure when I open my official email a few days from now, cluttered with users asking for this and that.

The blog has been neglected recently, I am aware of that. For a long time -it’s almost 18 months since I started- I blogged in a routine, trying to put up at least a post a week. I was trying to put my life in order again, trying to chop it off into smaller manageable bits over which I had control. Somewhere along the way, I thought the answers lay within me and the more I put out, the better I would be able to make sense of what was happening around and inside me. The blog’s not a hideout. It’s public knowledge, even my mom knows about it now. But it has my secrets in it; I like to think, hidden behind ordinary phrases and inconsequential incidents.

And slowly and steadily, it has happened, this change, without my noticing it. I have been looking outward a little more now, reading, listening and thinking of things which no longer involve me. To the extent that writing about stuff which concerns me seems quite, you know, pathetic almost. I lack the confidence and really the false assurance required to write about topics which I am only beginning to discover for myself and so I find myself in a limbo, between disinterest at one end and lack of confidence at the other resulting in a blogging vacuum.

Anyway, it’s time to set up routines again. Soon, a new address in Hyderabad, a new flat mate, a still new relationship (?) a search for a new job maybe, who knows.

Things are changing again. But this time, the answers will be easier to find.

For the tiger...

2007-06-10T06:37:00.000+05:30

Hope on to this link below and do what you can...

http://save-tiger.blogspot.com/

The Case of the Incidental Rat

2007-06-10T06:26:00.000+05:30

Like any other weekday, I came in by around 7 PM, changed and logged on. I checked out my usual websites, fiddled around with my guitar till I couldn’t ignore the rumblings in my stomach any longer. Of course, to cook you need clean dishes and so I proceeded with the ones in the basin and switched on to the news channels in the telly. You ignore Paris Hilton at your own risk.

Soon after, when I was eating and trying to figure out why my sambhar tasted sweet, I suddenly saw the rat. I had heard some noises before in its general direction but had learnt to ignore such sounds. A lot of wood is used in the construction here which is not really conducive to sound proofing and odd noises from neighbor’s filters through often. But this wasn’t a neighbor I was looking at eight feet away from me. This was a huge rat which had made its way from my bathroom into my living room and was now considering future course of action.

I acted first. I closed my mouth which was agape with a mixture of astonishment, confusion and puzzlement, put my spoon filled with my sweet sambhar rice back on the plate and blinked. Fortunately, before I could put my feet up on the couch and say ‘uhudhfgu’, the creature decided that it had had enough of a foreign realm and retreated back into the darkness of the bathroom.

I think that I pride myself on being prepared for any eventuality. For example, I know that if I were mugged, it will take me only 2.4 seconds to take off my wallet, watch, mobile and ring in one smooth movement. Or for that matter, not to use a deodorant when I am journeying in the forest so that I don’t have to lie down and play dead when I encounter a bear. But this, I wasn’t prepared for. It’s not that I hadn’t encountered a rodent in my house before. I remember a small mouse looking trapped, trapped as it was in a mousetrap when I was six. I remember mom not being very keen about me adopting it as a pet. And for good measure, it was decided that the mouse should be released to terrorize other families in a colony a few miles from my house, so that it couldn’t find it’s way back. There was nothing I could do except give it some company before I saw it disappear for ever from my life.

Then of course, was the unforgettable experience at the Rat temple, I think, somewhere in Bikaner, Rajasthan, where the whole place is infested with the lot of them. If ever there was a Rat Heaven that would be it. Being a temple, you couldn’t wear your shoes in the place (a logic somewhat lost on me as the place couldn’t have been more disease prone than already) and I remember me and my college friends tying plastic paper bags around our legs with rubber bands before venturing in.

Cut to the present though and it was pretty clear to me quite immediately that my past experiences were not going to teach me anything of any significance on how to deal with the current predicament. Anyway, self defense and fortification being my first thought, I immediately closed the door between the bathroom and the living room and considered the gap between the floor and the door. It didn’t look very big but a determined rat could squeeze through, was what my grey cells were telling me. As I considered further moves to safeguard myself, I unwisely decided to calm my nerves by drinking gallons of water. Soon enough, I had to take a leak. It is amazing how a man can gather his courage where taking a leak is concerned. Armed with a broom, I gingerly made my way into enemy territory and placed my ass on the usual place. Those twenty seconds when I was at my most vulnerable passed away uneventfully even though I had morbid thoughts about what happened to Saif Ali Khan’s character in ‘Ek Hasina Thi’.

Further investigation of the bathroom revealed no presence of the rodent any longer. Wherever it had come from, it had gone back and hopefully was at peace with itself. There were a couple of crevices in the bathroom which seemed to lead into some dark depths but never for a moment did I consider making a closer investigation. The next day, when I encountered this experience to my unflappable letting agent, he did express some sympathy.

“It’s rare for them to show up at a first floor flat. Let me know if it shows up again, otherwise we will just forget it as an isolated incident.”

I told him that I was having visions of rats partying away in my house while I was away at work but he just nodded and attended to another customer. But, to his credit, I must say that he might have been right. I haven’t seen any more signs of the rat two weeks hence and have stopped carrying a broom with me every time I want to pee.

Wait a minute, what was that sound now?

‘Upper Castes’ should Convert to Buddhism

2007-06-03T05:04:00.000+05:30

So by now, 30 people have died in that needless violence which has followed the Gujjar’s demand to be given the ST status. Is it just me or do you think as well that today’s India is being torn apart by the overwhelming presence of the caste system and its dynamics now then ever before in our coherent lifetimes?

As much as many of us are impatient to embrace the India which is growing at 9 plus percent, we cannot ignore the fact that there are weighty questions to resolve. And only when the questions affecting the multitude of masses which are out of our vision and earshot are answered, that we can hope our country to have a future we want for it.

A few days earlier, I had read news articles about one lakh people converting to Buddhism in Mumbai. One lakh! Most people who were part of the mass conversion were nomadic tribals and Dalits.

What a contrast! At one end you have a set of people who want to be given the ST status and are willing to hold a state to ransom to achieve that end. And then you have a whole bunch of people (One lakh, remember) who one would think are mostly ‘STs’ wanting to escape the clutches of a religion which they believe can do them no good.

Dalits and lower castes converting to Buddhism has stopped being a big story unless the numbers are big enough. The reason is that most mass conversions are perceived as being less of a matter of choice and more of an easy escape route from a desperate existence. A sort of a short cut, perhaps. There is nothing noble in that. Let’s go to Page Three.

So I think its time for us so called ‘upper caste’ intelligentsia to step up and do something for a change rather than expend our arm chair expertise on the ills of our country.

Give up our ‘Upper Caste’ status, Convert to Buddhism, what say?

Why, you ask? If you are from an ‘upper caste’, give me reasons why you should be proud of that fact which are of any relevance in today’s age.

If you say that you couldn’t care less about being an ‘upper caste’ but also see no reason to take the trouble of doing something as obscure as a conversion of faith then I give you a couple of reasons. They are full of noble-idealistic bullshit.

-You will express your solidarity with the lowest of the low in our caste system.
-It will be a slap on the face to all those people who are earning their living by cutting up our country on the basis of caste.

But why Buddhism?

Now that’s a good question. Well, there’s no point in joining the Gujjar’s and clamor for an ST status for yourselves as well, even though your reasons (mentioned above) maybe noble and all that. Nobody will believe you or take you seriously.

There are other options as well. There’s the ‘Arya Samaj’ organization which is the watered down version of Hinduism without all of its caste trappings, idolatry etc. I will leave it to you to explore them if you want to. But Buddhism has a clear modern history as a vehicle to deliver the lower castes from their unwanted religion. It is a natural choice if you want to join hands.

Of course, you should know what Buddhism’s all about and only take the plunge if you are convinced. Here’s a link. Click.

Am I convinced? Am I going to convert? I don’t know. I know, it’s very unlike me to take the trouble and do something about anything. Maybe I’ll just forget pretty soon how I am feeling right now and go back to eating my curd rice and worrying about my career.

Or maybe I’ll just dwell on it for some time (I’m sure the Buddha would have liked that)

Movies

2007-05-20T23:37:00.000+05:30

I watched the three movies which make up the Apu Trilogy over the weekend. Initially, I was a little apprehensive if I was ready yet for Ray’s movies. Though I have been watching a lot art cinema over the past year or two (and enjoying most of them), I was not sure if my taste in cinema had reached a level where I would be able to appreciate Ray’s oeuvre.

Thankfully, that was not the case. Pather Panchali took my breath away in the first few scenes itself and Apur Sansar could match any movie for its emotional roller coaster ride. And you cannot help but cheer Apu on in Aparajito as he leaves his drab existence behind to find a new one in the city. My only regret was that I didn’t know Bengali enough to appreciate the nuances in the dialogue more. Subtitles can only do so much. Fortunately, Ray almost always conveys more through his style, music, and motifs than just through the dialogues in his movies. I remember reading in his book ‘Speaking of Films’, which is a collection of essays from the great man that he considered the use of dialogue to convey emotion only as a last resort.

My understanding of art cinema or any good director’s movie has been greatly helped by the resources which are part of the special features contained in the DVD. In this DVD for instance, there are interviews that Ray gave to the BBC on the movies in question. On Apur Sansar there is also a wonderful discussion of the movie between Mamoun Hassan and six students of the Film and Television Institute of UK. It is only when one sees that that one realizes that there are so many nuances in the movie which has escaped one’s eye. For example, what was the need for the pre title scene in Apur Sansar? Why particular scenes are shot the way they are- the wedding night scene, of Apu in his room, of the mad groom in his palanquin? In as much as the tragedy in the movie is supposed to come as a shock to us, does Ray leave hints for the discerning viewer to anticipate what is going to happen?

In some contemporary excellent movies, it is a privilege to hear the director’s scene by scene commentary. One gets an opportunity to look from the director’s point of view and get that additional extra insight into the finer points of the film. I thoroughly enjoyed the commentary in some movies like, ‘The Whale Rider’ by Niki Caro, and Michel Gondry’s ‘Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind’. I haven’t yet seen a similar feature in the DVD’s of Hindi movies yet. One movie which I would really like to pick the brains of the director would be ‘Eklavya’, which is easily my favorite Hindi movie of the year yet. There are so many shots in the movie which I would like to know why they were shot the way they were because there is so much which the movie conveys at so many levels.

Bristol has been good for me in a couple of ways. I have been able to expose myself to a whole lot of wonderful World Cinema thanks to the DVD collection at the Central Library and also given myself quite a bit of time to hone my guitar skills. There’s still some way to go yet on either vocation and I might not get enough time when I get back home which I shall, hopefully, in July. But I have never yet worried about reaching the end on anything now, have I?

Class Act

2007-05-01T03:26:00.000+05:30

I have been hanging around YouTube a lot nowadays. There’s a lot of amazing stuff on that site that I have come across. I had read about Sanjaya Malakar and his tryst at the American Idol show and just clicked on a link which fortuitously came my way. Apparently, apart from a couple of songs, the kid’s performance (he is 17) on the show was quite below par when compared to the other contestants.

But inexplicably, he was a hit in the US and wasn’t getting voted off.

Now this seemed to puzzle a whole lot of people in that country. I don’t think this would have been a surprise to us in India. I mean aren’t our Indian Idol and such shows infamous for partisan voting from the contestant’s states? As contestant after contestant kept getting voted out of the hit show, the jokes on Malakar kept getting louder and louder in all the talk shows across America. The judges kept getting nastier and nastier, letting him know in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t good enough to continue in the competition on the strength of his talent.

Throughout the whole tamasha, he kept smiling.

He made it a habit of appearing with a different hairdo every week. One of them, called the Ponyhawk, raised quite a stir. He became the first contestant to sing in Spanish, and even managed to make a 11 year old girl cry at one of his performances.

The jeers kept getting louder.

On YouTube, one female got quite a bit of publicity when she announced a hunger strike till Sanajaya was voted off the show. At least one video response mentioned that she could do with losing some weight. Websites professing to be a meeting place of Sanjaya Haters came up asking people not to vote for the guy. People who hated the show in the first place exhorted people to vote for Sanjaya as they proclaimed that the show would thus lose all credibility of claiming to throw up genuine singing talent. One of the judges, the famously nasty Simon Cowell declared that he would leave the show if Sanjaya became the American Idol.

Sanjaya was finally voted off the show on the Top Six episode. On his last day on the show, he sang ‘Let’s give them something to talk about- other than hair’. But that’s not the point.

All of us love a few things. Unfortunately, we can never be really good at it, leave alone the best. So we either forget about them or if we are lucky, nurture them in secret. We cloak our passions in the veneer of mediocrity in everyday life and hope that we won’t be discovered for the hopeless romantics that we are. Very few of us have the guts to embrace those things, in the full knowledge that we will be berated, humiliated and eventually defeated. And only a special few can make this arduous journey keeping one’s dignity intact as people all around you are losing theirs. It requires a philosophical and fearless attitude, a hallmark of people, one of whom was referred by Jay Leno as ‘A Real Class Act’.

Ships

2007-04-22T20:56:00.000+05:30

The weather’s heavenly nowadays. Sunny skies, a cool breeze and a temperature which hovers benignly between 18 to 20 degrees. It’s almost a crime not to head out on a Saturday and enjoy the day. P complained of a slight indisposition but changed his mind after a while.

The SS Great Britain had been awarded the museum of the year in UK for the year 2006. It’s actually just a very old ship, built in the year 1843 and is known as the world’s first great ocean liner. It transported around 700 people on each trip, across the Atlantic, to Australia as thousands went to start their lives in that new continent then and also to Asia and India. It was also involved in the Crimean War and the 1857 Indian war of independence as it transported troops. The sea routes at that time were very pretty long and treacherous. One had to round off the choppy waters of the Cape of Good Hope to get to India and Australia and Cape Horn to get to San Francisco. Suez and Panama canals were still to arrive. In 1861 she carried the first ever English cricket team to tour Australia. After she was no longer suitable as a passenger ship, she transported coal and wheat between Europe and the Americas. She ran aground in the Falkland Islands at end of the 19th century where she was abandoned till the 1960s when a massive restoration exercise was undertaken in light of her historic importance to bring her back to the Bristol Dockyard where she was born.

The walk along the dockyard was quite pleasant as we watched the boats lined up all the way on the banks and a team of girls who were rowing away in a canoe. I was suddenly reminded of a visit that I had made to see the INS Viraat in Cochin, where I was working then, almost four years ago. A friend of mine had a contact among the crew and he showed us around the massive aircraft carrier with some pride. I remember it was dusk then, when I was standing alone on the airstrip on that ship looking out into that Arabian Sea of nothingness, rapidly descending into darkness. Those were my last few days in Cochin and I would miss the beautiful state soon. It was a serene moment, with the waves timidly lapping the huge monster of a ship, a few raucous crows overhead and the last glimpses of the orange sun setting on the western horizon. My mind was preoccupied with other thoughts and plans that year. Life has changed a bit since then.

I took quite a few photographs on the Great Britain, on her deck, dining rooms, living quarters and the old boilers and engines. We both thought that the bunk beds on the ship seemed to be too small for a comfortable lie down. P mentioned that the toilet facilities even a hundred years ago were quite up to date. I told him that those facilities were meant for us tourists and did not exist a hundred years ago. Thankfully he had not entered the ladies washroom in his enthusiasm. We had some coffee and doughnuts in a café nearby and took a ferry back to the city center.

Back home, I cooked some Veg Pulao . Didn’t come out too badly considering it was a first attempt. Also watched a French movie called Nelly and Mr. Arnaud, a film by Claude Sauter.

Good timepass.

London Day Trip

2007-04-15T18:45:00.000+05:30

Last Saturday, Prasad and I undertook another day trip to London, my second, his fifth. This time we booked ourselves a return coach trip instead of the train to save ourselves a few bucks. I surprised myself by getting up at the right time (In fact I even had time to change the playlist in my mp3 players with some recent songs that I had downloaded) and we found ourselves at the bus stop well before time. The journey was a little more than two hours and was quite comfortable.

It was a beautiful day. Actually, I must mention that the summer has now well and truly arrived with the temperature hovering around the 20s most of the time. Anyway, we had to get to Madame Tussaud’s which was first on our agenda. We hadn’t booked our tickets as Prasad in his infinite wisdom from his previous visits to his city had concluded that if we queued up before 10 AM we wouldn’t have to wait long. Unfortunately, it was the Easter weekend and we ended up standing (and sometimes sitting) in the queue along with many other tourists, mostly European, for well over two and a half hours. Reminds me of Tirupati, I told Prasad. He told me how their family gets a special treatment at Tirupati because they know somebody there. Doesn’t everybody?

Finally, we did get in. The place was jam packed. I didn’t like it immediately. The whole idea of the place is that people can act funny with life like mannequins of well known people and take photographs. Prasad hugged Jennifer Aniston while I tried to get intimate with Nicole Kidman. But she was quite a stiff (sic). Shahrukh Khan, who was a recent addition, occupied a pride of place and we rubbed our shoulders with him. Prasad became really excited on seeing Aishwarya Rai in a traditional saree and made his way torpedo-like towards her. But when I was about to click a momentous photo which would have been in his family’s photo album for generations, the battery ran out. Prasad was quite inconsolable. I was actually quite worried for him when he emitted a long sigh on seeing Princess Diana.

But the truly enjoyable part of the visit was the ‘Chamber of Horrors’. This is the section of the tour where they have images from the French Revolution, graphic description of various methods of torture and dismemberment. The live tour takes the cake where in a dimly lit scary section with appropriate sound effects are live actors dressed up as scary ghosts and corpses etc. who tend to give you quite a scare when you least expect it. An elderly couple in front of us refused to complete the tour by themselves and asked us to shepherd them out, me in front and Prasad behind them. It was quite a thrill and I had a blast. The rest of the tour was quite uneventful by comparison.

After lunch, our next stop was at the Sherlock Holmes museum at Bakers Street. I had read all the short stories and novels by Sir Arthur Conon Doyle by the time I was a 15, and the museum and all its artifacts took me back to those memories. It could have been a much better organized tour than it was though, and people who haven’t read Doyle wouldn’t find it engaging.

We then went on to take a leisurely walk in the Regents Park. It’s quite a huge park and we almost lost our way trying to get back to where we started from. Our next stop was at Eastham, which is like little south India. Prasad wanted to go to a temple there where he went round and round the place and did about 30 namaskarams. I took the opportunity to rest my feet and sat down on the cool floor. Our next stop of the day, was the most important and anticipated one, Saravana Bhavan. I had Sambhar Vada and Masala Dosa while Prasad hogged some Idlis and Uthhapam. Topped it off with some filter coffee, of course. Next stop was at a shop selling pirated CDs of South Indian movies. Prasad is multilingual (he speaks all the four Dravidian languages) and he picked up a few CDs that I hadn’t heard of or even knew what the titles meant. I picked up Veyil, a Tamil movie which I had heard was invited to screen at the Cannes film festival.

We were getting late and hurrying back when Prasad remembered that he had to buy jaggery to put in the sambhar that he cooks at home. That took a few more minutes and consequently, we were looking at out watches every two minutes after that to see if we would make it back in time. We didn’t. The bus left just in front of my eyes (the drivers here don’t wait for late passengers) and I informed Prasad of the same as he came huffing and puffing to the coach station a couple of minutes behind me. Luckily, places were available on the next coach a half hour later and for a rescheduling fee, we were on it on our way back home to Bristol.

I was home by midnight and watched Veyil. It’s a very good movie. Watch it if you know the language or are able to get your hands on a version with subtitles.

The Namesake- Movie Review

2007-04-03T00:33:00.000+05:30

I loved The Namesake. I haven’t read the book yet but hope to read it someday soon. Tabu and Irrfan Khan are superb and Kal Penn (Kalpen Modi), of Harold and Kumar go to Whitecastle fame does a reasonable job. But in the end it’s a director’s movie and Mira Nair has just bettered her effort from Monsoon Wedding. I can’t believe that the same person made the trashy Kamasutra movie. I can’t be too critical of it though. If I were 19, I would probably still bunk classes to watch that movie. I haven’t watched her other acclaimed movies though, neither Salaam Bombay nor Missisippi Masala (make mental note).

The risk with English movies having Indian characters is the language. In a movie which obviously wants to portray real people, how does the filmmaker balance the language necessities along with realism? In this movie Mira Nair just about gets it right, mingling Bengali with English now and then, though I wished there was a little more sprinkling of the native language in the communications between Ashoke and Ashima, Irrfan and Tabu’s characters in the movie.

The movie is beautifully shot, especially in Calcutta as the director’s camera caresses the hustle and bustle of the vibrant city capturing its myriad details as those who have lived in the city can identify with. The totem of bridges is consistently seen throughout the movie drawing a parallel with the lives that the characters lead across the continents. The pace of the movie is set early and one settles in quickly to view a story unfold unhurriedly across cities and generations.

Irrfan is brilliant as the caring husband and the uncommunicative but clearly doting father. He does the difficult job of conveying his character to the audience through minimum lines at his disposal with aplomb and the right measure of gravitas. But while Ashoke remains true from beginning to end, it’s Tabu who has to depict Ashima’s travels from a spunky girl to an eager-to-please wife, to a frustrated and irritable mother and finally, a widow who moves on and finds life on her own. This, she does, and how. Kal Penn is funny and cool as the rebellious teenager and understandable as the young man who tries to ‘fit in’ (which he does successfully) to the adopted country of his parents. Though he acquits himself well, you kind of feel that he doesn’t have the range which his role demanded and the movie slacks (just a bit) because of this. The other actors do their parts without messing anything up.

The score by DJ Nithin (I think) is a pleasing blend of the east and west and accentuates the mood and pace of the movie. Almost every scene in the movie is a treat but here’s the trailer along with this memorable scene for you.

Go see it!

A Visit to the Bristol Zoo

2007-04-03T00:31:00.000+05:30

On Saturday, Prasad and myself decided to heave ourselves out of the rut of laziness that we inevitable descend into on weekends and do something to blog about (in my case). We were an hour late (thanks to me) but time is an inexpensive commodity on weekends and is dispensed generally with disdain. Prasad kept me entertained on the way with the story of how a group of five including him had made an earlier attempt at the zoo but had changed their minds at the ticket counter on the mention of a 11 pound entry fee. No such mishaps this time around and we were in.

Chandra and Moti were a couple of Asiatic lions who immediately had me busy with the camera. Unfortunately, I being a dummy with a camera, a lot of images came out blurred, but a few were alright. There was also a very friendly bird with a red beak which had me quite captivated. People kept offering their fingers to RedBeak and he happily kept pecking at them. There were also a couple of huge turtles who actually moved. I think I resemble a turtle in many ways, laboring away, one step at a time, living a long life. Prasad says turtle shells can take the weight of an elephant and live to tell the tale.

There were other interesting creatures as well, fishes, flamingos, a gorilla family, a whole lot of kids and their parents, an odd couple here and there. Overall the whole experience, though not mind-blowing, did leave me feeling that everything was organized a lot more professionally than the zoos that I have seen back home.

World Cup Tragedy

2007-03-19T02:57:00.000+05:30

I was going to write a post regarding my reminiscences of the past world cups but then I happened to read about the violence at Nandigram. I am quite ashamed to admit that I came across the story only four days post the tragedy, lost as it was in the cacophony surrounding the World Cup. As I read report after report of the event, I am filled with anguish about the needless loss of lives. Now the whole thing has degenerated into political one-upmanship with L K Advani reportedly comparing the incident to the 1919 Jallianwala Bagh massacre. The only silver lining seems to be the progress that the CBI seems to have made in the case. Hopefully a semblance of justice and normality will be restored to the situation.

This also seems to be a big blow to any market reform initiatives in West Bengal, a state which has been under the long shadow of trade unionism for decades under the Jyoti Basu rule. Buddhadeb seemed to be the new hope and the man who many believed would steer the state into a future which it richly deserved. Now the Nandigram debacle will definitely ring loud and long for many state governments who would give a second thought before they promise land to private investors through the controversial SEZs. Already we see the Jharkhand government adopting a more cautious approach. Kamal Nath is right when he says that Nandigram should not be the reason why an investment policy should be debunked. Obviously the fault lies in the execution and not necessarily the policy itself (but that’s another debate).

There are learnings for India here as it rushes forward to meet its golden inevitable future. Unfortunately, the road is long and hard if our growth has to be inclusive, as it must be. I don’t mind, as long as it’s not littered with blood.

The Killers- Read my mind

2007-03-15T03:39:00.000+05:30

Came across this song online. You can view the video here (Some people think the lead vocalist resembles Freddie Mercury a bit). And if you don’t want to listen to my pathetic version on my guitar, you shouldn’t click here.

On the corner of main street
Just tryin' to keep it in line
You say you wanna move on and
You say I'm falling behind

Can you read my mind?
Can you read my mind?

I never really gave up on
Breakin' out of this two-star town
I got the green light
I got a little fight
I'm gonna turn this thing around

Can you read my mind?
Can you read my mind?

The good old days, the honest man;
The restless heart, the Promised Land
A subtle kiss that no one sees;
A broken wrist and a big trapeze
Oh well I don't mind, if you don't mind
Coz I don't shine if you don't shine
Before you go, can you read my mind?

It’s funny how you just break down
Waitin' on some sign
pull up to the front of your driveway
With magic soakin' my spine

Can you read my mind?
Can you read my mind?

The teenage queen, the loaded gun;
The drop dead dream, the Chosen One
A southern drawl, a world unseen;
A city wall and a trampoline
Oh well I don't mind, if you don't mind
Coz I don't shine if you don't shine
Before you jump
Tell me what you find when you read my mind

Slippin’ in my faith until I fall
He never returned that call
Woman, open the door, don't let it sting
I wanna breathe that fire again
She saidI don't mind, if you don't mind
Coz I don't shine if you don't shine
Put your back on me
Put your back on me
Put your back on me

The stars are blazing like rebel diamonds cut out of the sun
When you read my mind

When the going gets tough...

2007-03-04T06:31:00.000+05:30

A friend of mine told me a bit of his story today. His dad lost almost all his wealth and spirit in an ill-fated venture into a restaurant business in the eighties while he was in school.

“I have been paying my own way since high school.”

He learnt typing and screen printing while he was in school.

“I worked four years as a night receptionist in a lodge in Bangalore while doing my engineering.”

He used to get up every day at 6 AM, catch the bus out to his college 29 kms. away. Come back at 4, sleep till 10 and work as a receptionist till 5 before it was time for a brand new day.

“Yeah, Sundays were off till the third year when we had to stay back for lab on Tuesdays.”

He earned extra money making ID cards for 3000 students of his engineering college students and staff. He charged Rs. 4 per card while it cost him 28 paise.

“It was good money”, he smiled.

Both of us are not the type who would naturally gravitate towards each as we have nothing in common. But in a foreign country one grabs whoever one gets, I guess. Just a couple of nights back I found myself opening up to another temporary but convenient ear and say things I haven’t told many.

Tough times teach us a lot and mould us in more ways than we realize. Keep them coming.

Food and Attention

2007-02-24T20:01:00.000+05:30

I am neither finicky about food nor enthusiastic about cooking. I think if the world invented tablets to keep one healthy and hunger away, I wouldn’t mind spending money on such tablets. But till that time, I need to find ways and means to solve the problem.

Breakfast is managed easily enough as long as I don’t sleep late which happens once in a while. Toast, apples, juice, coffee, butter, jam- that I can handle. Dinner is taken care of thanks to ready-to-eat dishes. MTR, Kitchens of India, are life savers along with frozen chapathis. Mention also must be made of electric rice cookers

Which leaves lunch. My Indian colleagues cook and bring their own lunch. I visited a Subway. And since I am not so finicky about what I eat, I used to order the same menu item on a daily basis. It got to a point that if there was an award for a customer speaking the least words while ordering food inside a Subway, I would have won it hands down and mouth shut.

A recent conversation-

Subway Guy- Hey, alright? 6 inch veggie patty, right?
Me: Nod
Veggie patty goes into the oven.

Subway Guy- Italian Bread? Cheese and Toasted, yeah?
Me: Nod
Italian Bread with Cheese goes into oven. Move in front of Subway Girl1 who takes out my patty and bread from the oven.

Subway Girl1- Lettuce, onions, cucumber and jalapenos for the salad, right?
Me: Nod
Subway Girl1- And ketchup for the sauce?
Me: Nod

My sandwich gets packed and I move parallel to it till I reach the cash counter in front of Subway Girl2 who has a packet of ready salted crisps ready for me along with the sandwich.

Subway Girl2: 3.44 please, and you are eating here, right? (She doesn’t have to give me a bag meant for a takeaway)
Me: Yes, Thanks.

Now you may think this is all great but it’s actually very uncomfortable for me. Coz, though I am not finicky about food, I am finicky about attention. And I hate it when people know more about me then I do about them. I was seriously considering ordering a Sweet Onion Chicken Teriyaki the next time but I did what I usually do in such situations. I quit.

I started frequenting a small Indian place offering a very average fare at completely-not-worth-it rates. And though I tried my best to disguise my voice each day and even shaved alternate days to remain incognito, I was found out. Before long, the proprietor wanted to discuss the weather with me and also tell me the recipes of the dishes which went into the Veg Meal that I ordered every day. Didn’t he realize that I obviously couldn’t care less?
And this did it-

Indian Restaurant Guy- Don’t you have Indian friends at your office?
Me: Yes (What does he want now? Can’t you just take the money?)
IRG- Why don’t you get them along with you sometime?
Me: They bring their own food.
IRG- Aaah!! They have their own taste. (Suddenly getting excited) But this is home food, isn’t it?! You come here every day!!
Me: Yeah, but I can’t cook.

That shut him up. Anyways, I quit again. Now I frequent an Italian place. But this time I am ahead of the game. I alternate my orders between a Veg Pizza and a Veg Pasta Bake (with cheese, peppers and white wine) and it seems to be working. Though yesterday, the proprietor did smile and look at me strangely.

But I am not worried. I am planning to get a haircut over the weekend.

Snow and Global Warming

2007-02-11T18:54:00.000+05:30

I saw my first snowfall last week.

February is the coldest month around here unlike in India where this month signals the end of the mild winter. (As an aside, I don’t think that after this I would ever be impressed by the usual Indian winter, unless am near the Himalayas for some reason.) It doesn’t snow much in Bristol but nevertheless, snow was forecast early one morning. My friends got up early, I mean really early, went out and took photos. I am not built like that. But when I got up, I did see snow flakes raining down out of my window. By the time I was out on my way to office however, it was all over.

On another day, it started snowing during the day when I was in office. Myself, Prasad and Peter gathered at the window and took in the scene.

Prasad- “It’s pretty heavy isn’t it?”
Pete- “Naah! When it’s heavy, you wouldn’t be able to see that building over there.”
Prasad- “Shit! If it’s that heavy, then how can one even walk?”
Myself- “You don’t. You stay at home.”

On the whole, according to the local people, it’s been a warm winter and everybody seems to know the reason. Global Warming. It’s quite surprising how an environmental issue has come into mainstream parlance. I guess it hasn’t remained just an environmental issue any longer. The threat of Greenland melting down and submerging cities of Europe seems very real to people around here. I see the issue in newspapers and on the news in the rare occasions that I switch on the telly. This is not a problem that is going to be solved in a hurry though, and along with terrorism, is going to be the issue which is going to dominate world politics and economics in the coming decade or two.

If you don’t know what Global Warming’s about, an entertaining and educative place to start is the documentary called ‘An Inconvenient Truth’ starring Al Gore, who didn’t become President of the USA in spite of getting more votes than George Bush. He is now become the chief face of the ‘Save the World from Global Warming’ Campaign. If I have to say one thing about the documentary which I liked, it would have to be the no nonsense way in which he identified the US and Americans as the chief contributors to the problem. For a politician, it takes guts to do that. Is he ahead of his time? At any rate, I bet he is more likely to win a Nobel than George Bush as things stand today.

And speaking of today, I am now in the middle of a sunny spell. I can see blue skies outside my window, white clouds behaving themselves and staying in their place.

Boring Weekends?

2007-02-04T00:20:00.001+05:30

People stay in a houseful of inmates and say they are bored stiff on weekends. They ask me how I manage to fight boredom myself, since I stay by myself and almost never seek company.

I don’t know.

I never have enough time on weekends myself. In fact, this Thursday, on my usual weekly visit to the Central library, I eschewed borrowing my usual two DVDs since I thought it would give me more time to finish the E M Forster book which I have already reissued once, but am only halfway through. Doesn’t look like that plan’s gonna work though. Half my weekend’s already done and I haven’t touched ‘My Last Journey’.

Now let’s see what happened today. I got up around 10 AM. By the time I was finished with my weekly calls home, it was already lunchtime (please note that I didn’t have time for breakfast). Grabbed a quick lunch and then spent some quality time with Monica (that’s my guitar, by the way). Then it was time for my weekly run in the Eastville Park. I am slowly getting used to running in this weather now (but that’s another post). I was back in an hour, caught my breath and went into a long hot shower.

It’s now 6 PM and I am writing this along with munching some sumptuous chocolate chip cookies, downing it with some pure orange juice (no concentrate) and Johnny Cash. If you are still reading me, you are probably stuck with boredom yourself.

Release yourself. As for me, I will head for that damned book.

A Stillborn Attempt at Fiction

2007-01-20T01:24:00.000+05:30

He couldn’t remember when he had met her for the first time. Was it at the office or at her apartment with the others? Or had it been on that first trip to Nice? No, he had definitely met her before that trip, but for the life of him, he couldn’t pinpoint the exact occurrence. That irritated him. Almost as if the first meeting would have been insignificant. That couldn’t have been. He believed in love at first sight.

He looked out of the window. It was quite dark now and the bus rolled along merrily on the new highway. The lights of shops on the busy highway zipped past. Now and then a petrol pump would emerge out of the kaleidoscope of images and seemed to stay for a fraction of a second longer than the rest. He was glad nobody was sitting next to him and patted himself mentally for traveling on a weeknight. His bag lay on the seat next to him. He opened it and took out a book of poems that he had purchased at ‘Crosswords’ the last weekend. He never read poems. But one of his acquaintances at the last party he attended had claimed to be enthralled by them and had gone into a long and fascinating monologue of his favorite poets and the beauty of their individual works. And so the next time that Vikram had gone to his favorite bookstore, he finally looked at the poetry section and picked out a thin book of poems from an Indian author whose novels he had read earlier and liked. He had flipped through a few pages right then and had thought- ‘This doesn’t look so bad’-and paid up. But he hadn’t gotten around to reading it as yet. He had been avidly following the football world cup on television these last few days. Everyone seemed to talk about it everyday. One couldn’t be in a position of being ignorant about such an important event. He had made a mental note of even watching the English Premier League next season.

The reading lights didn’t work. “Shit”, he muttered. He considered drawing the conductor’s attention to the malfunctioning bulb but then decided against it. What if he asked him to move to a seat where the reading light worked but which happened to have a fellow traveler seated next to him? He would then be in an uncomfortable position to refuse. Vikram mentally weighed the pros and cons of that situation and decided that he preferred to sit in isolation without his book of poems than share his immediate personal space with a stranger. What if that stranger turned out to be an inquisitive busybody and quizzed him endlessly about his book, life, career and the objective of his trip to Jaipur? Vikram was truthful and polite and frequently found himself drawn into conversations where he was an unwilling participant. His only means of defense was avoidance.

Fuck it, he thought, and put the book back into his bag and took out his iPod. Book and iPod, Vikram never traveled without either of them. A seasoned traveler, he was now ever cautious of boredom, which used to hit him quite frequently earlier when he wasn’t wise enough. Nowadays he carried spare batteries.

Dire Straits, one of his all time favorite bands. He loved Knopfler’s voice, his lead guitar work and the simple lyrics. He yawned. It had been a long day and he was still suffering from jet lag. Wait, no, it couldn’t be jet lag. It was almost two weeks since he had returned from Paris. It had simply been a very long and stressful day; he decided and closed his eyes.

He had definitely met her at the office the first time, he thought, and slept.

Books and Movies

2007-01-20T01:23:00.001+05:30

There’s no TV in my house yet. But thanks to the Bristol Central Library I am surviving on a steady diet of books and movies. It’s back to fiction again as far as books are concerned and am trying to discover authors whom I have only heard of before but never read. I read John Updike’s ‘Villages’ and John Mortimer’s ‘The Sound of Trumpets’. Loved Mortimer, reminded me of the many Wodehouse stuff that I read when I was in school, except that Mortimer is a few shades darker. Updike was good too, but the novel reminded me of ‘The Sea’ in structure and sadly Updike kind of paled in comparison with the other John who went on to win that Booker last year. Currently I have my hands on E M Forster’s ‘The Longest Journey’. Quite an oldie.

As for movies, ‘Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind’ is a very good way to start the New Year if you haven’t watched the movie already. I watched the movie four times over this weekend. Twice just to get the hang of what was actually going on, watched it another time with the subtitles and again with the commentary of Kaufman and Gongry, writer and director respectively of the movie. Also picked up a very entertaining documentary on ‘Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room’. Another one called ‘An Inconvenient Truth’ on Global Warming which had Al Gore (remember him?) who was quite a revelation. ‘United 93’ was another movie, about the plane hijacked during the Sep 11 attacks which apparently didn’t find its target. A very sensitively handled take on what is a difficult subject.

The local theatre in the city centre is called The Odeon. Today went and saw a movie called ‘The Holiday’. I almost regretted the decision. There’s too much saccharine in the movie, if you ask me. Diaz looks great but can’t seem to come out of her Charlie’s Angels’ skin. Winslet’s much better of course, except that her character is quite pathetic for most of the movie. A ‘Bridget Jones’ role but without the funnies. The guys don’t have much to do but am glad for Jack Black. The guy should get more meaty roles like this.

A song from the soundtrack of the movie ‘Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind by Beck.

Change your heart
Look around you.
Change your heart
It’ll astound you.

I need your lovin’
Like the sunshine
And everybody’s gotta learn sometime
Everybody’s gotta learn sometime
Everybody’s gotta learn sometime.

Good Night, and Good Luck. I am going to watch that one now.

Hobbies and Risks

2007-01-20T01:17:00.000+05:30

I believe that people who have a better quality of life assiduously work towards it. Of course ‘quality of life’ could mean different things to different people. Some people want to party every weekend with friends and so in a new place they need to reach out and make new friends they can party with. Others are happier to just settle into their weekends with a nice book and so they need to go out and buy or borrow some.

Bristol has a well organized chess league with a number of clubs around the place. This was something I had checked out before I came here. On the 28th of Dec, according to the local website there was a tournament called ‘On the Buzzer’, organized at the Downing Chess club.

I was almost half an hour late, what with the small difficulty of finding the place, but luckily for me, it was still the first round in progress. My soon-to-be opponent who was enjoying a beer as a consequence of what he thought was a first round bye was suddenly introduced to an opponent who ‘had come all the way from India to play him and called himself Anand!’

‘On the Buzzer’ turned out to be another name for what is more popularly known as ‘Lightning Chess’ where players have less than 10 seconds to make every move. I am notoriously bad at speed chess (not that I am much better at the longer versions) but after three rounds and six games with three opponents, I found myself on the second board as a consequence of a score of 4.5/6. Of course it was all downhill from there.

It was pretty late when I left the club clutching my reward for my effort which happened to be a nice-looking table clock. It was past eleven and I thought I had missed the last bus home. I asked about the nearest taxi stand at an Indian restaurant called ‘Tamarind’ who were winding up for the night and was heading in the direction indicated when I saw the bus I wanted come into view. My lucky day, I thought.

“Last stop.” It was only when the driver said that that I realised that I had taken the bus in the opposite direction and was now further away from home. I was now stranded by myself at a deserted mall next to what seemed like a highway. It was windy, cold and quite dark. Everything at the mall seemed to be closed and I was beginning to kick myself at my own stupidity.

Thankfully, there was a lone pub with a few final customers on their last dregs of beer which was still open. The bartender who happened to a bright looking girl with black framed spectacles and a high forehead was quite helpful and dug out a call taxi phone number.

“Thanks, but could you tell me where I am?”

She didn’t understand my question and said, “Oh you don’t have to worry. They are very reliable, our customers use them all the time and we have them all checked out.”
“No, no. Where am I? Where should I ask them to come and pick me up?”

“Oh, you are at Millson’s pub on Emersons Green.” To her credit, if she was surprised, she didn’t show it.

The taxi was booked but couldn’t pick me up for another half hour, which was at a quarter past twelve. Millson’s pub closed at twelve and their last drunk customer and staff weeded out. I waited in the cold outside the pub and when it was quarter past twelve with not a soul in sight, I started looking around for a corner where I could possibly shrivel for the night as my phone was dangerously low on battery.

I don’t think I ever felt happier on seeing a cab when it turned up a couple of minutes later and never gladder of my own name when the cabbie called out, “Anand?”

I cooked dinner after I reached home. I hadn’t partaken of the buffet dinner at the club since I couldn’t recognize any of the items on offer.

Thrift

2007-01-20T01:14:00.001+05:30

One of the big reasons why onsite opportunities are craved in the IT industry is the potential of making and saving money. Many Indian IT majors are forced to pay minimum wages abroad for the skills that our engineers bring to the table which our enterprising engineers in turn find quite plentiful enough.

Though I like making good money, I would rather it came to me by its own accord whilst I pursue a higher ambition, whatever that means. On the way I hope to enjoy a comfortable, that’s all I ask, comfortable life.

There are few things I would rather not do. One of them is sharing rooms, if I can avoid it. Somehow, I have been a bit lucky in this regard. Dad was making enough money by the time I was 14- an important age, I tell you- for me to have my own room. Providence made me join engineering and B school hostels with that same circumstance. So apart from the odd occurrence here and there, I – or others, depends on your opinion of me- have been well shielded.

The point of all this is – apart from trying to sound cool, that is- the fact that while six Indians in my client’s office –two from my company- are sharing a 3 bhk flat, I have taken separate digs in Bristol in a 1 bhk. Soon enough, the two colleagues of mine wanted to move into my place as they couldn’t get along with the others. I said fine as long as I could at least keep the bedroom for myself. I think they got “Don’t come near me” vibes and changed their mind. Pity, could have learnt some culinary skills from them.

Coming back to thrift, sometimes it could go to ridiculous levels and when you are staying in a group and want to make decisions for the whole group, the lowest denominator always prevails since the cost has to be shared. So the cheapest rice is bought, which results in poor results in the kitchen, though I am the last person who should be making a comment like this. Sometimes, it’s even competitive, who spends the least, or even, you spend more, you are a fool.

As for me, it ensures an entertaining stream of conversation.

“D&C, the other day the four of us went looking to buy plates. We saw the cheapest offer at buy three, get one free. When we decide to go for it, D decides that he no longer wants to eat out of a plate but will manage out of the small bowl that he has. Next day, I see him eating out of OUR plate. I could have almost hit him.”

I laughed and laughed.

“D&C, even I am getting worse by the day. The other day, after reconciliation, he owed me nine pence, which he was writing off. I said – I want my nine pence back!-.”

We were going out for lunch everyday. But for the last few days, we have been eating tortillas and yoghurt, not the best combination. After one such repast, my colleague calculates and says happily,

“We have managed the lunch in 90 pence each.”

I just stared back. I had thought we were eating this shit to avoid going out into the cold.

I didn’t give him the ninety pence.

At the Bus Stop

2007-01-20T01:07:00.001+05:30

‘Mallik’s’ is a store which I had noticed from the bus on my way home on earlier occasions. ‘Asian Food and Spices’, it boldly stated and since I have no other choice left nowadays but to fend for myself in the kitchen, I had decided to give it a look over.

Half an hour later, I emerged from the shop clutching my bag of Asian food and spices and stood at the bus stand in the cold that I am getting slowly used to. Eight o’ clock in
Bristol is a pretty late time. Streets are empty and there is hardly any movement on the roads, making the night seem much darker. Mallik’s seemed to be the only shop which was open in quite a stretch. The cold always makes the wait seem longer than it is.

“Is there a bus coming?” I hadn’t noticed but a short, stout, middle aged black woman had been standing a few feet away. I craned my neck but couldn’t see a bus coming.

“On the board, is there a bus coming now on the board?” Just in front of my eyes on the board on the bus stand were the timings when the buses were supposed to land up on that particular bus stop.

“Oh man, it’s freezing out here!” she said to no one in particular.

Mallik’s shop-hand was now lifting crates of Asian fruit and vegetables and shifting them back inside the shop, preparing to shut down.

“What did he pick up now from the ground? Was that tobacco? Man, must be his lucky night!”

“I saw a woman earlier drop something”, she continued. “But sometimes when you try to help somebody, you get into trouble? So I’ve stopped doing that. Man, what’s happening to me?” She shook her head.

“Man, this country’s going to the dogs, I tell you. Everything’s closing early, even the pubs! Everything’s getting tighter, too much security, I tell you. The council! Even the council closes early. Do you stay in a council flat?”

I mumbled my ignorance.

“Man, it’s cold out here tonight! Am gonna have some hot soup when I get home.”

“At last, there’s a bus coming!” She exclaimed.

I couldn’t see any but sure enough a second later, the bus came around the bend and fully into view.

“Oh hell! Its full, the damn bus is full!” she exclaimed in disgust. Sure enough, as the bus came nearer, it became evident that all the seats had been taken.

“Am not getting on this. You can go if you want”, she said.

Of course, I come from a country where a bus is not full unless it leans on one side at an angle of thirty degrees.

“Yes, I’ll go”, I said and climbed in.

Amsterdam Airport, Two Days Ago

2006-12-10T14:16:00.000+05:30

Most of these airports abroad look the same to me. Everybody says they are nice, which they are, but they are all the same, and if you've seen one, you've probably seen them all. If you want an adventure, come to the Hyderabad airport, or as somebody I know said, the Hyderabad cowshed.

I am just sitting in one of these lounges, half listening to the announcements being made about people whose luggage will be offloaded if they don't rush to their Gates. Some people are biting into their breakfast and I am wondering if I should take the trouble as well. Will I need to change currency, I wonder. Couple of Indian families around with small kids who take turns in raising up the decibel levels in the otherwise quiet setting. Now and then a pretty woman passes by and I look up and stare.

My flight until now has been kind of OK. Watched a decent movie called 'Invincible' about Vincent Papole, a football star in the 1980s. I like these sports related movies- they tend to get repetitive after a point but its a genre which I can comfortably go back to.

Pretty Woman.

Ok, also listened to the new album of John Mayer. The info tab said the songs were now more mature from his earlier album but they are just slower. A second time listening might help, but no instantaneous gratification. Aren't we all looking for that?

Old Man with pot belly.

I have also been reading a book 'Many Lives, Many Masters' by Dr. Brian Weiss where he's talking about his experiences about helping a patient who came to him for psychiatric help. Under hypnotic regression she talks about her past lives- 86 of them according to her, and Weiss tries to convince the reader that reincarnation as a concept may not be mumbo jumbo after all.

Of course reincarnation is a oft beaten subject in Hindu philosophy and Bollywood movies, where at least the former I am not well versed with, unfortunately. I think this book might just be the catalyst that I needed to do a bit more reading into the Bhagavad Gitas, Upanishads and the like. Quite ironical it would be, if I started reading Hindu literature when I have left the country.

Big Black Man.

Going Away

2006-12-03T10:52:00.000+05:30

I should be travelling out of the country in the near future on a new assignment and spending considerable time away. Work has been uncharacteristically heavy these last couple of months trying to smooth-manage this transition. First to go was the gym as I gave up my regular visits and worried about looking like a famine stricken landless laborer. Next to go were the guitar classes. This withdrawal was tougher but required. I know enough now to venture out on my own and that’s the only way I will progress. Reading and jogging suffered as well but I managed the half marathon anyway reasoning that my perfect training schedule would never executed and I might as well get on with it. Reading became slower than it already was. I hope Amartya Sen doesn’t feel insulted. Dada, last chapter left. Promise, will finish it today. As for blogging, well, you guys be the judge.

Anyways, warm underwear and guitar case has been bought and I am all set, well almost. There are people to meet, good-byes to be said and things to worry about.

But life goes on.

Yesterday, attended a Shiamak Davar dance show where a close relative was performing. The show was a culmination of the classes that the SD academy conducted in the city for the last two months. It was fun, especially watching the juniors and kids in the age group of 4-6 dance. Mention must be made of one cool four-year-old who sat down on the stage and refused to move a muscle till the music stopped. If I were his dad, I would have been so proud. So many people dance and earn a living. It must be a different life.

Apologize for this brief post, but I have made a promise to Amartya Sen.

Two Hours and Forty Minutes

2006-11-27T19:45:00.000+05:30

I almost wasn’t allowed to run the half marathon. Five minutes before the run, this official comes up to me and says the number on my chest is meant for the 10 K run and not the half marathon. A small flare up, getting hold of an organizer, letting them know that I hadn’t come to the venue to run in some stupid 10 K run. Having them find an alternate chest number and safety pins (Mom had stitched my previous number) before the countdown for the run started.

The run was extremely enjoyable if you leave out the last couple of kms., which were a test of the mind as my legs were pleading me to slow down and walk. But that was one of the two things I had resolved not to do. The other was to look back.

The weather was wonderful, nay, charitable. A harsh sun later in the morning could have seeped out my last resolve, who knows. The old city of Hyderabad is enchanting. It’s a pity that one can hardly notice it in the daily chaos of the traffic. I got a rare opportunity to go around the Charminar on near empty roads and take in the sights. It was also fun watching the motor vehicles wait for a long, long time at busy intersections, as we runners trudged our way slowly over their roads. I felt a lot of bad vibes.

The race got extremely irritating at around the 15 km mark when we started sharing the track with the 10 K runners whose run had started an hour later. As every Tom, Dick, Harry and Jane overtook me in every direction, I wanted to shout out, "Hey Bozos, show some respect! I am running the half!". But they wouldn’t have cared and it didn’t matter any way. I just put my head down and kept running.

My thanks to the volunteers, who handed out the water to me during the run. It kept me going. 0641-My chest number. They even gave me a certificate notwithstanding the fact that the guy who finished first could have done the run twice over in my time.

Keane- Can't Stop Now

2006-11-19T10:11:00.000+05:30

I noticed tonight that the world has been turning
While I've been stuck here dithering around
Well I know I said I'd wait around till you need me
But I have to go, I hate to let you down

But I can't stop now
I've got troubles of my own
Cause I'm short on time
I'm lonely
And I'm too tired to talk

I noticed tonight that the world has been turning
While I've been stuck here withering away
Well I know I said I wouldn't leave you behind
But I have to go, it breaks my heart to say

That I can't stop now
I've got troubles of my own
Cause I'm short on time
I'm lonely
And I'm too tired to talk

No one back home
I've got troubles of my own
And I can't slow down
For no one in town

And I can't stop now
And I can't slow down
For no one in town
And I can't stop now
For no one

The motion keeps my heart running
The motion keeps my heart running
The motion keeps my heart running
The motion keeps my heart running

Travel

2006-11-12T21:27:00.000+05:30

Last Saturday I embarked on a trip to Srisailam with a group of friends and covered 475 kms. within 36 hrs. Three cars started from different parts of the city and met in Mehdipatnam at 7 AM where we rearranged ourselves into preferred groups within cars and started off. It was my first long drive and I was quite looking forward to it for quite sometime. Though the Santro is not really an ideal highway vehicle, Jenny still managed to hit 120 km/hr for decent stretches of the way.

I am planning to run the Hyderabad half marathon on the 26th of this month. My registration’s done and the acknowledgement is safely in my wallet. Yesterday was my last long run as preparation for the half marathon. Ran 16 kms from my home all the way to my office in Gachibowli. It gave me enough confidence to think that I will be able to complete the run with the extra five kms. as well. I was slower in my run than I thought I would be, though in my defence, I must say that a lot of the course was uphill. Anyway, I am mentally prepared to run for three hours if needed. I will run 10 kms. next weekend and I should be all set for the D day.

Our first stop was at a petrol bunk outside the city, as one of the ladies wanted to use the washroom. The rest of us fooled around with our cameras taking pictures of groggy companions who were complaining about their lost sleep on a Saturday morning. At around 8.30 AM we made our next stop near a dhaba. Tea was ordered and sandwiches- vegetable, cheese, and potato- were unfurled and hungrily eaten. Another half-hours till our next stop at an embankment and we were definitely in the country now.

I had only five hours of sleep the previous night, not the best preparation. And on top of that, forgot to fill my pockets with dry fruit, which I had planned to eat while running. Left home at 6.50 AM and trotted out. It was two weeks since I had a good run. I had planned to run while in Srisailam but that hadn’t materialized. Without a significant warm up, the first few kms. were not comfortable but I expected the run to ease out which it did. Running on city roads is not the most pleasant experience. In the morning, you cannot avoid the view of people relieving themselves on the roadsides. I could have run in the park like I usually do but wanted to run on unfamiliar terrain to prepare myself. Found myself in traffic in Krishna Nagar with trucks parked all over but hit Jubilee Hills soon and it was better.

Once we took a left to hit the road leading towards Srisailam, roads became better and driving, a pleasure. It’s a hilly area around Hyderabad and there were quite a few hillocks with huge weather-beaten rocks making for a good view. Onwards, we hit fields on either side, the sun came up and smiled on us quite benevolently. I noticed a lot of beautiful yellow flowers along the way on either side. My window was down just enough to allow the pleasant cool breeze to whisper its way around my ears while sister changed the CDs as they ran out of songs to play. I have a good collection, in my opinion, mostly English though.

Jubilee Hills is a good place to run if you don’t mind the uphill terrain which slows you down. Roads are cleaner befitting a posh neighborhood. I wasn’t worried about my speed yesterday, just wanted to run all the way without having to stop or walk or break down. There was a chill in the air, just how it should be in November. Turned into the main road leading to Madhapur and it was downhill for sometime and I was really enjoying the run now. I was breathing well and there was good rhythm halfway into the run. Then suddenly I had to stop to hold a trolley of rusks and biscuits which was coming down the slope towards me while its owner was relieving himself on the side of the road.

Srisailam is at an altitude and pretty soon we were climbing winding roads up hills. Srisailam also boasts of a very well managed Tiger reserve, which is not open to wildlife tourism but you do drive through the dense forests on either side with adventurous monkeys frequenting the roads being spoilt by the nuts thrown for them by passers by. Pretty soon we were making frequent stops to gather the beautiful view of tree lined hills below us into our respective cameras. Soon we were going downhill heading towards the dam built on the Krishna. The Srisailam dam is an impressive sight, an oasis of man’s significant effort though dwarfed by nature’s own astounding architecture all around it.

Madhapur is Hyderabad’s IT destination. The sun was up now but thankfully behind me. It started getting tougher around the 11-km mark when I hit Kothaguda junction as the calf muscles started complaining about the uphill route which continued all the way till the company gate. The last 500m was quite tough as the eyes had started watering, it being two hrs. and some more of running without any liquid replenishment. But I was happy that I made it.

From the dam it’s again uphill all the way till you reach Srisailam town, which is a quaint little place. We had rooms booked in advance. There’s a ropeway, and some boating. I had taken my guitar along and there was drinking that night as well. The drive back was faster with fewer stops.

I paid 130 bucks for the auto ride back.

Happy Birthday

2006-11-05T23:06:00.000+05:30

My 28th birthday was pretty eventful. Birthdays are generally another of those things about which I don’t lose much sleep over. Yes, there are some people whose birthdays I can’t (afford to) forget but I can count them in the fingers of my right hand. There’s nothing that I have against it. I think it’s a charming practice and all that and it gives us another reason to get in touch with people who were, are, or we wish were an important part of our lives. But when push comes to shove, I always seem to have other things on my mind. Like that day, when I had to get a haircut, or when I had take Jenny to the service station.

Due to such bad behavior, I could generally count the number of people who remember my b’day and take the trouble to let me know that they did with the help of half of my fingers of my left hand, give or take a half. But we live in a networked world now. Orkut reminds the 77 people that I am connected to on its website about my birthday from 15 days in advance. My company, which has the details of my date of birth, announces its privy knowledge gleefully to the 1000 people within my business unit. Yahoo! Groups is obviously not left far behind.

As a result I was quite flattered with the number of messages, emails and smses which found their way into my various inboxes and thanked all of them. There were also at least two cakes, which had my name on it. One of them also had some of my face on it. I think I acquit myself rather well those couple of days, without resorting to my usual frowning countenance at being fussed over. I am 28 now, remember. Even irksome chimpanzees pick up certain social skills in this time.

Anyway, I was in Chennai that day. Went jogging on the Marina in the morning (There’s a half marathon in Hyderabad later this month. Let’ s see.) In the evening, treated myself to ‘Lage Raho Munnabhai’ after I am sure the whole world had already watched it. I liked it, I guess, but I had higher expectations. Personally, I don’t think it’s a patch on ‘Munnabhai MBBS’. The characters were etched out a lot better in the original. At least I felt about it that way.

Other memories of my birthdays-

Age 7-Dad delivering a biscuit tin (he worked in a company, which made biscuits) to my school. Most birthday kids generally brought toffees to distribute to their classmates. Dad thought it was a great idea. It would make me stand out and all that. Of course I was mortified for the same reason.

Age 12- Lunch at Gaylord, Connaught place in Delhi. My sister and I got two choices for our birthday celebrations. I always chose the lunch. She would throw the party.

Age 18- Bumps at midnight at ISBT in New Delhi. A motley group of college students going home and a moment of indiscretion.

Age 24- A disc in Juhu, Bombay. Bunch of management trainees. I had money in the bank and knew how to jive.

29thOctober. In case you missed it this year.

Happy Diwali

2006-10-20T20:52:00.000+05:30

My 16 km drive to office in the morning is generally the better part of my day. I leave early between 7.30-7.45 and generally manage to beat the traffic and instead of hitting Madhapur, the IT district of Hyderabad, I prefer the Jubilee Hills-Filmnagar route. It’s a longer route, but there are no traffic lights after the Jubilee Hills Checkpost till I reach office. I love the view when I drive Jenny down from Jubilee Hills to hit the highway below where she then touches 100 kmph. Nowadays am listening to Maroon 5.

Of course sometimes I do get stuck in Jubilee Hills behind one of those school buses, which hog the road. Some of the better international schools are in the area. But also along the road, there are a bunch of less fortunate kids in white shirts and blue shorts who study in a govt. school trudging all the way from Jubilee Hills down to their school below. Some of them ask for a lift and I oblige.

Couple of days ago, as I stopped for a couple of them, the smaller of the two kept pulling the door and in the process I couldn’t open the door from within. I frantically kept trying to signal him to leave the door so that I could open the door but he wouldn’t budge. Cars lined up behind me and I could begin to hear their impatient honks over my Blaupunkt speakers. I gestured angrily, his face fell and he started walking away, puzzled and confused. I finally opened the door called him back and they both clambered in, one each in front and back. I heaved a sigh of relief and pressed on the accelerator.

The ride was silent. I asked them something but they didn’t seem to hear. They got off on the turn into the national highway.

“Thank you Uncle!”

Shit, I turn 28 in another nine days.

On my way back that day at the J Hills traffic lights, saw another kid around the same age trying to sell ear cleaning buds to the car in front of me. His sales pitch was unsuccessful and I instinctively rolled up my power windows as he started to make his way towards me. But he suddenly stopped in his tracks, his face lit up and he picked up what looked like a fallen coin from the road. Almost immediately a slightly taller half naked thin kid with a pretty obvious skin disease came to him and claimed the coin gesturing something to what seemed to me like a hole in the pocket of his oversized, dirty shorts. The smaller kid seemed to be convinced of the other kid’s explanation and handed over the coin. Out of nowhere from the darkness of the divider on the road, a ragged middle aged man with unkept hair and beard who had apparently been watching the whole thing joined them both and demanded what was going on. The second kid’s explanation obviously didn’t cut any ice with him and he forced the coin out of his hand and pushed him away with some choice words in his vocabulary. The kid went away crying, but not without shouting something at the man in return. The man gestured the first kid to continue selling and disappeared back into his resting place on the divider.

The lights went green as he started coming towards me. I sped past him and avoided looking at his face.

“Fuck! Fuck!”

And oh, Happy Diwali.

Toiletgate

2006-10-08T20:47:00.000+05:30

There is 12 game Chess World Championship Match happening in Elista between Vladimir Kramnik and Veselin Topalov. It’s been the most entertaining affair. A small synopsis for all you guys who don’t have much of an interest in Chess but are still reading this-

1. After 4 rounds, Vladimir Kramnik the lesser-rated player of the two leads 3-1 with two wins and two draws from 4 games.

2. Topalov’s team then submits a protest based on video evidence saying that Kramnik visits the bathroom around 50 times during the game, insinuating that he is cheating and demand the following
 That both the private bathrooms attached to the players restrooms be sealed
 That a common bathroom be made available for both players.
 That an attendant accompany both players inside the bathroom
 That all video footage relating to visits made to the bathroom be made publicly available to both teams and the media.
 They also say that Topalov will also not shake hands with Kramnik (Am not sure till now whether that’s because of his cheating or his lack of hygiene)
 If the above conditions were not met, they threaten to abandon the match.

3. The appeals committee hurriedly convenes and says the following
 That the number of visits to the bathroom made by Kramnik have been exaggerated by the Topalov team but are nevertheless unusual and
 Both private bathrooms will be sealed
 A common bathroom will be made available for use by both players
 Considering respect for privacy, an attendant will not accompany the players nor will any video footage be made available public from the toilet premises.

4. The Kramnik team then protests and says the following-
 That playing conditions were agreed to within the contract and they cannot be broken midway through the match.
 Security checks are done before and after every game of the player’s facilities and hence Topalov’s allegations are hence baseless, insulting and cowardly.
 That Kramnik likes to walk during his games and uses the space of the bathroom area for walking.
 That the appeals committee through their decision has exposed their incompetence and bias towards Topalov and hence should be sacked.
 That as per terms of the contract, his use of a private toilet be restored.
 If the above conditions were not met, he threatens to abandon the match.

5. The fifth game starts. While Topalov is at the table, Kramnik is waiting in his restroom for his toilet, which has been sealed, to be opened. He loses the game on time and Topalov is awarded the game by forfeit. The score stands at 3-2. Obviously, they didn’t shake hands.

6. The World Chess community steps in. It’s a public relations disaster for Topalov and the Appeals committee as Grandmasters around the world and the chess loving public and press support Kramnik’s position and flay the decision of the Appeals committee.

7. FIDE, the governing chess body steps in.
 They sack the members of the appeals committee.
 Restore use of private bathrooms to the players.
 But insist that the score will stand at 3-2 as per the forfeiture.

8. Kramnik plays the sixth game under protest but in the ‘larger interest of the game’. The game ends in a draw. So does the next game. Score stands at 4-3 for Kramnik.

9. Topalov’s manager does a press release where he says that 75% of Kramnik’s moves in the first four games matches with the first choice of a leading chess software, Fritz. Kramnik’s team rubbishes the claim and says that Topalov’s manager knows nothing of chess.

10. Past greats like Karpov and Korchnoi ask Kramnik to abandon the match. One of the members of the sacked appeals committee explains that the signed contract promised both players use of a restroom ‘and’ a toilet and not a restroom ‘with’ a toilet.

11. Kramnik loses the next two games. The score now stands at 4-5 for Topalov after nine games. Three more remain to be played.

Personally, I feel that Topalov is a much better player and a deserving world champ. His dynamic playing style has reinvigorated the chess scene like nothing else since Kasparov retired. But I feel sorry for Kramnik as he has been done in, a bit. I hope Topalov wins by a wide margin so that the result of the forfeited game is not called into question.

Oh yes, they have been shaking hands.

Update: Kramnik has won the 10th game. Score now at 5-5.

Tagged by Rael

2006-10-03T21:11:00.000+05:30

Eight things about me. That’s the tag. As tags go, it’s a pretty stupid one since my whole blog is about me, me, me anyway. And why eight?! That’s seven too many if you ask me for one post. But many memories involving Rael are stupid as well, but dazed and memorable nevertheless, so I shall take the plunge. Plus nowadays I am doing a lot of this, talking about myself that is.

Number 1. I have a nice small scar on my forehead. A few years ago, it would have been hardly noticeable, covered as it was by a generous presence of my protein enriched locks. But bad genes and time have together connived to make its presence felt so here’s the story behind it. Twenty four years ago…(appropriate music and the screen disappearing in bubbles-Cut to new scene in B&W-)

…I was four years old, obviously. What was not obvious to many was that I harbored secret ambitions of emerging as the fastest man on earth in four years time and give fitting company to the Payyoli express. To this end, in the spring of 1983, I had taken to running from the balcony of our Lajpat Nagar house to the other end of our abode as crucial part of my rigorous training program. My aim was to run faster than the speed of sound. I remember I used to shout before I ran and stop at the other end and check if I could still hear my war cry. Except on one of these runs, I forgot to stop and hit the wall.

Thud!

So when somebody uses the expression “feels like am banging my head against the wall”, I say, “Yeah, I know what that feels like…”.

Number 2. I have flown a plane. An engineless biplane, actually. Did about 20 exhilarating flights ten years ago at the BITS flying club. Another hundred and I could have earned a flying license. But as I seemed to go higher, my grades went lower and lower till my parents cut the funding. Rael, you can back me up on this claim. By the way, why did you stop flying?

Number 3. I had a couple of months to myself before I joined my first job when I learnt to jive and wrote GMAT. My 97 percentile score will expire this year. As for jiving, well, blogging about it seems to be the only way to gain mileage from it.

Number 4. I have never voted in my life. I am quite ashamed of it. I don’t have a voters ID as yet, traveling around as I have been almost every year since I turned 18. I know that’s no excuse but I wish we could one day vote via sms like we choose our Indian Idols.

Number 5. Okay, this is just in. I skid and fell off my sister’s scooty today morning on my way to the Marina Beach for my much awaited run. Now am at home nursing multiple bruises, an anti tetanus injection and a very bruised ego.

Number 6. I believe in fate. Sometimes it’s a good thing, I take life as it comes, stay cool most of the time and am rarely ruffled by situations. Sometimes its not, because I tend to follow the car in front of me when am lost, hoping it will lead me to my destination. I can so totally identify with those three men on camels who followed that star. I mean, people call them wise now, don’t they?

Number 7. I am not a foodie. I hardly ever eat between meals and really kind of eat to live. But I want to put on weight. Now you know am an MBA.

Number 8. I wrote and composed my first and probably my last song sometime last week. It’s here if you want to see it, which you shouldn’t. But if you do, I should tell you that it still needs a title and a verse. Don’t ask me for the lyrics, am quite ashamed of their pithiness.

I tag Aravind, Kurur, The One

Neutralization of Fear

2006-09-24T23:11:00.000+05:30

What was Man’s first big discovery? No, not the wheel, that came much later. Fire? No, that wasn’t a discovery, fire existed by itself, Man didn’t have to discover it. But, you are close, it has something to do with fire. It was when Man discovered that he could control fire and use it for his own needs and he was no longer afraid of it. That’s called neutralization of fear.

It’s when you choose to do something irrespective of the outcome. The outcome may mean loss, pain and heartbreak but you still go ahead and do it because you are happy doing it and you couldn’t care less about the result.

What is trust? Is it from within or without? When you trust someone, who is more important in that decision? You, or that someone? Would you trust a robber, a murderer, a rapist, or your ex-wife?

Have you neutralized your fear yet?

I am reminded of a scene from one of the serials on TV some time back when a lawyer who’s representing a rape victim tells her,

“I don’t know whether going on the stand is a good or bad idea, whether we’ll win or lose, but I know for certain that you won’t regret it.”

They lose the case but she doesn’t regret it. (“I am glad I spoke out”)

I am glad I spoke out.

P.S. One should give the devil his due. Parts of this post are extracts from a talk given by a guy called Shiva on Sat during an outbound training program.

P.P.S. I still haven’t gotten around to hosting my audio files as yet. Luckily, I still have a Silk Route song to share this week here. C’mon, forgive the video quality and neutralize your fear!

Spaces

2006-09-17T23:50:00.000+05:30

I like my own space. Always have. Since as far back as I can remember, I have been kind of a private person. Nobody in their right mind would describe me as outgoing, talkative, gregarious etc. I would count myself lucky if they think I am social. Six years of hostel life and three years in a sales role meant that I can initiate, hold and even impress when necessary in a conversation but at heart, like I said before, I like my own space.

Most of the stuff which I do, outside of work, be it running, blogging, playing my guitar, online chess, reading is obviously, done in isolation. I even go to the movies alone. Many people find that weird. Some give me ‘what a loser’ looks but I love going to a good movie on my own terms, my day, my time and not having to make polite conversation at intermittent periods. And don’t get me started on the popcorn. So, you would have guessed by now that I haven’t been able to hold down a relationship for any significant period of time.

If you are scratching your head about where this entire thing came from, two things have kind of precipitated this outpouring of self-analysis. One is, of course, discussions of matrimony at home, which till now I have been able to present a straight bat to. Simply put, arranged marriage terrifies me. I even remember distinctly a dream on this subject awhile back, which can only be described as a nightmare. It’s not that I feel I would be unhappy in a marriage. But it would so easy for me to be indifferent. I would just find my own space in that relationship and keep it out of bounds like I do so often with many. And that would be so unfair to the partner. I know you are probably thinking that it’s no big deal and anyway one doesn’t need share everything in a marriage and a private space circle is perfectly fine. The problem is, in my case, that circle could be a pretty big one.

You are probably still shaking your head, more so if you are already in a steady relationship and going all ‘Been there, done that’. To you I present my second reason, which is the REAL reason for writing this post. I don’t know if I mentioned before, but sis has recently moved jobs and joined us at Hyderabad. Which is not a problem at all (most of the time) since am used to having her around, having grown up together and all that, and she is unmindful of my little eccentricities. So while my room has been left untouched, she does have to use the computer, which is there in my room, and she has placed a small ‘Shrek Donkey’ soft toy on top of the monitor.
Which is quite irritating and believe me, and that’s an understatement. I punched it away the first time but it found its way back and I had to hear an earful of how I was being ‘extremely silly’. Even right now, the stupid thing is looking down at me, baring its eight (yes, I counted) huge disproportionate teeth in a grin, if one could call it that, its tilted head nodding continuously due to the fan in my room. I tried a profile position but that’s actually quite scary. And the ‘ass’ position (pun unintended) makes me a bit queasy.

All in all, it’s highly distracting, the Shrek Donkey is. Writing blog posts and surfing the net at home are taking longer than usual as I keep glancing at it and returning its glare every five seconds. I could keep it aside and keep it back up when am finished with my work on the computer but even I think that that’s quite abnormal. I have now starting thinking of it as a test. If I can live with that stupid Donkey staring down at me maybe I will emerge from this experience a better man. Everything happens for a reason doesn’t it.

You see the problem now, don’t you?

P.S. This time, here’s a dazed and confused attempt at a Beatles number. The video is screwed up more than usual due to the fact that I used unregistered software to convert to a Div file. I promise links to a pure audio file from the next post. And, of course, as usual, view or listen at your own risk.

Pregnant and Sick

2006-09-10T19:53:00.000+05:30

The Bai who works at our home is pregnant. There is nothing remarkable about her. I see her if at all, only on weekends. She comes in, does the dishes, cleans the floor and leaves without making her presence felt. I don’t think I have heard her speak.

A few days back, we had gone out to dinner at Muppidi’s to celebrate a small occasion. After we had eaten more than we should have and less than we had ordered, the topic suddenly changed to Bai’s. I remarked how the one’s in Bombay now carry mobile phones and are on the speed dials of my friends. My sister remarked about how she was used to be woken up and given bed tea by her counterpoint in Chennai. And Mum remarked how she had seen our current Bai scrape out rice from the bottom of the vessel kept for cleaning and carry it home. At that moment the waiter interrupted and I signed the overpriced cheque.

We decided to pack the generous leftovers from that dinner. Not that it made me feel any better.

Oh, and I won the Chess tournament I played in last weekend and promptly fell sick the next day. The good thing about falling sick is that one finally gets around to doing sub optimal stuff that one wouldn’t normally do but should. So I read a few chapters of Sen’s ‘The Argumentative Indian’ and was surprised that it was quite readable and not as academically obtuse as I feared it would be. I also wrote a crappy, Sick Poem when I was feeling particularly, er, crappy.

Sick Poem

I am sick today
Feeling under the weather
But not so bad
As I was yesterday
Or the day before.

Tomorrow I will be all right
And go to office as usual.
Check my email
Attend meetings
And conference calls.

I am sick today
And stayed at home.
No, no, it’s not what you think
It’s a public holiday;
Ganesh Chaturthi is today.

I lay in bed
And read all day.
My mp3 player’s conked off
While my internet connection
Needs renewal.

I am sick today
But I will be
Better tomorrow.

P.S. And continuing on our Guitar Torture series here’s a D&C attempt at that evergreen song from QSQT.

Wishes and Curses

2006-09-02T00:29:00.000+05:30

I have never been big on religion. Though in the same breath I must admit I have never been NOT big on religion as well. I prefer not to have an opinion on the issue. I don’t think much about it. If rarely I am pushed into a corner, in true D&C tradition, I weasel my way out through a vague and diplomatic answer or one, which would help me to change the subject pretty quickly. Thankfully my parents never made a big deal out of it. They took me to the usual tour of temples when I was a kid, introduced me to Ramayana, Mahabharata and Amar Chitra Kathas and left me to my own devices to figure it out for myself.

I am looking to move into a new rented apartment. Preferably one which is a little bigger than the current one, has an address which doesn’t need further explanation and also which wouldn’t leak through its windows in the rainy season, thank you very much. Went and looked at one in Banjara Hills, loved it but found that it was at least three grand over my budget.

Festivals nowadays come and go and I hardly notice them. If it weren’t for the pandals put up and the heavier than usual traffic snarls on the way back from office I swear I would have had no idea it was Ganesh Chaturthi season. Mum made the traditional sweets a few mornings ago and called me in to the kitchen where she has her own personal little God space where the Ganesha held prime of place that day.

“Pray”, she commanded.

Like I mentioned earlier, in such situations, the practical side of D&C comes to the fore and recognizes that obeisance is the fastest way out.

“Say your Ganesha prayers.”

A few things like the National Anthem, Vande Mataram (flavor of the month, when will they remix it?) and Ganesha prayers, one doesn’t tend to forget when they are drilled into your impressionable little brain. I chanted them quite expertly.

“You should say them more often.”

I mentioned that I say them all the time when no one is listening.

Anyway, time for payback.

“Oh God, give me more money!”, I said aloud as I did my final bow lying flat on the ground, the modular kitchen in that Banjara Hills apartment still fresh in my mind.

Mum clucked disapprovingly. She decided to overrule my wish.

“No God, give him strength of mind.”

“NO, NO, NO!”, I bawled, “I want money! Money, Money, Money!” Fists beating on the floor now. “I don’t want any strength of mind, give me money!”

“Shush! Don’t say such things. It might come true” (she was referring selectively to my not wanting the strength of mind thing).

And you know what, I’ve become really forgetful this week. I forgot my mobile at office, which led to me leaving my company ID card at a PCO booth. Forgot to pay my credit card bills within the due date and today returned home without my gym clothes. All these things normally happen once a year, like those festivals, actually. It’s quite a coincidence then that they all happened in the same week.

Oh Elephant God! Take your curse back!

P.S. And continuing on our guitar education here’s a D&C attempt on a song from the movie, ‘Gangster’. View at your own risk.

The 'I' Tag, they call it.

2006-08-26T13:19:00.000+05:30

Well, somebody finally tagged me. Solved one problem that I was facing, writing a post, that is. Anyway, here it is.

I am thinking about how this post will look like when I am finished with it.

I said “Do you really need so much water to cook rice?” five minutes ago.

I want to go for a long drive.

I wish there was more peace in this world, this terrorism stuff troubles me, seriously.

I miss travelling to new places.

I hear little. Am mostly preoccupied with my own thoughts, dazed and confused though they may be.

I wonder how things, which do not directly concern them, do not affect people.

I regret nothing, actually. I honestly think I’ve had my share of luck and good fortune.

I am DazedandConfused, obviously.

I dance passably, I guess. I can jive a bit and used to be able to do a capable cha cha and waltz at some point of time.

I sing while playing the guitar. Right now they both sound equally bad. At least one of them should definitely improve sooner or later.

I cry whenever I want to.

I am not going to Tag you, don’t worry, so read on, this is almost done.

I write rarely, mostly I just type. I sign sometimes. Fuck it, it’s not like I had a great handwriting anyways.

I confuse you hopefully, that’s the whole idea anyway, being cryptic and mysterious. Don’t think am doing a good job of it, though.

I need to put on 10 kilos, OK, at least 7. I currently weigh 63 kgs.

I should be less self-critical and smile more at people.

I finish whatever I start. I am never “Well Begun and Half Done”. It’s not such a good thing all the time, actually.

I Tag, whoever leaves a comment to this post. You always have a choice, buddy.

P.S. Shit! So you’re still reading. Well the thing is, I’ve been working on my guitar skills for the past 3 months now and have gathered enough gumption finally to broadcast myself. Be warned, it don’t look pretty and it don’t sound pretty but here’s a D&C attempt at a Beatles number for what its worth.

Dazed at the Railway Station

2006-08-20T22:39:00.000+05:30

I have been participating in chess selections over the past few days to represent my company in some corporate tournament starting from next weekend. I lost my first game due to a horrible blunder in a winning position but won the rest to coast through. My second to last game was a very pretty win from the black side of a Sicilian Najdorf. I thought I would try annotating it with the help of Fritz and post it, so worked till 3 AM last night but found that I couldn’t upload the screenshots. Shit! Any ideas how I can upload screenshots pasted on MS Word to the blog? I can’t simply copy and paste the screenshot; that doesn’t work.

A call from Mum woke me up at 6.30 AM saying her train was expected to arrive at 7.30 AM and not 8.30 as informed earlier. So in a more dazed and confused state than usual, rushed to the station to find that the train was delayed due to a fire in Chennai Express, another train coming in from Chennai. And that’s the train in which I usually book her tickets when she travels on weekdays. It reaches an hour earlier and allows me to reach office on time as well. Thankfully there were no casualties on the train, though five bogies were gutted from all reports.

As the scheduled arrival time kept getting postponed every 15 minutes, I just hung around the inquiry counter and watched the fun. The girls at the counter with the mike were getting increasingly irritated with the repeated queries on Train Arrivals/Departures from a horde of people.

“Vishaka expected at 9.15, we’ll announce the platform number.”

“All local trains have been cancelled. Take the bus!”

“Charminar is delayed. No idea about the time as yet. We’ll announce it.”

“Why do you ask the same question every 5 minutes? Go stand far away and don’t come near this counter!!”

“Why are you standing here? I’ve already answered your query. Go away!”

It was real funny. The train was eventually three hours late.

Faded Friendships

2006-08-12T01:26:00.000+05:30

“Quiet, deep, emotionally complex and intensely private, you are not a person who is easy to get to know and understand. You are extremely sensitive but disinclined to show it, and you allow only a special few into your inner world. Like a wary animal, you are cautious and mistrustful of those you do not know until you "sniff them out". You are very, very instinctive and intuitive. You usually have a strong, immediate gut reaction to people, even though you may be unable to clearly articulate why you feel as you do. Your feelings and perceptions go deeper than words…”

It’s a bit scary to find out that somebody could know you so well if they are aware of your date, time and place of birth. What’s even scarier is that somebody has probably written some sort of a program for it, since the above extract is from one of those astrology websites. Before you start pointing accusing fingers at me, let me clarify that I received this in my email and was not the perpetrator of this act.

We moved from Delhi to Chennai in 1994 and I promptly decided that keeping in touch with my old friends was too much trouble (one had to write letters then, STD was too expensive) and looked forward to making new friends. But I was 15 and the age of innocence was already over. I found that I was too late to register for the IIT coaching classes that the rest of my class in school was already into. Though I was a Tamilian, I could neither read, write or pronounce the language properly leave alone knowing the nuances of ‘Madras’ Tamil. Not that I didn’t make friends, many in fact, that I am in touch with till date but I did belatedly realise that childhood friends are precious and not something to be thrown away. Like S.

I knew S for barely more than a year during my last year in school in Delhi. We were in different sections but took the same bus to school and back from adjacent bus stops. What started as chatter to while away the time in the bus extended to joint study sessions, exchanging notes, bicycle trips to the Rajouri Garden Market and discussions on adult movies, girls and of course, teachers. He was a jovial, fun and an intelligent kid. I remember his dad used to drop us at the exam center during the Xth board exams in his car. He scored more than me, by the way.

Anyway, we moved soon after but not before I had taken his postal address along with stated intentions of keeping in touch, which I never did. Even years later, I would feel guilty about not having kept in touch with my friends in Delhi. It wasn’t their fault, you see, since they never knew my coordinates. I hadn’t even communicated that across to them. So I had given up all hope of hearing from or about them for the rest of my life.

Until of course I came across Orkut.

Now Orkut is a pretty neat concept. You should try it if you haven’t already. But tracking down my friends was still not easy. I found an online school community and looked over the 250 odd members but didn’t see anybody I remembered. Random searches for S and other friends on Orkut didn’t lead anywhere. But on one of those last ditch random search efforts, I found P who also was in the same section as S and could possibly direct me to him. P called back and we spoke for close to a half-hour at the end of which I did manage to note down S’s email. He’s now been married for the last 3 years, P had said.

I emailed S immediately and his reply was prompt, though brief.

“D&C, you are right. I do not recall you. But we can meet sometime. S”

I laughed out loud.

Water, Water, Everywhere

2006-08-05T12:31:00.000+05:30

You know those Hindi movies of the 80s and early 90s where our main protagonist was mostly from a disadvantaged background? And how those movies used to spend close to half-hour of a good movie torturing us with some child actors in dubbed voices? Well, if you are with me till here, can you imagine those movie scenes where it used to rain and our poor Hero’s family would tremble in the cold as their hut leaked with water from all over? Imagine lightning effects and our Hero’s younger sister (there’s always a younger sister, silly) shouting “Bhaiyya!” and hugging big brother. Or do you remember seeing an ad recently on TV where they showed a family opening umbrellas and putting on raincoats as they went INTO their house, because their roof was leaking?

My flat is inundated with water. Ah, you say, now I see the purpose of the first paragraph in this post. Thankfully, the roof isn’t leaking, as yet, that honor is left to my office (more on that later). Rainwater is wading in from the cracks in the old window frames of the house. I am sure the ants and other organisms with whom I share the floor of the flat must be thinking that a Tsunami is upon them. Mum has been diligently trying to dry the floor since yesterday. I asked her why she was bothering with it (“Lets just wear chappals, we anyway sleep on the bed and the water isn’t going to come up to that level”). She gave me a look, which made me feel like a pet that had just peed on the floor of the house. It didn’t help when I suggested that we spread the carpet on the wet floor so that I could sit on my leather beanbag which was now perched on my bed. After some time, she gave up, when in spite of her efforts she could see no perceptible improvement in the condition of the floor and took the easy way out. Which is, to blame me, of course.

“Even when we were in Delhi, (that’s a span from 26 to 14 years ago), I ‘ve never lived in a house, which leaked like this one”, she said, as she sat in the chair next to me and pulled the small table from under my feet and plonked her own feet on top of it.

You may think it’s a harmless statement. But, its loaded. First point to note is that it was I who selected and rented this place while obviously my point of view was never asked for when we were in Delhi. Second point to note, me lord (don’t tell me you don’t remember those court scenes in those movies that I was talking about) was that even when we were poor (when compared to say, now) we stayed in better houses, at least they never leaked.

If you think this is funny (at least I do), come to my office, it just gets better.

As you enter the lobby on my floor, you will be greeted by a row of 6 buckets of different pastel colors, green, blue and pink being predominant among them preventing the leak from the roof wetting the floor. Yesterday, I even saw a red colored 50-liter drum where the leak was little more earnest than the other typical ones. That drum reminded me back to the Delhi days when we used to fill in our water needs for the day in a similar looking drum. Running water was scarce then and available for only an hour or so in that DDA flat, I remember.

Coming back to office, even the bloody elevators are leaking from the vents. I mean, there am I waiting, along with a female colleague, for the elevator doors to open when we are greeted with our own private monsoon enclosure. We are both taken aback, obviously (I think I even heard a small exclamation from her which sounded like, “ohowro!?!”) As I gingerly lead the way in, we inspect the leaking vent, the wet floor of the elevator and, you guessed it, the pink bucket between both of us, which was half full and struggling to catch the drops which fell out of its reach. They need more buckets in there, I thought, as I escaped out of the elevator when it reached my floor. But then there wouldn’t be much of a place to stand around. That would be funny. Only a bunch of buckets going up and down in the elevators the whole day filling themselves up with water.

This rain is also causing havoc on my weekly 9 km. run on Saturdays. I ‘ve been thinking about running the Bangalore Half Marathon, that’s 21 kms, on Sep 17th. That’s only 42 days away. How am I going to train in this weather?

Rain, Rain, Go Away!

Dad, who used to have a joke for every occasion, asked us when we were kids,

“Why is the letter ‘T’ like an island?!”

As we looked at him with blank stares, he would exclaim,

“Because its in the middle of W-A-T-E-R!”

And laugh.

Rambling On...

2006-07-30T12:07:00.000+05:30

My head is blank. No ideas for a post whatsoever, so I am just going to ramble on here.

I could always write a whole new post on my run yesterday, but trust me, you don’t want to hear about it.

Everybody who listens to western rock n roll goes through a Beatles phase. So have I. But I have kind of rediscovered them since their songs can be so completely played on an acoustic guitar. I can play Lennon’s ‘Imagine’ (very simple chords) and spent most of the whole day yesterday working out and practicing ‘Hey Jude’. It’s a beautiful song. I especially love this line-

“For well you know that it’s a fool, who plays it cool, by making his life, a little colder.”

The chords are not simple though. Quite a few suspended and seventh chords, which I haven’t used earlier, plus I don’t think I have nailed down the strumming pattern as well. Some more work is needed there.

Yesterday played a few games on playchess.com. A much better interface than the new irritating one yahoo has come up with.

64 squares, 32 pieces. 6 Strings, 12 frets. But what an ocean of knowledge they both conceal!

Attended a ‘Planning and Prioritizing’ workshop at work this week. It started half hour late.

Went bowling with friends on Friday. Did much better than expected, in fact I topped the group. Okay, I admit, there were three girls in the group who I think had hardly bowled before.

Nowadays, ‘Aastha’ channel runs quite frequently at home since Mum has discovered Baba Ramdev on TV. I am generally a skeptical bastard when it comes to any hint of Babas and Sadhus but this guy definitely has something going for him. I can surely say one thing for him. He knows how to engage a live audience and it doesn’t make for bad TV at all. Even I watched this channel for 15 minutes running which hasn’t happened since the football world cup got over.

Talking of channels, I get more and more disgusted with the news channels with every passing day. These guys won’t stop at anything to grab eyeballs. And everybody knows that fear grabs attention like nothing else (except sleaze, of course). Make people afraid and you could have them by the balls glued to your channel. So two women who drove up to near the PM’s residence became prime time news. A security review for cricketers meant that Tendulkar and Dravid could be assassinated in the near future. And what a tamasha was made of the kid who was stuck in some drain. ‘Human Drama’, as Rajdeep Sardesai kept repeating like an interactive voice response system.

It’s a beautiful Sunday morning. Am going to listen to some more of Beatles. Read a book. Eat lunch and take a nap. Go out shopping in the evening.

Have a nice day.

My Best Run Till Date

2006-07-23T17:07:00.000+05:30

A friend told me recently that most of my posts are about my guitar or similar stupid things. As policy, I don’t blog about my workplace. And in my weekends when I blog, that’s where my quality time goes- into my guitar or my weekly Saturday run. The Raghuram Rajan book is taking forever to finish. I will think twice before I buy a book on International Financial Markets again. There are hardly any good movies running. There’s the Shabana Azmi- Javed Akhtar play but another friend forwarded a review of it, which has dissuaded me from investing 500 bucks and some petroleum into the effort. My idea of doing some meaningful social work on weekends is still just that. An idea. Which leaves me nothing else to blog about right now except my run yesterday.

For newcomers to this blog, I run 9.5 kms. every Saturday evening. That’s 11 semicircular rounds of the Krishna Kant Park which I take 62 minutes for- my best time till yesterday.

I have been trying to shave of 2 minutes of my best time for forever now. Which means a little over ten seconds per round. Doesn’t sound like much but take my word for it, not easy. This time, I thought I would target the first six rounds in half-hour and leave the second half-hour to finish the last five, an attack-the-course-from-the-outset strategy.

It is 6.27 P.M when I start. Conditions are kind of blustery with moderate to heavy winds and heavy cloud cover. I start at a steadier clip than usual and make an effort to maintain an uncomfortable breathing pattern till my stomach starts knotting up, when I ease up on the pace a bit. That was the third round.

It starts raining on the fourth. Not heavy, only a drizzle, but of course, it doesn’t help. I curse and debate on whether I should give up the run but decide to continue till it gets much worse. I am the only one left running on the course apart from a couple of other intrepid walkers as the rest scurry for cover under the various snacks counters inside the park. On my fifth, the drizzle gets a bit heavier but I imagine all those people huddled together under the cover looking at a tall lad in a bright green T-shirt running in the rain. The thought only makes me run harder.

Running in the rain is tough. First of all, it adds weight as water sticks to your clothes and hair and every gm of weight matters when you are running for time. Then, rain on my glasses. I try to wipe them off with the back of my hand and make it worse. Water in my eyebrows and eyelashes. Poke my forefinger behind my glasses and wipe them off. That’s better.

The rain eases off on the sixth and I haven’t dared to look at my time till now. Push harder till the end of the round and look at it as I make the turn. 23 minutes! This is beyond all expectations. I almost jump in between my run. I am now damn sure I will make my best time today. I suddenly doubt whether I have overcounted. But no, I trace back my rounds in my mind and am sure that I have completed six, not four. The exhilaration of it makes me able to continue at the same steady clip when I could so easily have relaxed a bit on my pace and attained the goal.

On my seventh and eighth rounds I start to wonder at the cause of my achievement. Was it the wind, the rain, or the fact that I had run only six fast-untimed rounds last week giving my legs some much-needed rest? Was it the new blood in my body after I had donated some blood last week? Was it the couple of Pranayam exercises that I had done during the week briefly, watching that Ramdev Baba on TV?

On the tenth, all the lights in the park go off. As I run harder than ever on the last round in pitch darkness, I am conscious of only myself and the sound of my heavy breathing. I touch the gate and look at the time. 7.03 PM! 36 minutes! Wow, what’s the Olympic time?

But that’s D&C thinking. I know that my watch has conked off.

I am too tired and frustrated to find someone and get the time. Not reliable anyway. As I walk my usual half round to cool down, I notice the park is almost empty what with the rain and the pitch darkness. I trudge back to the gate walking on the footpaths through the lovely gardens which are within the running track. I pay the parking fee and as I am backing out Jenny, I can’t help asking the parking attendant for the time.

It’s 7.35 PM. I am sure it was my best run. Though I will never know by how much.

Cutting My Losses

2006-07-16T19:32:00.000+05:30

It’s been a kind of better than your average bored-as-hell week, personally. For one, last weekend, a couple of friends and I decided to make a movie (small documentary rather) for a competition. The movie eventually didn’t make it to a final completion status, what with us unexpectedly getting shitloads of work. It was a huge disappointment for me personally because I was really enthused about the whole thing. We had finished taking all the shots that we needed, the screenplay was all done and ready and we just had to edit and put it all together along with the background score when we ran out of time. Quite frustrating, really.

But it was great fun while it lasted. I had a great time conceptualizing the whole movie, filming and writing the screenplay. Some day, yes, some day. And, thanks to A, I finally figured out how to film using my DigiCam. It’s a big thing with me coz am not a gadget person. My relationship with machines generally is that of mutual distrust. I mean, it was only thanks to A again last weekend when I realised that Jenny (my car) did indeed have parking lights, you know, by which I can make both her taillights blink on and off, that one. I have owned her for almost two years now. Yeah, yeah am an engineer and all that, whatever.

So it was a REALLY big deal when this week I changed a punctured tyre all by myself! Huge, huge event. It took me close to an hour almost, but I did it, yes! (Hands punching the air, fists beating chest and all that) I was kind of confident doing it this time since, when the last time it happened, more than a year back, I had assisted an assistant from a mechanic’s shop who was barely taller than my knee and couldn’t have been older than 10 years old. He was quite capable and I remember giving him a generous tip.

Also more fun was had on Friday when I had an opportunity to host an event. It’s been some time since I had a mike in my hand and made an audience laugh at my silly humor and sillier repartees or get enthusiastic about the inane quiz trivia, prizes and all that. It’s a high everytime though and brought back some pleasant memories as well.

On 7/11, as the channels are calling it

2006-07-14T18:55:00.000+05:30

My internet connection’s been acting up again and so all my blog posts are dying a slow death in my head. But even if I am the last person on the planet to blog about this terrible tragedy, blog I must else what’s the difference between D&C and me? Can’t allow both of us to suffer from the same feeling of numbness and helplessness, now can I?

But I can’t write. And I know that I promised some time back that I won’t be posting lyrics again, but when one doesn’t have words; surely borrowing a song is not so bad?

Inside Us All

When I'm all alone
And no one else is there
Waiting by the phone
To remind me
I'm still here
When shadows paint the scenes
Where spotlights used to fall
And I'm left wondering
Is it really worth it all?

There's a peace inside us all
Let it be your friend
It will help you carry on In the end
There's a peace inside us all

Life can hold you down
When you're not looking up
Can't you hear the sounds?
Hearts beating out loud
Although the names change
Inside we're all the same
Why can't we tear down these walls?
To show the scars we're covering

There's a peace inside us all
Let it be your friend
It will help you carry on In the end
There's a peace inside us all

There's a peace
Oh there's a peace inside us all
Let it be... Oh, I said let it be, let it be your friend
There's a peace inside us all
Let it be your friend
It will help you carry on In the End
There's a peace inside us all
There's a peace, inside us all, Inside us all
Let it be, Let it be, Let it be,
Let it be, Let it be, Let it be,
Let it be, Let it be your friend.

Artist: Creed

Khoon Chala

2006-07-08T21:47:00.000+05:30

(This post was written a couple of days ago, but because of the stupid Internet connection, posting it today)

Donated blood today. My first time. No, not that I hadn’t had opportunities before. I remember Red Cross blood donation camps held on campus during both my engineering and B-school days and there was at least one during my previous jobs that I had easy access to, like this one. But I think I always found some convenient excuse or the other. It, somehow was a blind spot with me. Am glad that I got it out of the way.

"Are you taking any medicines?" the lady in the white coat, hopefully a doctor, asks me.

"No", I mumble, sitting down.

"Have you had your lunch?"

I look up sharply, trying to note any sarcasm in the voice or face, instinctively. I have heard more than my fair share of a sarcastic "Kyon, Khana nahi khaya kya?" over the years, less, recently though. That’s because I tend to carry around a pretty tired or bored expression most of the time, even though the state of my mind may be far from such a plight. It’s put me in a quandary before, me resulting in having to reiterate that no, I find the person very interesting or the conversation quite stimulating. Of course, sometimes I don’t bother to lie.

But there was no sarcasm here. If possible, she seemed to have a more bored and tired expression herself than I would put on if I were forced to watch say, Krrish. I was almost tempted to ask her in turn if she had had her lunch. Purely out of concern, of course. I am never sarcastic. And I never lie, honest. What, c’mon, get that smirk off your face! Anyway, I stuck around to check if she asked the same questions to a bright young colleague next in line. It’s crazy what D&C makes me do sometimes.

I am sure you don’t want to hear about all the blood and gore which followed a la a Quentin Tarantino movie. Suffice it to say that it was serious enough to warrant me a free biscuit and a 100-ml juice in a tetra-pack, which I sipped quite conscientiously. I didn’t even check the expiry date.

Anyway, a good deed done for the day. I hope it helps someone in need, and doesn’t expire, in a comfortable refrigerator, like the rest of me is.

I also remember thinking today when I was a little undecided about the whole thing that, hey, at least I can blog about this blood donation thing, if nothing else. And I wonder now, like I have on a couple of occasions before, whether, it is I who write this blog (about my life), or if it’s the other way around.

Whatever, I guess as long as both of us are the better for it, I don’t give a damn. Do you, D&C?

Leaking Roof at Office...

2006-07-04T08:25:00.000+05:30

...means buckets on the floor. Funny, ain't it?

Amazing June

2006-07-02T14:01:00.000+05:30

The weather’s been amazing. I never thought Hyderabad would be such a windy city. June has just ended and I think it has been the most pleasant June I have spent in my life, weather-wise. Yes, that includes a June spent in Bangalore also, two years ago. There’s not been much rain though the black clouds seem to be omnipresent. The gusts of wind, which blow in through the windows, and doors of my home, one would think there was a sea somewhere nearby. The wind comes in from all directions almost like a playful child. It finds the only door or window, which is unlatched and proceeds to play its pranks on it causing them to cry out with loud thuds and groans. Even the ones, which are latched down, are not spared as they are made to screech out on their hinges. From my fifth floor window I see some water which has collected on the neighboring terrace. The way the water is being dispersed in all directions in small ripples, as if a helicopter has just taken off.

It was on such a windy evening this Friday night where I was looking for a ‘Share’ Auto to cover the final 3 km to reach my home and catch the Germany-Argentina match. There was none to be found from the usual place, only lots of traffic policemen. These autos obviously break the law, the way they stuff 6 people in an auto meant for three. But I don’t mind (though I wouldn’t mind either way). It’s a bit uncomfortable, but cheap. I guess its also potentially dangerous and I don’t really mind the crackdown in concept but it still left me to solve an inconvenient problem of how to get home that night. I was debating whether to get on a bus, which was going in the direction I wanted to go and was wondering whether the overcrowding rule shouldn’t be applied to buses as well. In which case cracking down on these Autos isn’t going to solve the problem when I noticed middle aged man on a Bajaj Chetak looking at me from a few feet away.

He said something.

“What?” I asked.

“Do you want a lift?”

I was sitting behind him before I remembered to say thanks.

“Where are you from? You are native of which place?” he asked as he drove trying to balance both of us.

A strange first question to a person you are giving a ride to.

“And where are you going?”

That’s better. I told him.

“Oh, so we are birds of the same feather! I live there as well.”

Sweet.

I thanked Mr. Shastri, native of Hyderabad, when I got down.

It’s started raining now, and by the way, Germany are going to win the World Cup.

It's Lunchtime!

2006-06-26T03:00:00.000+05:30

Every day at 11.55 AM, I get a mail in my inbox from Rohan, one of my friends at work, a one liner.

"Lunch at noon sharp. See you there."

This mail is marked to about 5-6 people within our campus working in three different buildings, kind of testament to how social an activity lunch/dinner is to us Indians. Its as much about food as it is about meaningful/meaningless conversation. Some time ago I heard Yitzy mention in his blog (he is an expatriate who till recently was working in Chennai) about how surprised he was with the frequency of the question, "Had lunch?" or "Had dinner?" that he faced in India. It’s a question that would be considered a tad too nosey in other parts of the world but it’s a conversation starter with us Indians.

And so I make my way to the food court around 12 noon sharp on some days, even though am not hungry by that time, just for the company and to beat the rush hour. Yes, a consequence of the fast growth that software companies like mine contend with, the traffic at the food court is not unlike the one at the Ameerpet Cross in Hyderabad. So if you want to breathe quality oxygen and speak normally to be heard, you will either eat when you are not hungry or eat late, when all the good dishes of the day are spent. That is of course if you are not among the lucky one’s who bring their own food. Otherwise it’s hard work.

First, there’s the long line to pay for the coupons for the lunch. As we all head off in different directions to get our choice of meal for the day, we face the long line to get the food. Then begins the onerous task of finding a suitable place for 4-5 people in the free-for-all melee out there. Miraculously, you see a clean table with 7 places up for grabs with only a pretty young thing occupying a seat. As you courageously beat off competition not unlike Joe Cole running down the left flank and think for the umpteenth time that you are in the wrong profession, you find four mobiles and two hankies awaiting their food.

"Sorry, places are taken", she smiles as her pretty friends with their plates swamp around me and rescue her from my baleful gaze.

"We still have one place here, though" she smiles again. This time I notice her eyes.

My phone rings. It’s Rohan. I personally think that talking on the phone while holding a full meal of rice, couple of chapathis, dal, subjis, salad, fryums, curd and other assorted goodies is more dangerous than driving and talking but like they say, necessity is the mother of invention.

"Where are you?" he says. "We are on the third table in the fifth row next to the Mini- Meals section."

They say there are moments in a man’s life when he has to make critical choices. Those are the times when opportunity knocks on the door and the intrepid travelers of the journey called life catch it with both their hands and don’t let go. I can proudly say that till date I have never been much of a traveler (Does this answer your question Rohan, which you asked a couple of posts ago?)

Conversation during lunch is of course as varied and rich in quality as you could expect from a bunch of engineer plus MBAs working in a software company. Okay, you want me to spell it out for you, highly varied and filled with ignorance, but that’s the way we are, okay? Having a meal in peace is of course out of the question, as you cannot ignore the cacophony that a thousand people and their plates make around you. The management does their bit by providing background music through shrill speakers that none of us have been able to figure out the location of. Its not unnatural to find one of my colleagues go,

"Hey, that’s a Hindi song yaar, I thought they were playing Telegu!"

By the time, the last of us finish the meal, there are already more engineers and consultants hovering around our table like hungry vultures. It’s still not over. There’s one more line to dump the remains of the meal and the plates away and another at the wash basins. Now this is funny. Obviously we being in the high tech industry appreciate high tech stuff but I would personally like to shit on the guy who invented those infra-red taps. You stick your hand beneath them and hope that they are in good humor. You give up and remove your hands and they pour their stuff. You stick them back in, with more patience this time, only to find the tap cough out some spittle that leaks through your fingers by the time you can bring it to your mouth. Makes you look stupid, really they do.

Okay, back to work.

P.S. Man, did you watch Holland vs. Portugal? Whew, what a game!

Staring, Looking, and Defense Mechanisms

2006-06-24T17:12:00.001+05:30

Yeah, Yeah, we men do that to pretty women. And of course, age is no bar. If you say that at a certain age man does give up looking, I would say that that’s probably because he can’t, look that is, due to his cataract or whatever. We lean out of car windows, turn our heads precariously while driving our bikes, look up instantaneously when she enters the room or gets on the bus, that’s our sixth sense. Of course, some of us do it surreptitiously (the nice guys, or wimps, depending on your outlook) while some do it blatantly (the Romeos or creeps, again, depending on your outlook). Women do it too but that’s a completely different activity, they ‘check you out’. There’s a fine difference, they tell me. You tell me.

Of course, I’ve looked. But since I can remember, I also derive a strange satisfaction by looking at people when they are looking. It’s almost a double satisfaction of being in control and at the same time catching someone else unawares, unknown to him. It’s also a bit funny, sometimes, to see a vacant expression, a jaw drop. So when I see a random Ms. Pretty Woman enter the room, after a quick look myself, my eyes automatically scan the room and go, gotcha, gotcha, gotcha, gotcha and gotcha! Strange but true.

And so I admire the women who take it so nonchalantly in their stride. Outwardly, at least she appears to be so calm, all those men and their attentions so oblivious to her, as she walks across to wherever she wanted to go, while so many hearts skip beats. Maybe they are used to it and develop a defense mechanism over the years. I can’t really believe that somebody would actually like being stared at, or maybe I could, now that I think about it, but whatever.

Like I said, I am in complete admiration of such women and their forbearance. Because I hate attention myself. In my UKG report card of Don Bosco School in Delhi, which I happened to discover while I was rummaging through some of my old papers a few weeks ago, I noticed a comment, which my class teacher had written, “____ waits for his turn”. Yup, that’s me. Now don’t get me wrong. I have done enough presentations, speeches, elocution contests, hosting events, lecturing and motivating teams than I care to remember. I am talking about unwanted attention or the kind of attention, which I am not prepared for.

Since my guitar classes are on Mondays and Wednesdays after office hours, I take my car out on those days really early, and hide the guitar in its black cover under the shadows of my desk (Can’t keep it in the car, since it gets hot inside, which is not healthy for the guitar). Keep my bag so that it covers the fretboard, and pull my chair so that nobody can see the body of the thing. Escaping in the evening without somebody noticing the guitar is tougher. I am sure people are just curious and genuinely interested, but you know, me being me, I always assume the worst. Eventually a typical conversation occurs with his/her thoughts (as per my dazed and confused mind) and mine laid bare for you here.

“Hey, Hey, what’s this, a guitar?”
(What the @$&*)

“Yes”.
(What did you think it was, my four year old son?!)

“Wow! So do you play the guitar and all?”
(Doesn’t he have any work to do?)

“Yes, a little bit”.
(No, I just carry it along to look cool)

“You know, I always wanted to learn the guitar myself”.
(If this dork can, it can’t be too tough)

“Really, you should you know, its not too difficult.”
(Yeah right, Eric Clapton with a pot belly)

“I know, I know, but too much work, man, no time. Am just leaving early today to catch Brazil playing.”

“Brazil? But that match was yesterday!”

Anyway, you get the drift.

My Bum Hurts

2006-06-18T12:30:00.000+05:30

Couple of days back there was an office party at ‘Ocean Park’, a sad aspirant to the ‘Water Kingdoms’ of the world. But since am a sucker for any sort of adventure sports (read my first post, for instance) or thrill rides, took all the plunges, rides and dips that were on offer both of the aquatic and non-aquatic kind. Actually I was surprised that my bum seemed to be the only part in my anatomy which complained the next day. Looks like all those hours at the gym and the park are paying off, finally.

A few things were different. First of all, I looked better naked than I ever have in a long time, at least the time that I can remember. Of course the sense was heightened due to many of my colleagues trying to draw in their breaths in an effort to keep their paunches out of sight. But, this time my enthusiasm was more muted. I mean, I am 28, and this wasn’t like I was going sky diving or rock climbing or something. The patchy facilities at the place didn’t help the feeling either. The finishing was non existent, the machinery looked dangerously old and rusted, washrooms were dinghy and leaky and the attendants and supervisory staff looked bored as hell. Almost as if they wished somebody would break their neck and brighten up their day.

Of course, what didn’t change were the funny moments. A colleague of mine whose name translated into English means "Fearless" refused to go on any rides and no, it wasn’t because he believed there were aliens in the water. I would always advise to-be parents to go for neutral names please. Another, when dumped into a 4 ft deep tank after a high and spiraling downward slide was convinced that he would drown in it. We watched him for a minute as he tried his best to drown, flailing his arms, legs and other parts of his body in his desperate bid not to die a virgin. Finally when I lost patience, I gave him my hand and asked him to just stand up. And then one more landed in the tank and seemed to look around desperately for something.

"I am looking for my spectacles, they’ve fallen off", he explained, still looking intently into the water.

After we finally controlled our laughter, we told him he still had them on.

Even me, at the end of a slide didn’t realise my specs were off (I keep them on since I have a high –4.0 power and I don’t like to miss the view of the thrill ride). It was only when my colleagues shouted it out that I realised something was stuck under my feet.

And then of course there was the wave pool. It was fun till it got too crowded with naked male bodies. And when people started getting under and between people’s legs and overturning them in the water, I knew I had to find a more solitary space somewhere. Of course I was eventually required to participate in the ceremonial dunking that everyone got but what the heck. There was also a rain dance, you guessed it, again, lots of naked male bodies shaking their booty, but it actually rained and it was kind of fun.

On our way back, there was Antaakshari on the bus. Wasn’t quick with the song responses myself but could sing along with most of the songs and did, it’s been some time. And there was Scotch at the dinner party, which capped an end to an above average day.

In other news, shaved about two minutes off my weekly run in the park today. Finally, today did 11 rounds (9 km) of the park in little over an hour and felt really good at the end of it. I am amazed everytime I run about how much a mental thing it is, running. DazedandConfused comes up with all the usual excuses and more:

There! Your shoelaces have come off, that’s a sign!
C’mon, isn’t it too hot today?! (It was actually, my feet were burning through my soles for most of the run, till the sun went down)
The T-shirt’s too tight!
Enough, man! You can do eleven next week, c’mon!
Look, he’s overtaken you! What’s the point of running so slowly, you might as well stop! (The guy who overtook me wearing a shirt and trousers ran short bursts. I saw him sitting on all the benches on the track during the course of my run)

At such times there’s nothing else to do but say to oneself, "I’ve done it before and I shall do it again, and what’s more, I’ll go one up!"

Apart from this, the one serious impediment was when a huge frog almost hopped onto my tracks and I almost tripped trying to avoid stomping on it. Next time you try that Mr. Frog, you will be squished. Finally, nearing the end of the eleventh, it wasn’t the feet but the head, which was giving the protest signs as it, seemed to loll a bit from side to side as if threatening to fall off my neck. But if you know the trick that I use to finish the run, never fails to bring a broad smile to my face, and clears all the furrows from my forehead.

But my bum still hurts.

Mondays and Wednesdays

2006-06-15T08:42:00.000+05:30

Are now my favorite days of the week. Coz those are the days when I have my guitar classes. I think am in love with my guitar. Right now, I am in that beautiful stage, you know, like when you just meet that wonderful girl who kind of fancies you as well, and you go out on dates and get to know each other and also end having a whale of a time together. The more you get to know her, the more you believe that she is the woman of your dreams. I know I will eventually hit a creative roadblock on my guitar sooner or later but till then I shall attempt to make you all jealous of my beautiful relationship.

It’s a pity though that I can’t really write much about it. I mean its so much easier to blog about a good book that one has just read or a thoughtful movie one has recently seen. How do I write about the fact that suddenly some old Hindi songs are back on my favorites list since those are the ones I have learnt to play chords of? How do I write about the joy I feel when I see myself effortlessly shifting between Bm and G chords in a single beat interval which a few weeks back seemed an impossible task? How do I write about the exhilaration and pride I felt today when Naveen (that’s the instructor) jammed with me on a song today, him playing the lead and me, the rhythm which went off so much better than I expected? And about the sense of achievement and satisfaction when I worked out the chord sequence of another song by myself?
I could always put up the lyrics of those songs which I can play, along with their chords but I’ve been getting so much flak over posting songs from the few people who grace this blog with their presence, that I have given up on that one. Ah well, podcasts at some future date, maybe.

Mum is extremely unhappy about the callused state of my fingers of my left hand, an outcome of my incessant playing, but then I tell her in my most pompous voice, “These are the hands of the guitarist!” She finds it funny and laughs.

Because of all this strumming, I have not been able to give as much attention to the World Cup and the Test Match as I would have liked. I didn’t watch even a single match of the French Open, not even the Federer-Nadal final (*cringing as I write this*, how could you do this, D&C??) I have only managed to catch some news while I dunk my food down. But since the reservation issue was called off, nothing else has actually held my attention. The channels did try their best, Rajdeep Sardesai interviewing Raakhi Sawant as part of some special feature and India TV discussing how the cocaine guy spoke to his model girlfriend for 394 seconds. Sheeesh! Crap TV and bubbly channels. Somebody save me.

The book on International Financial Markets also lies neglected by the bedside. I could always finish the poetry book that’s pending but you see, being the method person that I am, I have to finish the Raghuram Rajan book before Vikram Seth’s ‘coz I started reading the former earlier.

And well, of course, can’t really blog about THAT, at least here, well anywhere in fact, and definitely not now, maybe later, a lot later.

Guitarmania and Tunnels

2006-06-10T12:02:00.000+05:30

Warning: An extremely self-indulgent post, read at your own risk.

So now I have been going to guitar classes two days a week about 6 weeks now. For my earlier post on my guitar story, read this.

Well, obviously then, it didn’t work out for me. I mean, how could I have learnt to play the guitar when I was 12, at a time when I didn’t love music, enough. I mean, I know friends and cousins who were forced into learning classical music since the age of 5 but thankfully my parents spared me that. And the discovery of the kind of music I love has been a bit like a discovery of self, dazed and confused, all the way.

I listened to what was around me initially, then listened to stuff to fit in, then listened to stuff to stand out, and then listened to stuff, which I didn’t get. Nowadays I listen to only the stuff that I enjoy, but it’s a kind of a hash of all those stuff I listened to over the years, kind of a … dazedandconfused collection.

Coming back to the guitar, its debuted right at the top in terms of my non-work pursuits right now. I still sound terrible but better than almost everyone else in my class, kind of how India’s fastest 100m runner or our best football player would feel, I think. I have no doubt that I will be good enough to play rhythm in any amateur band 3 months from now, unless I lose a hand or two. Its not an empty boast you know, coz when I tend to focus on something, most times I get it done. They call it tunnel vision, I think. When I am in this metaphorical tunnel of my creation, after a while, I forget whether I actually enjoy what I am doing or not. It is no longer a question to be evaluated, a decision to be pondered, that time has gone by like a wayside railway station where you didn’t get off. Now I would do it because I have to, there would be no other choice. And getting into a tunnel is not easy for me either. It is generally preceded by months of struggle within the labyrinths of my own mind but surprisingly the final decision is as sudden as pressing a switch.

Right now apart from the guitarmania, am in a few other tunnels and among them are,

Hitting the Gym at least 3-4 times a week.
Running 8-8.5 kms. every Saturday.
Blogging at least two posts a week.
Reading a good book or two every month.

As you can see, none of them relate to my professional life and career. Sometimes I worry about that fact and those are bad days. But then I think, maybe am not ready for that tunnel just yet.

Meanwhile let me just try and perfect playing the F# relative family of chords.

My Mumbai Visit

2006-06-06T09:54:00.000+05:30

Bombay never fails to depress me. The beautiful women, swanky cars, high rises, the manic efficiency of day to day life somehow only tend to highlight the slums and squalor of the city which my eye cannot ignore as I am driven in its taxis and autorickshaws. The beggar children, who come up to you at every traffic signal with their trained sales pitch, if you can call it that. The city is ruthless. I am constantly amazed with how people somehow seem to not notice all that is around them, perhaps its easier to ignore. It’s almost as if everyone has invisible walls around them. Of course, what could they do? What would I do in their place?

I understand, it’s a situation borne out of necessity and not of choice. I guess there are just too many people in Mumbai than she can hold. Didn’t the Shiv Sena say something about ‘Mumbai for Mumbaikars’ or something like that? The wrong answer, but definitely, the right problem.

That’s about Mumbai, but as people, Mumbaikars are the bunch that I admire the most. I think it’s the most visitor friendly metro in India if you exclude the taxis, which run from the airport. Professionalism and discipline seems to run across the length and breadth of the city. One lingering image from this visit was the traffic policemen standing at every major cross-section on the weekend, intently watching the traffic for offenders. Medium height, spectacles, moustache, clean white shirts, khakhi trousers and the constable’s cap, notebook in hand, bike nearby. I remarked to a friend that they all of them even managed to look the same. Mumbai doesn’t deserve its citizens, just like Delhi-ites don’t deserve their city (BOCTAOE).

Watched ‘Inside Man’ at one of the theatres in South Mumbai. I think it should be essential viewing for all English movie buffs so that they could realise that its not just our Bollywood directors who manage to screw up really bad. Went to Crosswords on Sunday. Some nice titles available but overall, a bit of a downer for a guy used to the ‘Landmarks’ in Chennai. Plus they had only two measly titles on Chess available. Unforgivable. Did pick up my first book on poetry, ‘Mappings’, by Vikram Seth and so here’s one poem from the book.

Quaking Bridge
So here I am again by Quaking Bridge,
Standing a moment by the water’s edge,
Hearing the water’s roar as it churns past
The ancient brewery; and I am cast
Back to December when by Quaking Bridge
I stood a moment by the water’s edge
And heard the water’s turbulence, and knew
That since no more remained that I could do
And since to think of pain itself is pain,
I should forget and not walk here again
And hear the water under Quaking Bridge
And stand in thought beside the water’s edge,
And I am here again; but why delay?
Think, and walk on, and think: but walk away.

Sab Bhula Ke

2006-06-01T01:17:00.000+05:30

Teri khamoshion mein woh baatein hain chupee
Mujh kau choo laitee hein woh har aah joh yun niklee

Namee joh aankhon mein thee
Khulee woh baatein sabhee

Sab bhula ke phir bhee chala mein
Duniya kee rasmein bhula ke
Mujh ko joh himmat milee
Meri dil mein barhtee rahee

Mein bhee in aansoon mein dooba hoon kitney din
Khud sai keh sakoon ga jiya hoon teray bin

Khushee joh baaton mein thee
Khulee woh baatein sabhee

Sab bhula ke phir bhee chala mein
Duniya kee rasmein bhula kai
Mujh ko joh himmat milee
Meri dil mein barhtee rahee

Namee joh aankhon mein thee
Namee joh aankhon mein thee
Khulee woh baatein sabhee

Sab bhula ke phir bhee chala mein
Duniya kee rasmein bhula ke
Mujh ko joh himmat milee
Meri dil mein barhtee rahee

Artist: Call
Album: Jilawatan

My Chennai Visit

2006-05-31T08:45:00.000+05:30

Yes, yes, I know I have been missing from this blog (though whether I have been missed is the more important question, in my opinion) but that’s because I was in Chennai, dear reader, didn’t you know? Well, I am not going to bore you with a detailed chronological account of my Chennai visit but will restrict myself to the highlights, as I seem to do with cricket nowadays.

Friday, 6.45 AM: Jogged on the road next to the Elliots beach for an hour. Hadn’t planned on doing that, but when I got up in the morning and saw that the night rain had left behind a blanket of coolness in the air, I just couldn’t resist it and went out in my Lee Coopers since I hadn’t brought my Reeboks along. It was a good run, my first long one on a tar surface. And though it was cool, it was still pretty humid and by the time I returned home by around 8.15, I was drenched down to my socks.

Friday, 6 PM: Caught up with an old BITSian friend after almost six years. We discussed the travails of getting married as easily as we might have discussed a sadistic professor or a boring course eight years ago. Some things don’t change but some have.

Friday, 8 PM: Sis came down and I offered to finance any shopping requirements. So we went to four shops, looked at 203 tops, 77 skirts and 52 other items of female clothing and I, surprisingly, had a good time. She finally settled on a grotesque looking metal ring, which covered half of her finger and vaguely blamed me for necessitating her to buy a new wardrobe to go with that ring. Mom had a small heart attack when I mentioned I had bought her a ring, she had visions of a diamond or two slipping out of my wallet, but I assured her that it cost only Rs. 135.

Saturday, 10.30 AM: Visit to Burma Bazaar, Parrys Corner, along with couple of cousins and one of their hubbies to shop for cheap pirated CDs. Bought about 8 CDs each having at least 3 movies on them for 500 bucks. If the CDs work like they are supposed to, it’s quite a bargain, me thinks. Some good old westerns, war movies and Hitchcocks in that bunch. Don’t know when I’ll get to watch them though. It’s been some time since I have kept my home theatre busy, its getting wasted, bit like me.

Saturday, 5 PM: Went to TVK Nagar, where lots of our stuff is packed and stored in that house over there. Spent a couple of hours rummaging through my cartons and old papers looking for a short story that I written when I was 14, titled, “The Boy with the Gun” (*smile at the thought*). Couldn’t find it and was extremely disappointed but chanced upon some of my old school report cards from the time I was five years old, patted myself on the back quite a few times as I went through my scores and the comments from my teachers. Laughed a few loud evil laughs when I went through my sisters’. Was lucky she wasn’t around.

Saturday, 11 PM: Went for nice long late night stroll on the beach. Stared at the black expanse spewing out those white reams for quite some time, as the silent salty wind ruffled my hair. Then spoke to a friend on the phone for more than an hour. When I reached home, I realised I had forgotten my sis’ Scooty at the beach and went all the way back to get it.

Sunday, 9 AM: Being the function day, it was quite hectic. Took some photographs with my new camera till the time I was given charge of the family Camcorder which occupied me for a good couple of hours more. There’s some hidden potential a la Nagesh Kukunoor waiting to be discovered, I think.

Sunday, 11 AM: TV Sankarnarayanan, one of the leading names in the Carnatic music circles who also happened to be a friend of my uncle’s turned up for the function and decided to sing and give his blessings to my cousin, attending whose ‘upanayanam’(sacred thread ceremony) was the main objective of my visit. I do not understand classical music but his clear voice sang a song, which seemed to me full of sorrow, hope and joy. And when he invoked the blessings of the gods and my aunt who had passed away many years ago, my uncle and many relatives of mine had tears in their eyes. Yes, I got it on tape.

Sunday, 3 PM: Rounded up three of my cousins hubbies, borrowed my uncle’s Honda City and went looking for some cold beer in town. Since there wasn’t much time before I left, we settled on some warm beer from one of the regular wine shops, went to the beach, rolled up the windows and drank. Cribbed about Sehwag’s form, Bangalore’s infrastructure problems and the reservation issue.

P.S. The worst part of the whole visit was my Air Deccan flight at 2100 hrs. from Hyd to Chennai. The air inside the plane was stale and stinked. Another half-hour and I would have puked. I will never take that flight again.

Salutes!

2006-05-24T23:20:00.000+05:30

We don’t do a lot of linking and saluting out here on Dazed and Confused but let me say that I am surprisingly awed by this whole reservation drama. (My earlier post on this is here). Honestly, I didn’t think that all this protest would come to much. I thought the enthusiasm would wane and people will go back to watching the India-West Indies cricket series. But that hasn’t happened. There’s hope yet for our country. Whatever happens now, a lot of points have been made and hence certain salutes are in order.

-To the Medical Students in New Delhi who started it all and showed the way for the rest of the nation to follow, I salute you!

-To Dr. Pratap Bhanu Mehta , who resigned his position from the Knowledge Commission and took a stand and wrote this wonderful resignation letter to the Prime Minister, I salute you!

-To Karan Thapar, for exposing Arjun Singh as the nincompoop that he is in this amazing interview, I salute you!

I haven’t done anything by comparison, except for signing an online petition, which is supposed to be presented to the Prime Minister. I can’t see how that will make a difference to anybody when so much else has failed but we do what we can, I guess. There was some talk of a protest march on Fri evening outside my office. It’s a pity I am leaving for Chennai tomorrow for the next few days. I would have loved to be a part of that protest.

I know, I know, if I really gave a shit, I would cancel the trip and join the protest now, wouldn’t I?

On The Market

2006-05-21T13:20:00.000+05:30

I have a confession to make. I am now available on the marriage market. Have been now for the last couple of months, through those nefarious websites. Love has eluded me. No, that would be wrong. ‘Love marriage’ has eluded me, so far atleast, and frankly I don’t really see any dramatic developments happening on that front to change this reality.

Coming back to the marriage market, it’s been great timepass till now, and not without its moments of hilarity. There was this moment when I thought I was chatting online with a girl who seemed to be extremely curious about my antecedents and job prospects when after ten minutes of intense interrogation, she admitted that she was in fact the girl’s mother. Needless to say, I immediately pulled the plug on my computer. Since then, I always confirm who I am speaking to on the phone or online before proceeding with the conversation. If they ask, "Of course, this is ___, who else would pick up my phone?", I relate this harrowing experience and am immediately marked as a guy with a sense of humor, at least I like to believe so.

Then there was this girl, whom I met (the only person till now) who kept smiling coyly and looking down at her hands in response to any attempt on my part to make conversation. After 10 minutes of such coy smiles, hands fisting the handkerchief, whispered answers that I couldn’t hear, I gave up, leant back on my chair in that coffee shop and tried to find a mirror to check if I had an additional nose or eye in my face that I had somehow been unaware of all this time. After a further 15 minutes of contemplative silence from both ends, she finally opened up, but the moment had passed.

There is of course nothing romantic about the whole process. My profile has received more interest since the time I have added the letters ‘IIM’ (truthfully, I might add) to it a couple of weeks ago. A fact not hard to miss is also that responses are more likely from the same caste-language combination, to such an extent that I have stopped expressing an interest in profiles which claim a no ‘caste-language’ preference. All my claims of cosmopolitan upbringing don’t seem to cut much ice there. And no, I don’t happen to look like a gorilla.

It’s a process of elimination rather than selection, really. I won’t blame you if you like me less after reading further. If it helps, I share your opinion.

- Profiles created by parents, relatives, siblings, friends are a big turn off. So are responses from fathers asking me to send MY son’s horoscope across. Reminds me of that Asian Paints Exterior ad (‘Main intezaar karoongi’), albeit a more bizarre version.

- Check height, weight, photo. * Dazedandconfused ducking a hail of bullets as he runs for cover*

- Check educational background and income.

- Check for taboo words like ‘homely’, ‘adjusting’, ‘religious’, which result in flashing red lights going off in my head with visions of ‘Pati Parmeshwar/Sati Savithri’ Indian women.

Hmmm…maybe I should ask HER again one last time. She’s refused me twice already but what the hell. I have nothing to lose. What do you think?

She Will Be Loved

2006-05-20T09:54:00.000+05:30

Beauty queen of only eighteen
She had some trouble with herself
He was always there to help her
She always belonged to someone else

I drove for miles and miles
And wound up at your door
I've had you so many times
but somehowI want more

I don't mind spending everyday
Out on your corner in the pouring rain
Look for the girl with the broken smile
Ask her if she wants to stay awhile

And she will be loved
And she will be loved

Tap on my window knock on my door
I want to make you feel beautiful
I know I tend to get so insecure
It doesn't matter anymore

It's not always rainbows and butterflies
It's compromise that moves us along, yeah
My heart is full and my door's always open
You can come anytime you want, yeah

I don't mind spending everyday
Out on your corner in the pouring rain
Look for the girl with the broken smile
Ask her if she wants to stay awhile

And she will be loved
And she will be loved
And she will be loved
And she will be loved

I know where you hide
Alone in your car
Know all of the things that make you who you are
I know that goodbye means nothing at all
Comes back and begs me to catch her every time she falls, yeah

Tap on my window knock on my door
I want to make you feel beautiful
I don't mind spending everyday
Out on your corner in the pouring rain
Look for the girl with the broken smile
Ask her if she wants to stay awhile

And she will be loved
And she will be loved
And she will be loved
And she will be loved

Please don't try so hard to say goodbye
Please don't try so hard to say goodbye

Yeah

I don't mind spending everyday
Out on your corner in the pouring rain

Try so hard to say goodbye

Artist: Maroon 5

Transformations

2006-05-17T23:23:00.000+05:30

I never used to be big on routine. Or planning. Unlike my dad. He was the type who would make a long checklist before our summer holiday trip to Chennai from Delhi and proceed to tick the items off the list at least 5 days before the start of the journey. Or take the customary leave at the end of the year to study for the correspondence course that he was perennially trying to finish. The type, who would balance all household expense accounts on Sunday mornings. And I was the type who even after umpteen admonishments would fill my school bag with the relevant books and notebooks only in the morning and never the previous night. Somehow, that always used to get my Dad’s goat, though I never understood why.

I don’t know whether I let out the suppressed rebel in me in this fashion, but I have always been the last minute man. We were always very unlike each other, my dad and me. While he was the outgoing charmer among our huge extended family, I was the uninteresting introvert. And with no other popular talent like singing or dancing that I could claim to possess, I always felt that my Dad was a tad disappointed with me in those family gatherings when my smart and good looking cousins would sing and yap away cheerfully to glory. And was I happy with his disappointment? I’ll never figure that one out. I was always a brilliant student though, that was my saving grace, much better than my dad had been and I think we kind of found our peace with each other as a result.

Six years of campus life and three years of sales managerial experience later, I am no longer an introvert, though I would still prefer no company to poor company. I still don’t sing, except along with my car stereo with the windows up but I have done a few things and learnt a few tricks along the way. But the biggest change in me has been the way I have nailed down certain routines and worked hard to make them happen over the last couple of years.

It really started with the gym. Its been a good journey, starting from the morning workouts before office, those painful first couple of weeks to the change in cities, jobs, residences, I have managed to stick with it somehow. The next has been my rediscovery of the joy of reading. That’s been on now for the last 6 months and I have been finishing at least a couple of books a month since then. Not bad. Then of course, there’s been the running, about which I have blogged recently. My blogging has been pretty consistent, frequency that is, no comments on the quality. And for the last three weeks, I have started learning to play the guitar again, using the same guitar, which my parents thrust upon me 16 years ago. I am liking it and don’t be surprised, o patient reader if you are one, to find some musical podcasts happening from this page in about four months time.

And with the way my hairline’s been receding after every bath, I just realised that I am becoming my dad.

Mother

2006-05-14T20:40:00.000+05:30

Today morning, as I came out of my room on my way to my first bath of the day, I chanced upon ‘Vichu’s Aratai Arangam’, a weekly talk show on SUN TV which my mom tries not to miss as it dissects various social issues concerning the Tamil Nadu populace. I find the host and the participants highly cacophonic most of the time and was going to put in my usual token acerbic resistance when I noticed one of the speakers on the show.

She was obviously middle-aged, short, dark and with typical ordinary Dravidian features. She had a clear round face though. She wore a very ordinary looking sari and her hair was made in a bun with a few frazzled ends hanging around her. In fact, she could easily pass off as one of the many maids who have worked in any of our homes over the years. Her eyes seemed to be focussed on the ground at an angle of 30 degrees and her eyes were unmistakably sad. But her voice. Her voice, as she spoke, was clear and unambiguous, filled with a mix of pathos and pride. I will try and translate here what she said. It will be a sub-standard effort since my Tamil is pretty sub-standard and I didn’t get everything she said.

Woman: …Ayya, it doesn’t matter who provides the support, man or woman, it is the quality of support, which matters. I lost my husband 10 years ago. Ayya, I was devastated. After all the ceremonies got over, many men from my community came to my house and said Amma, bring out some chairs, we need to discuss certain matters. I said Ayya, I will not bring out any chairs. I know if I bring them out what matters you will discuss. Please go to your own homes Ayya, I am fully capable of taking care of my children and myself.

Vichu (host): And how many children do you have, amma?

Woman: Ayya, I have four children.

Vichu: And how many girls, amma?

Woman: I have three girls, Ayya, and a boy, the youngest. My eldest daughter was in 9th standard when this tragedy struck us. My eldest daughter scored ____ in her school finals and got a seat in the prestigious Anna University in Chennai and did her engineering. Not only that, she was the topper in her first and second years and graduated as a gold medallist. Today she is working in ____. Ayya, even my second daughter scored ____ in her exams and is studying in her final year B.E. Computer Science in ____. I asked my third daughter when she completed her schooling, amma, what do you want to do? She said, amma, I will be a CA. I said fine, go ahead, and now she is studying towards that aim. When I go with them to a temple, they say amma, why should we thank god, you are the person we should be thanking. When two of my girls were SPL (School Pupil Leader) and ASPL (Assistant School Pupil Leader), their school called me to one of their functions and asked me to light the ceremonial lamp. I asked Ayya, why are you asking me to light this lamp. They said Amma, your daughters have requested us. But my struggle is not over yet. My son is now in the 9th standard now. I have to now see that he too achieves his life’s ambitions. During this whole time, Ayya, I have not shed a tear in front of my children. Whenever I felt like crying, I would run away from their presence. But now here, when I see your kind face looking at me with eyes moist, I cannot stop these tears which are streaming down my face…

And as the camera panned the audience, there wasn’t a dry eye present. As my mother sniffed and I scooted into the bathroom, I couldn’t help thinking about two things. How different would my life have been if my Dad had passed away twelve years ago instead of two? And was the mother helped by the reservation policy in education in Tamil Nadu?

The Bloody Elevator

2006-05-13T00:42:00.000+05:30

The one attached to my apartment. Doesn’t work. At least the way it should. Though I guess it’s not its fault. Its one of those old ones you know, the one with the double grilled black doors, each on the inside and outside on every floor. It’s probably served its useful life already.

But there isn’t another elevator in the building with five floors and twenty-five apartments. One would think that the architect who designed this went on to do an MBA or something. It seems that its gonna cost Rs. 5 lakhs to get a new one installed, which means Rs. 20000 from every household. It is at such a time when you find out that people living in the first 3 floors actually never use the bloody thing, at least that’s what they claim nowadays.

So it looks like I am stuck with the bloody thing till it decides to either die a quiet death or kill someone one of these days. I have started calling it the ‘Gabbar ki Goli’. I’m almost tempted to say "Sardar, maine aapka namak khaya hai" every time I am in it. It really makes a tired effort and lets out a loud groan when launching itself from the ground floor. You hold the walls of the bloody thing as it shakes like the airplane in the movie "Air Force One"and let out a sigh of relief when you are airborne. The mirrors on the walls of the bloody thing am sure have seen many a sweat pouring down a nervous neck.

Just the other day, when I had safely reached the fifth floor, where I stay, I found to my consternation that the outer door was stuck and refused to open to my desperate heaves and pulls. I kicked the bloody thing, closed the inner grill door and went down to the fourth floor to try my luck there. Sorry. Same old heaving, pulling and cussing, but to no avail. I was feeling faint with the exertion when I found a wooden stick inside the elevator and was tempted to beat myself on the head with it. I pulled myself together in the nick of time. With luck, got out on the third floor and ran to the safety of my home.

I was told later that the wooden stick is kept to loosen the ball bearings, which get stuck on the fourth and fifth floors. One has to really reach between both the grilled doors with the stick deep within the contraption when stuck inside the bloody thing and loosen it up before it lets you out. A little scary you know and no, it’s not fun, you dirty minds.

I have perfected the technique by now, and am able to come out just by using my bare hands. But that still leaves the problem of getting in, unresolved since you can’t loosen the balls from without. As of now, I climb down two floors and call the bloody thing up, then get impatient while the bloody thing wakes up from its slumber on the ground floor and proceed to take the stairs while its making its way up.

Any better ideas?

With Arms Wide Open

2006-05-10T22:34:00.000+05:30

Song dedicated to Ashutosh, his wife Mitalee and the new joy in their life, Arjun. See related post here.

Well I just heard the news today
It seems my life is going to change
I closed my eyes, begin to pray
Then tears of joy stream down my face

With arms wide open
Under the sunlight
Welcome to this place
I'll show you everything
With arms wide open
With arms wide open

Well I don't know if I'm ready
To be the man I have to be
I'll take a breath, I'll take her by my side
We stand in awe, we've created life

With arms wide open
Under the sunlight
Welcome to this place
I'll show you everything
With arms wide open
Now everything has changed
I'll show you love
I'll show you everything
With arms wide open
With arms wide open
I'll show you everything ...oh yeah
With arms wide open..wide open

If I had just one wish
Only one demand
I hope he's not like me
I hope he understands
That he can take this life
And hold it by the hand
And he can greet the world
With arms wide open...

With arms wide open
Under the sunlight
Welcome to this place
I'll show you everything
With arms wide open
Now everything has changed
I'll show you love
I'll show you everything
With arms wide open
With arms wide open
I'll show you everything..oh yeah
With arms wide open....wide open

Artist: Creed

Running in the Park

2006-05-07T12:48:00.000+05:30

Been doing that for about two months now. Every weekend. It all started coz of the traffic at the treadmills in the gym and I needed to do my cardio somewhere.

The Krishna Kant Park has a perimeter of about 850 m. The first couple of weeks I struggled to finish two rounds. Since then I have successfully increased my run by a round every week and I have surprised myself by the results. Yesterday, ran nine rounds in about 50-55 minutes. That should be about 7.5 km at about 8-8.5 km. per hour. Not bad at all considering all those failed jogging attempts over the years. So now am thinking, that I can add a couple of more rounds to cap an hour of running. And then, I could work at increasing my average speed to maybe 10 km/hr. That would be about 12 rounds in an hour. Who knows, maybe I could run a half marathon in two and half-hours in a couple of month’s time. Hmmm…I think I should buy one of those zany digital sports watches, which record time in microseconds.

Ok, coming back to reality, the first couple of rounds are more or less a cakewalk nowadays and I hardly lose my breath except to let out a ‘whoosh!’ once a minute. By the fourth, I am breathing in and out regularly through my mouth, the sweat starts dripping from the forehead and I can feel the heat of the mud track through the soles of my shoes. By the sixth, my calf muscles start talking to each other and I am trying not to focus on the pain. That’s the toughest part. What does one think while running? How do you keep your mind away from the voice inside which says, "Stop! Stop!". By the seventh, now sweating in buckets and am wiping it off onto my T-shirt. The other walkers (not many runners around) now start noticing and the odd pretty girl gives me a stare. That helps. A lot. What doesn’t is when the shoelace comes off and I have to tie them back. That happened twice yesterday. I need to find a better way to tie those laces. It’s the eighth now and am running in the dark, as the sun has gone down and the lights in the park are feeble and many don’t work. I can really feel every vertical centimeter of the uphill parts of the track now, my hands start aching and I loosen them up by letting them down by my sides. My fingers and neck are stiff and I work at them as well while running. My throat is parched and my lips are dry. Now I start the grunt cycle. That works like this. After every 8 bounds, I let out a grunt. Not as bad as Monica Seles but enough to startle any remaining intrepid walkers as I overtake them. So I go, Clop, Clop, Clop, Clop, Clop, Clop, Clop, Clop, GRUNT! This rhythm helps me focus and takes me through the last two rounds. The last two hundred meters now and I am trying to increase my speed. That’s when I see her. She’s there at the gate, calling my name and holding out her hands towards me.

I can’t find her when I touch the gate but I know she’ll be there next week. At the end of the tenth.

whoop de doo

2006-05-07T10:40:00.000+05:30

if i’m over the moon
it’s because i’m over you
a day at a time
and i’m tickety-boo
i don’t carry on
the way i used to
whoop de doo
whoop de doo

if i’m doing great
it’s because when i get home
i don’t go straight to my answerphone
and the tears don’t come
the way they used to
whoop de doo
whoop de doo

so many little things
are so much better now
they were only the little things
anyhow

if i’m over the moon
it’s because that’s what i am
funny that once
i used to give a damn
and i’d do anything
in the whole wide world for you
whoop de doo
whoop de doo

anything
anything you’d want me to
whoop de doo
whoop de doo

Artist: Mark Knopfler
Album: Shangri-La

A Vocabulary Lesson

2006-05-06T10:32:00.000+05:30

That’s what reading ‘The Sea’ by John Banville felt like. Yeah, yeah, I know it’s uncool reading a book after it has won the Booker, but when did I start giving a shit. Well anyway, I had to reach for the dictionary so many times while reading it that I just gave up (not on the book, the dictionary) and resorted to making circles around words that I didn't get, with a pencil. More about the book later, but first the results of my diligent work.

Manikins- dummy
Etiolated- bleach, whiten
Quotidian- customary, accustomed
Revenant- apparition, specter
Immured- shut in, locked in
Insouciant- carefree, untroubled
Spire- tall structure, skyscraper
Sough- sigh, whisper
Stipples- dot, dab
Rump- buttocks, bottom
Venial- excusable, forgivable
Lassitude- lethargy, languor
Papules- blemish
Euphonious- melodious, sonorous
Grog- alchohol, booze
Coevals- coexistent, simultaneous
Fronds- leaf, blade
Doilies- floor covering, doormat
Savant- scholar, learned person
Homunculus- midget, gnome
Canker- sore, ulcer
Russet- reddish brown, copper colored
Nosegays- bouquet
Desiccated- dry, parched
Gobs- lump of earth
Refection- principal meal of the day
Kippers- add salt, season
Whorled- spiral, coil
Bungs- stopper, cork
Joggling- hauling, drawing
Cruets- narrow mouth jar
Fuzz- fluff, fine fur
Trilling- shrill noise, piercing cry
Vale- valley, lowland
Casuistry- fallacious reasoning, misconception
Mephitic- stinking, putrid
Cruciform- symbol, crucifix
Staves- post, pole
Pewter- metal, alloy
Satyr- monster, demon
Fatuous- dim-witted, dense
Syncopated- abbreviate, condense
Imprecation- curse, expletive
Purblind- myopic
Cerements- shroud, covering
Plangent- resounding, reverberating
Timorous- fearful, frightened
Littoral- shore, beach
Expatiation- discuss, dissert
Addled- incoherent, muddled
Inamorato- lover, admirer
Putative- commonly accepted

And the following are the words that my pocket dictionary and MS WORD 97 have given up on. Am too lazy to get online and search. See if you can help.

Bosky
Velutinous
Troth
Louche
Djellabas
Chalets
Ziggurat
Civet
Bulrushes
Cicatrice
Deckle
Ichor
Maja
Tableaux
Maenads
Bole
Faun
Rufous
Rosacea
Erythema
Sebaceous
Infelicity
Cracaleured
Canthus
Cuttlefish
Shaly
Groynes
Cinereal
Horrent
Caboodle
Woodwinds
Fortissimo
Prelapsarian
Anaglypta
Gorse
Quiffed
Immanence
Cretonne
Ovine
Raddled
Hydrocephalic
Mandala
Puces
Prolapsed
Frontispiece
Catafalque
Crepitant
Rhinophyma
Narcolept
Boreens
Rashers
Anchovies
Hydrangea
Semolina
Stodge
S`eance
Daguerreotype
Chintz
Aspidistra
Lino
Jeroboam
Eponymous
Wattles
Bombazine
Plosive
Caducous
Brioche
Tussocked
Bevelled
Convolvulus
Pharaonic
Triptych
Scumbling
Umber
Varicose
Marram
Knobkerrie
Assegais
Porpoise
Publican
Presagement
Shingle
Anabasis
Crapulent
Apercus
Vulgate
Aneurysm

The book itself, of course, reads like a dream (though I hope the author didn’t dream up some of the words). Sample this:

"When I peered wishfully through the mists from the all too real then to the blissfully imagined now, this is, as I have said, exactly how I would have foreseen my future self, a man of leisurely interests and scant ambition sitting in a room just like this one, in my sea-captain’s chair, leaning at my little table, in just this season, the year declining towards its end in clement weather, the leaves scampering, the brightness imperceptibly fading from the days and the street lamps coming on only a fraction earlier each evening. Yes, this is what I thought adulthood would be, a kind of long Indian summer, a state of tranquility, of calm incuriousness, with nothing left, of the barely bearable raw immediacy of childhood, all the things solved that had puzzled me when I was small, all mysteries settled, all questions answered, and the moments dripping away, unnoticed almost, drip by drip, towards the final, almost unnoticed quietus."

The book is dark and melancholic for the most part but Banville does throw up his sharp wit now and then, which jumps up and bites you and leaves you laughing aloud. Like this one:

"When she tottered to her feet the wicker chair cried out in excruciated relief. She really is of a prodigious bulk. I thought if her belt buckle were to fail and the belt snap her trunk would flop into a perfectly spherical shape with her head on top like a large cherry on a, well, on a bun."

Ok, that’s it, Amartya Sen’s ‘The Argumentative Indian’, here I come!

My Sacred Thread

2006-05-02T00:25:00.001+05:30

I was just flipping through some of the old family albums yesterday and came upon one with photos of my sacred thread or Poonal ceremony. This is considered to be an important ceremony with us Tamil Iyers, the initiation of boy into Brahminhood, or I guess that’s how I would put it. Of course my memories of the function are not pleasant. I was a shy kid and never liked being the center of attention, especially one which involved being half naked in a dhoti, sitting beside a holy fire and repeating Sanskrit verses which sounded like gibberish to me, by the dozen, over a period of two days. I think I was about 10—11 years old then.

Thankfully, my parents were wise and had clubbed this function along with my cousin’s (probably to share the cost) who is a year younger to me. So I have company in my misery, I had thought. But it was actually worse. My cousin was a different kind of a kid. He reveled in the attention, remained jovial throughout what seemed to me like an ordeal, and made matters worse for me by inviting unfavorable comparisons by all and sundry aunts and uncles. All the photos show me wearing an expression not dissimilar to the one Vinod Kambli had on his face after India went out in the semifinals of the Cricket World Cup’96 in Calcutta while my cousin looks like the victorious Sri Lankan, Ranatunga.

The first day of the function was held at my grandparent’s huge house in North Madras. There’s this photo where I am in a white and pink striped towel, sitting cross-legged on a low stool while a whole bucket of water is emptied over my head as part of some ritual. People all around seemed to think it was funny. I think I used the opportunity to cry some unseen tears.

I steeled myself for the second day which took place in a public hall in Adyar, I think. My priest started earlier than my cousin’s and I remember I was looking forward to finishing mine earlier and watch him suffer while I played with my other cousins and friends. I kept track throughout the whole morning of the comparative progress of the rituals and noted with satisfaction that we had built up a sizeable lead. The checkered flag was not far away. But at the end, my conscientious priest decided that I hadn’t sufficiently internalized the entire Sanskrit gibberish that he had been chanting (and me repeating) all this while and proceeded to an extended impromptu coaching exercise. My face and spirits grew smaller and smaller as I watched my cousin finishing his and being let off. And when I saw him changed into a smart T-shirt and shorts and proceed to wave at me while he played with the other kids, my voice choked and eyes welled up with tears. My myopic priest eventually had pity on me or more probably became hungry and finished the whole thing off.

The thread therefore, never had any significance for me. I never had any reason in my mind to keep it on but didn’t have a good reason to take it off either. So over the years, it had become an accessory, which I used to scratch my back with, (since it is worn across one shoulder and around the back) till it broke. Now and then I would get a fresh one from my parents or when I am required to participate in another of those rituals.

Couple of days ago, when I was in the huge washroom attached to my gym, wrapped in a blue and white striped towel after my bath and admiring myself in those huge mirrors, that I noticed that the thread was obstructing a clear view of my abs. I took it off, rolled it up and slipped it into a blue dustbin with a white lid.

Yes, much better now.

P.S. The one good thing, which resulted out of the ceremony, was that I was presented my first watch, a Titan Aqura, with a white dial and a black strap by one of my relatives. It showed good time for many years.

Some More Chess and Stuff

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

This post was written three days ago but couldn’t post it due to an internet connectivity issue.

We won! We won! We won! But, of course…:)

Won the finals today. I won all my games in the tournament, obviously. My teammates, two of them pitched in with good wins and draws as well. Couple of hiccups with the organization of the event, some chaos, but all in all, great fun. Today’s game was the most challenging one, though I was never in any danger of losing at any point of time. Played the Sicilian Dragon after a long break. One hardly gets to play the classical dragon at the amateur level since many white players prefer to play Bc4 and d3 when faced with 1..c5, thereby avoiding the pawn exchange on d4 which characterizes every classical Sicilian variation. Anyways, a nicely timed pawn sacrifice on e5 ended in me going an exchange up. Exchanges all around led to a rook vs bishop ending with about 4 pawns each. Elementary, my dear Watson.

Boozed today with colleagues. I got a little bored by the company and conversation though, which was surprising coz normally I am very lenient in such situations. Everybody cribbed about their jobs and bitched about other colleagues for most of three hours. I am generally happy with gulping my beer and laughing at jokes which others crack but there’s only so much Ma Behen gaalis and references to specific body parts that I can listen to in one evening. I had half a mind to leave in the middle but that would have been rude, na? Instead roughed it out and was quite sleepy and releived by the time we wrapped it all up.

These days I am running short of words for these posts. Hell, it’s not the first time. See ya later.

Photos- Courtesy my new Camera

2006-04-29T13:15:00.000+05:30

A feathered friend arrives ...

Need a rub...

Hyderabad's too dusty, ain't it...?

Ok, done. Ready for take off...

Construction next to my house...

My most prized possesion-BEAN BAG!!!

The view from my room on a rainy day...

The view from my room at night...

And of course, my new Nikon Coolpix L3...

More Chess

2006-04-26T00:46:00.000+05:30

Obviously avoid this post if you are still reading this. Its really about chess.

It’s a problem I have. When I am playing in a chess tournament, I lose perspective. It consumes me. Here I have the added responsibility of organizing this one as well. My gym schedule has gone haywire because evenings are now taken up full time. I had a brainwave that I would leave early for office, around 6 AM and work out in the company gym. Did that on Monday, gave it a miss today and probably tomorrow as well. C’mon, one hour of dreamy sleep or giving pain to your triceps? It’s a no-brainer.

Yesterday, I lost a friendly match. Came back home and told myself, "No, No, don’t do it. Eat and sleep. You need to workout tomorrow morning." But I couldn’t help it. It’s a problem I have. When I am playing in a chess tournament, I lose perspective. It consumes me. Spent the next one and a half hour with my Rexene board and ivory pieces analyzing my game and cursing myself for not finding the right move over the board and making the blunder that decided the game. Thankfully, I won easily in our first round game today. An unremarkable game, nay opponent. I mean when his first three moves are e3, c3, and h3, it’s a sort of anticlimax. You really wish he would resign then and there but you need to be patient and play those 20 moves to finish him off. My first three moves? e5, d5, c5.

Ok, can’t really make up my mind on how to continue this post, so will stop it here. Need my sleep you know. Plus, work out tomorrow you dazedandconfused asshole, you can do it.

Somewhere Only We Know

2006-04-23T22:21:00.000+05:30

I walked across an empty land
I knew the pathway like the back of my hand
I felt the earth beneath my feet
Sat by the river and it made me complete

Oh simple thing where have you gone
I'm getting old and I need something to rely on
So tell me when you're gonna let me in
I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin

I came across a fallen tree
I felt the branches of it looking at me
Is this the place we used to love?
Is this the place that I've been dreaming of?

Oh simple thing where have you gone
I'm getting old and I need something to rely on
So tell me when you're gonna let me in
I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin

And if you have a minute why don't we go
Talk about it somewhere only we know?
This could be the end of everything
So why don't we go
Somewhere only we know?

Oh simple thing where have you gone
I'm getting old and I need something to rely on
So tell me when you're gonna let me in
I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin

So if you have a minute why don't we go
Talk about it somewhere only we know?
This could be the end of everything
So why don't we go
So why don't we go

This could be the end of everything
So why don't we go
Somewhere only we know?

Song: Somewhere Only We Know
Artist: Keane

Dream Job, Part Deux

2006-04-22T02:13:00.000+05:30

I wrote this post sometime back on what I feel about dream jobs. And I wrote this post about how I feel about Chess. Then there are a couple of more posts related to chess, here and there. Read these at your own risk. The point of this labored introduction is that I once again feel I know what my dream job really is. And that I think would be if I were a chess journalist in Europe.

The glory is, of course reserved for the Grandmasters. But it’s too late for me to start a playing career, plus I honestly don’t think I have that kind of talent. But wouldn’t it be great if I could spend my life covering tournaments in Linares, Wijk Aan Zee, Monte Carlo and the other great venues for chess? Coz make no mistake about it, Europe is the Mecca for Chess. All the great players are there, popularity of the game is really high in those parts, the biggest tournaments happen there though there are exceptions like San Louis last year but really one-offs don’t count for much. Hell, I don’t know how many of you know that even our own Vishwanathan Anand lives in Madrid and holidays in Chennai and not the other way around.

The company I work in is currently organizing their annual sports meet for their employees. Obviously, your truly has taken charge of the chess event. From organizing chessboards and pieces for the tournament, to searching in futility for chess clocks in Hyderabad last week. From drawing up the schedule and tournament rules, communicating with the 16 team captains of their individual units, to clarifying inane doubts and conducting selection games for my own unit, nothing in my recent past has given me as much pleasure as these mundane tasks, done after regular office hours. And the tournament has not yet begun! I played a friendly game today as well after a long time (those internet games are never the same) with a pretty senior guy in my organization (I found that out only after I beat him, shit! Thankfully he was from another unit) I blundered horribly in the opening, gave away a pawn and a knight for nothing within the first ten moves. Almost resigned there and then but just gritted my teeth and fought back, slowly and steadily. Nana, if you are reading this, you would have been proud J . Forked his queen and rook with my bishop and won the exchange, won back one of his doubled pawns and followed it up with a neat little sacrificial combination involing an NxP on e3 which led to a win of a couple of more pawns. My queen and two rooks then combined very nicely against his cramped forces consisting of a queen, rook, knight and bishop. Full control of the e file helped to exchange pieces favorably at the right moment and by the time his king was his only piece left on the board on a5, my pawn had rolled its way to h2 and it was all over.

See, there’s redemption for me yet, within those 64 squares.

For you, Dad

2006-04-20T23:50:00.000+05:30

Today is my father’s second death anniversary, according to the Tamil Calendar. I got up at six today, took a bath, maneuvered myself into a dhoti, and waited, barechested, except for the sacred thread hanging across my neck and left shoulder, for the two brahmans who were going to perform the ceremony, to arrive. My mom had readied the assorted thingies- brass cups and spoon, mats on the floor to sit upon, some tulsi leaves, rice, ash, sandalwood paste and some kind of black seeds.

They were 15 minutes late. Some problem with locating the house, they said. We started off. I sat cross-legged in front of them and repeated mindlessly the prayers that they said, all the while making various actions with my hands using the various paraphernalia listed above. In between, I had to stand up and make small circles around them, and do the full-length namaskarams some 5-6 times at regular intervals as and when they indicated. The whole thing lasted for about half an hour, by the end of which I was only repeating the last few words of every line in the prayers. They didn’t seem to mind anyway.

I was relieved when it was finally over, after the payment was made to them which also is part of the ceremony I guess, and struggled to my feet (I am never comfortable when I sit cross legged on the floor). I brushed away the rice, seeds and stuff from my body and hair and adjusted my dhoti, which by now seemed to have an attitude of its own. My mother offered them coffee, which they accepted. One of them asked me if India had won the cricket match yesterday night. I didn’t know so I put on the TV and both of us watched the news channels. We had won by some 50 odd runs. They made some polite small talk inquiring about where I work and what I do and all before leaving.

I changed into a yellow half shirt and brown flat trousers, had my breakfast, washed away the dried ash from my forehead and left for work on my bike.

Mangoes!

2006-04-17T23:09:00.000+05:30

They are here!

I am no foodie. My most famous words spoken as a ten-year-old were, "Eating and bathing are a waste of time." Uncles and aunts never fail to mention this fact before we run out of conversation.

But I love mangoes. Eating them. Don’t ask me about all the various types of mangoes, when they come, when they go, where they grow and that entire finer nuance. I love eating them all. Period.

As standalone fruit for desert, or give it to me with sambhar rice or even (gosh!) curd rice. Mango shake, slurp. Mango juice, slurp slurp. Its going to be a mango a day for me till the end of the season now.

They are still not sweet enough in the market nowadays, a bit on the sour side but then I don’t wear my food critic hat when it comes to mangoes. I think I would probably eat up a bitter gourd if it dressed up as a mango.

Somebody has to peel and cut them for me though. And I don’t eat around the seed. Heh heh…you know me. Incorrigible.

What the ....?!

2006-04-16T00:46:00.000+05:30

Ok, so I am no snobbish intellectual. But I probably have a higher IQ than the average person who reads this blog. Shit, I know I contradicted myself there, let me try again.

"From now on, little by little, you must prepare yourself to face death. If you devote all of your future energy to living, you will not be able to die well. You must begin to shift gears, a little at a time. Living and dying are, in a sense of equal value." (Chauffeur to Woman, thailand)

This little gem of a quote is from a book, a collection of short stories, that I just finished reading called ‘After the quake’ by Haruki Murakami. But most of the time the book left me feeling a little stupid and bewildered. It was as if I wasn’t intelligent enough to fathom or decipher what the author wanted to say! Either that or Mr. Murakami (or the guy who translated the book) is a pretty dazed and confused guy himself. Let me give you a flavor of his stories, though you should avoid reading any further if you are planning to read him.

1. ufo in kushiro
Woman leaves man after 5 years of marriage. Man decides to take a break from work for a week. Man’s friend asks him to deliver a package to someone Far Away. Man delivers package to Woman2 in Far Away and ends up in bed with her, but can’t get it up. They both agree that he has come a long way. She also says it’s just the beginning. End.
dazedandconfused verdict- Are they planning to get married??

2. landscape with flatiron
Girl and Lover meet with a Male Friend at the beach where Male Friend makes a bonfire. Lover is a bum who plays guitar in a stupid band. Girl ran away from home when she thought her dad started looking at her in a strange way. Male Friend ran away from home to make bonfires. He is afraid of a fridge, which comes in his dreams. They talk. Girl muses about committing suicide along with Male Friend. He tells her to wait till the bonfire goes out. End.
dazedandconfused verdict- Now which one is more loony among them??

3. all god’s children can dance
Man follows old man who he believes to be his father from a train station to the ends of the city. (Flashback- His mom seems to have had ‘knowledge’ of many men). Where he proceeds to lose sight of him and ends up in a baseball field. Where he starts dancing. End.
dazedandconfused verdict- I think he had an incestuous relationship with his mom.

4. thailand
Woman in Thailand for holiday. She swims, reads and eats sandwiches. Before she leaves, her Chauffeur takes her to an Old Lady in a village. Old Lady tells her there’s a white stone inside her and that she should catch a snake which will eat the stone. She goes home. End.
dazedandconfused verdict- The Chauffeur’s gay.

5. super-frog saves tokyo
Man comes home to find 6 ft tall Frog at home. Frog tells him they have to fight Worm and save city from a quake. But before they can fight, Man is shot. Frog meets him later and tells him he averted the quake but couldn’t defeat the Worm. Frog explodes, worms burst out from within Frog and crawl all over Man.
dazedandconfused verdict- I loved this one, its really funny. No, really.

6. honey pie
Can’t make fun of this one actually. It’s just your regular beautifully written story. I was a little disappointed actually since by then I was already penning thoughts in my mind for this blog.

Overall verdict- Since I don’t do reviews, I will pick one which I agree with- "The stories here are well crafted and lyrical…They are sometimes absurd, sometimes quite funny, but they all have real epiphanies and real moments of feeling."- Rocky Mountain News

I think its about time that I watched a couple of Govinda movies.

Arjun Singh Zindabad!

2006-04-12T00:36:00.000+05:30

Being sufficiently drunk and hydrated after drinking copious amounts of water, I have now decided to write my second general gyan post (The first one is a rant called ‘A Good First Impression’ written some time ago) on this blog.

Why? There’s an answer but I will slime and say, "Because I am dazed and confused, that’s why".

So what’s it going to be about? These are the candidate posts:

1. More than fifty people burnt alive in Meerut. There’s a huge potential for a rant there. But there’s a real danger of me ending up sounding insensitive. You know that’s why I hate crowds…oh..there you see…

2. Salman Khan sent to Jodhpur jail for five years for killing a black buck. Am sure I can think of some humorous ideas on this topic. Like if I were a desperate autograph hunter, you know where I would be likely to break a law now, don’t you?

3. Bangladesh seem to have Australia on the mat in a cricket test match! Is nothing sacred in the world nowadays?! I haven’t done a cricket post as yet, maybe its time for one?

4. Draft proposal on reservations for OBC at 27.5% taking the total reservation at all centrally funded educational institutions including the IITs and IIMs to 49.5%. It is reported that the general populace (forward/upper/general caste, what are we called??) will not suffer since the total number of seats at these prestigious institutions will also be increased proportionately.

Ok, so you are smart and have figured out that I have already decided what I am going to write about and all this nonsense above was just to buy time as I circle around the topic looking for an appropriate sneak in.

Before I launch into the thick of it, I will make the following assumptions against my better judgement:

1. The Honorable Minister Shri Arjun Singh is a very wise man.
2. He has a diligent and intelligent team of bureaucrats who have the interest of the nation at heart.
3. They have the data and reports with them prepared by eminent advisors, which recommend conclusively that this reservation policy will go a long way to alleviate the situation of the downtrodden.

Ok, so why have I made these nonsensical assumptions? Though I would like to say that this would help me to argue the true merits of the case, you know that the real reason is because by doing this I reduce the scope of discussion and make my own job (post) easier (smaller).

But for whatever it is worth I have the following to suggest to the Honorable Minister.

1. Sir, please check your OBC list again. The other day, a gentleman on TV said that there are more than 3500 castes in the list. Even affluent communities like the Lingayats of Karnataka and the Nairs of Kerala are included in it. I am sure you want to avoid the embarrassing situation where an investigation from Aaj Tak/Indian Express/Outlook finds one day that while 75% of the Open Category students have to finance their studies at IIMs via loans, only 25% of the reserved quota find it necessary to do so. And those too for tax exemption purposes. Request you plug in an income criterion which is credible enough to fulfil your noble intentions.

2. Sir, I hope the reservation policy doesn’t mean that people from such backgrounds would get a free entry into the hallowed educational institutions. I hope the cut-off percentages are relaxed and not done away with. For eg. How about a 90th percentile cut off for the IIMs? (I know something smells bad, that’s because I just pulled this number from my ass) I am sure you and your team with the help of the IIM boards and faculty could come up with a reasonable number as well, which will ensure that these guys won’t flunk the course.

3. Sir, it is said that seats will be increased so that the open category students are not affected. I must congratulate you on your wisdom here sir. Only a far thinking person could have come up with this idea. But as you must be aware, more students mean more requirements on infrastructure. More hostels, more classrooms and more quality faculty. I hope you will give the IIM and IIT boards sufficient time (two to five years) to ramp up. Lots of clearances required from your own ministry, you see.

4. Sir, and finally, it is my humble request to give a waiver of two years to the IIMs and four years to the IITs from this policy while they are ramping up their infrastructure. This will also give your ministry enough time to track the success of the policy in other centrally funded educational institutions and document the stellar performance of disadvantaged students when they are provided the right opportunity. This will help you to counter all those contorted allegations from the elite educated IIT/IIM minority (really, twits they are) and the partisan English media.

At you service sir, always.

Tigers in Red Weather

2006-04-09T22:23:00.000+05:30

Just finished reading this book by Ruth Padel. Found it captivating, in parts. Had wanted to read up on tigers for quite some time now. Of course, this book attempts to be about a lot more than just tigers. The author also happens to be a poet and I guess she couldn’t resist appending a collection of poems at the end of the book.

Here’s one-

Wallace Stevens ‘Disillusionment of Ten o’Clock’

The houses are haunted
By white night gowns.
None are green,
Or purple with green rings,
Or green with yellow rings,
Or yellow with blue rings.
None of them are strange,
With socks of lace
And beaded ceintures.
People are not going
To dream of baboons and periwinkles.
Only, here and there, an old sailor,
Drunk and asleep in his boots,
Catches tigers
In red weather.

How You Remind Me

2006-04-08T10:54:00.000+05:30

Never made it as a wise man
I couldn't cut it as a poor man stealing
Tired of living like a blind man
I'm sick of sight without a sense of feeling
And this is how you remind me
This is how you remind me
Of what I really am
This is how you remind me
Of what I really am

It's not like you to say sorry
I was waiting on a different story
This time I'm mistaken
for handing you a heart worth breaking
and I've been wrong,
i've been down,
been to the bottom of every bottle
these five words in my head scream
"are we having fun yet?"

yeah, yeah, yeah, no, no
yeah, yeah, yeah, no, no

it's not like you didn't know that
I said I love you
and I swear I still do
And it must have been so bad
Cause living with me must have damn near killed you

And this is how, you remind me
Of what I really am
This is how, you remind me
Of what I really am

It's not like you to say sorry
I was waiting on a different story
This time I'm mistaken
for handing you a heart worth breaking
and I've been wrong,
i've been down,
been to the bottom of every bottle
these five words in my head scream
"are we having fun yet?"

yet, yet, yet, no, no
yet, yet, yet, no, no
yet, yet, yet, no, no
yet, yet, yet, no, no

Never made it as a wise man
I couldn't cut it as a poor man stealing
And this is how you remind me
This is how you remind me
This is how you remind me
Of what i really am
This is how you remind me
Of what i really am

It's not like you to say sorry
I was waiting on a different story
This time I'm mistaken
for handing you a heart worth breaking
and I've been wrong,
i've been down,
been to the bottom of every bottle
these five words in my headscream
"are we having fun yet?"

yet, yet are we having fun yet [3x]

Artist: Nickelback
Song: How You Remind Me

Cribs and Responses

2006-04-07T00:08:00.000+05:30

Well, today actually TWO people asked me why I had failed to update my blog since last Sunday. Understandably, I was quite flattered to know that some of you actually miss the drivel that I put out here. Yeah, I also know there could be other uncharitable and inane reasons for their asking me the question but I prefer to assume what I have and we shall leave it at that.

The reason that there has been a slight delay is actually quite simple. I had already decided what my next post was going to be about. I had planned for pictures of my new beanbag, my new camera, view from the window of my room, me in various stages of undress…oh yes, I had some plans. But I couldn’t transfer the photos from my Nikon Coolpix L3 to my adamant computer who refused to smile or say cheese. It seems I need to install some drivers since am stuck with an ancient operating system called Windows 98 (Okay you monitor, stop staring at me). I will probably figure that out this weekend so now I am left with the task of writing a blogpost.

Cribbing. Don’t we all love to do that? About work, weather, life or any other insane thing which catches us on the wrong side of our spiritual river. And I guess we all have our favorite person who gets the full benefit of our laments. In my case, it’s my poor mum. I’ve been thinking about it and my cribs generally elicit five types of reactions

1. The Laugh- Sometimes, my cribs happen to be funny, apparently. Like when she asks me about my day at office and I choose to tell her about my gym routine (my thoughtful company provides one) that day since that maybe the only thing of consequence I might have done that day.

2. The Silence- When she’s too engrossed in that soap on SONY in which this girl gets artificially inseminated by mistake in a hospital when the medical files of two patients get mixed up.

3. The Solution- I hate this. I don’t like anybody trying to solve my cribs. A ‘So what have you learnt from this experience?’ attempt makes me disappear into my room pronto.

4. The Agenda- Now this would be funny if it weren’t so bizarre. MY crib conversation is completely hijacked by what she would want me to do in my life. For eg.

Me: I have a bad throat.

Her: You shouldn’t have gone on your bike to office.(?)
Or
Her: You should say your prayers (??)
Or
Her: You take too long to eat your dinner (??)
Or
Her: You should stop drinking beer (??)
Or
Her: You should get married.(???)
Or
Her: You should buy a house. (????)

Me: Huh??

5. The Astrology Funda- This is my favorite. I don’t believe in it but the whole idea of all the moons, suns, and planets being responsible for all the troubles in my life is quite liberating. And she makes it all sound almost believable, what with all the technical jargon she throws into it. You see, my pimples are supposed to disappear from April 16, when the moon becomes retrogade and Mars moves into the 5th.

I love her.

A Message

2006-04-02T17:00:00.000+05:30

my song is love
love to the loveless shown
and it goes up
you don't have to be alone

your heavy heart is made of stone
and it's so hard to see you clearly
you don't have to be on your own
you don't have to be on your own

and i'm not gonna take it back
and i'm not gonna say i don't mean that
you're the target that i'm aiming at
and i get that message home

my song is love
my song is love unknown
and i'm on fire for you clearly
you don't have to be alone
you don't have to be on your own

and i'm not gonna take it back
and i'm not gonna say i don't mean that
you're the target that i'm aiming at
and i'm nothing on my own
got to get that message home

and i'm not gonna stand and wait
not gonna leave it until it's much too late
on a platform i'm gonna stand and say
that i'm nothing on my own
and i love you, please come home

my song is love, is love unknown
and i've got to get that message home

Artist: Coldplay
Album: X & Y (2005)
Song: A Message

A Strange Vivid Dream

2006-04-02T04:35:00.000+05:30

I hear a loud shout. Bang! It’s late into the night. I rush out into the hall. This is not my current home. This is D58 Ajay Enclave, Delhi where I lived when I was 14. But I am 27 in my dream. The room is brightly lit by the huge chandelier which has more than hundred glass reflectors with five 40 W bulbs embedded in it. My dad used to make me clean the dust and grime off that thing every alternate Sunday. But he isn’t in the house now, its only me and mom, like now. A strong wind is blowing right across the room, right to left. From the door on the right which is there at the middle of the long hall to the left door right at the end of the hall, the curtains at the far end, straight ahead are half lifted, their windows are wide open too. But wait a minute, this can’t be D58 Ajay Enclave, it never had a door on the right! More like my Besant Nagar home in Chennai, where we stayed a year ago.

I hear a shout from the balcony. I am now in the middle of the hall. I run towards the door leading to the balcony. I stupidly pick up a cushion and hold it high over my head in a striking pose as I look in to the long dark balcony. There’s a guy at the end of the balcony. I can make out a dark, stocky form about 5 feet 5 maybe. He has a gun in hand! He fires it below on the road. I drop my cushion and peer down from the window in the hall down in to the road. The view now is from my friend Ganesh’s third floor house in Janakpuri, New Delhi. We stayed in the same locality when I was 10-13 years old. I see a dimly lighted narrow street like it used to be. There is a young guy on a bike at the crossroads of four small lanes right in front of the house. He is revving his bike and swirling it around warding off some three people that seem to surround him. The guy on my balcony is suddenly in the street now and he shoots the guy on the bike from behind into his back. The biker and his bike fall to the road, the biker on his stomach, right in the glare of the streetlight.

I look into the balcony, now back in my D58 house. The guy with the gun is still there, shouting something to his mates down below. How can he be in two places at the same time? I think quickly now. I need to close the doors leading into the house so that he can’t come back in, there’s another door which leads into a bedroom where my Mom is sleeping. I run into that room, she’s still sleeping (How’s that possible?!). I am now in my Janakpuri home. I quickly latch the door leading to the balcony in the dark and run back into the hall of my Ajay Enclave house with a door on the right. I stop in my tracks. There he is, in the middle of the room, staring at me.

"Come here", he gesticulates towards himself with the hand that holds the gun. I go towards him. He sits down on the sofa. I sit on the sofa next to him. He is dark, very dark, with curly black thick hair and a big moustache. He has a round face, its full of sweat. His eyes are a bit yellow. I smell liquor in his breath.

"So", he says softly, I can hardly hear him, "you thought you could kill me with a cushion". He smirks. He had seen me. (All this is in Hindi, obviously, I am translating it now).

"No, no", I stammer. "I-I thought it was a cat or something".

"A cat!" He starts laughing. I relax a bit. "Did you see what happened?" he asks softly.

I nod. "Why did you kill him?"

"He was a ‘scout’. Poking his nose where he shouldn’t be. Not minding his own business." He stares intently at me now. "You are not a ‘scout’ are you?"

Is this the moment of truth? I suddenly realise I will need to take a decision about this sooner or later. But first, I have to answer his question.

"Of course not sir, I am no scout."

"Good", he relaxes suddenly. "You are a good boy." He now strangely takes out a visiting card and starts writing a mobile number on it. It already has a name. "You can get in touch with me on this number if you want."

I take it from him. Now, less afraid, I ask him.

"Why were you shooting at the guy from MY balcony?" He seems a bit puzzled. I add hastily, "I mean…I don’t understand, why?"

He thinks for a second or two. "Had to shoot him." He stutters a bit. He’s really drunk. "Spilled his guts out", he adds with some satisfaction.

"Have to leave now." He gets up. I walk him to the door, watch him go down the dark stairs. I close the door behind him and double latch it. I come back and sit down on the sofa and heave a huge sigh of relief.

And then I see the gun lying on the center table.

I grab it and run behind him down two flights of dark stairs, but he’s gone. I slowly climb back up the stairs and come back into the hall and I suddenly find it full of people, neighbors and relatives. My mom is standing on the other side of the room, looking a little sad but very tired, like the day when we heard that my dad had died.

There’s a venerable old man sitting down at the door, among a sea of footwear. I think he’s the apartment building secretary or something. He looks up at me, smiles, holds up a chappal in his hand and asks me a very strange question.

"Is this your chappal?" I stare at him. "You see", he patiently adds, "we think the killer left his chappals in the building and we are trying to find out which ones are his". He asks me again now, very kindly, "Are these yours?"

I hide the gun behind my back and answer him.

"No, I-I don’t know."

That’s when I get up with a start. It takes me a few seconds to realize that it’s a dream. This house doesn’t have a balcony like that, I reason.

I look at the time. Its 2.30 AM.

Acquisition Plans

2006-03-31T01:00:00.000+05:30

This month, I have plans to spend more money than usual. The following are the objects under consideration:

Bean Bag: Have been postponing this for a long, long time now. (Update- Done, a 5 kg leatherine monster is now sitting by itself in the hall, after suffering a bum onslaught from yours truly for most part of the evening. Once, I even jumped headlong into it, as a despo husband might jump upon his hapless newly wed wife on their conjugal night. Yes, we kissed).
Air Cooler: Hyderabad summer, what else. My AC’s in mom’s room and I think an air cooler should do the job anyway in this dry climate. There isn’t an AC vent in my stupid room anyway. Checked out a couple of models today. Not happy with the way they and their price tags looked. But this isn’t an option. I don’t want to melt.
Digital Camera: Yes, can you believe it? I still don’t own one! Have zeroed in on Nikon Coolpix L3 (5 Megapixel, 3X Zoom, 512 SD Ram) which is gonna cost me 13000 bucks if I buy it from JJ Mehta in Mumbai. Anybody have any better ideas on where I could get a better deal on the same cam? And don’t show me locations outside the country.
Trip to Kanha Tiger Reserve (and back of course, I don’t plan to be eaten): Ok, you can stop laughing now. When I come back and show you pictures of me holding a tigress’s tail, you will realise that I was serious. This should be a 3-day, 2 nights travel package. Kanha is in MP and is supposed to be the place from where Rudyard Kipling drew his portrait of Mowgli and Sher Khan’s forest. The idea actually germinated in me because of this book I am reading right now, ‘Tigers in Red Weather’, by Ruth Padel. It’s a travel book, for the most part, where the author describes her journeys and experiences tracking and studying tigers and tiger conservation across nature reserves in many countries. I know I need to be really lucky to spot a tiger on this trip, if it ever materializes, but hell, I need the break anyway. Actually this trip somewhat depends on the result of acquisition No. 3. If I buy the cam, it’s a great incentive to go tiger hunting with it. If I don’t buy it, would I go to a wildlife reserve without a camera, I don’t think so.
And you can join in if you want but there are certain conditions:
-You are a good-looking female. If not, you should be someone I like (Sorry sis, you are excluded, though you fulfil both these conditions)
-I get to decide everything on and about the trip. The buck stops with me. As Rajnikant might have said, "Naa woru dhadwa sonna, noor dhadwa sonna madhri (If I say something once, its like saying it a hundred times!) You get the idea.
-Of course, you pay your share.

Watch this space.

Scott’s Opinion

2006-03-29T12:09:00.000+05:30

I visit the Dilbert blog everyday for my daily dose of cute, clever, cruel, bizarre, naughty or recognizable humor. Recently, Scott had asked his readers to post any questions on which they wanted his real opinion. This is one.

Q. Why do most people end up living mediocre, "regular" lives?

A. It’s easier.

So true.

How to Love Me

2006-03-26T02:50:00.000+05:30

According to this website, after it told me that I am an ISTJ (Introvert, Sensor, Thinker, Judger) based on Carl Jung’s Theory.

-Appreciate my common sense, practical, and steady approach to life.
-Respect my need for routine and order; avoid sudden changes.
-Listen attentively and respectfully.
-Try to be calm, honest and specific when discussing problems.
-Give me plenty of time to think things through before discussing them.
-Above all - Notice and acknowledge my hard work and commitment to our family's needs.

Hmmm. I don’t know. I guess I don’t disagree with the assessment except that of course it would help if you also play chess and don’t ask me to cook.

The Pleasure of a Slow Start

2006-03-25T02:35:00.000+05:30

Ok. Some background is needed here. I work in an IT company, which like many of them is located far, far, far away from the city. So, many companies including mine arrange buses to pick up their employees from various points in the city. So far so good. But, the timings are a downer in my company. 8 to 5. Which means I get on the bus around 7 since I live 18 kms away. Which means I need to get up at 6 AM. 6.20 AM, if I can do without the coffee and the newspaper.

Sure, one can go late. Its not like school where you had to go see the principal who would come around and box your ears.

But these were the following options available to me if I decided to go late or missed the bus.

-Auto->Hyderabad City bus-> Share Auto
-Auto-> Share Auto-> Share Auto-> Share Auto-> Share Auto
-Car
-Bike

I wasn’t using option 3 or 4 coz' I-cannot-say-this-since-this-could-be-held-against-me. And as you may have noticed, options 1 & 2, which were my refuge, are not very inviting. But last weekend I finally went and paid up my out-of-state vehicle tax for my bike and suddenly, option 4 was now less risky (The traffic police are very vigilant on my route to office) and very viable.

Today morning, when my mobile alarm went off at 6.20 AM (there’s been no morning coffee or newspaper reading for 3 days now), I mouthed an expletive at the mobile and went back to sleep. Got up an hour and half later, stretched, yawned and showed my middle finger to my mobile to rub it in. Put on Travis on my home theatre system (can do that since mom is away) and proceeded to brush my teeth while the band Sang, Sang, Sang. To cut a long story short, made my coffee and read about Sonia Gandhi resigning her post as MP. Admired my naked self in the mirror to my hearts content and as the last song in the album (The Humpty Dumpty Song) played itself out, was actually considering applying some moisturizing lotion on my body.
Finally left at around 9 AM.

The ride wasn’t pleasant though, what with the traffic and the Hyderabad summer creeping in. I think I must have lost a couple of kgs by the time I reached office. Well, I know what I need to do to get my car on the road to office.

I could tell you but then I would have to kill you.

Living by Myself, Now and Then

2006-03-21T14:00:00.000+05:30

Mom’s spending a fortnight in Chennai and am holding the fort at home, alone. It’s at such a time that you remember that you are pretty inadequate to manage a decent life for yourself.

Dinner is a big decision every night. House is a mess, as the maid can’t come in at the time that I am around the house. Plates lie in the sink, asking to be washed. I solve that problem by avoiding the kitchen or holding my breath when I can’t avoid heading in that direction. There is an alarm on my mobile to remind me to keep an alarm so that I get up in time in the morning. I am running out of clean underwear, need to use that washing machine pretty soon. I ran out of drinking water in the house today. So if you are reading this and planning to come home, get me a couple of Bisleris. Forgot to turn off the geyser today morning. Nothing happened, I guess will wait for the electricity bill. Couple of empty vodka bottles lie next to the fridge. Make mental note to get rid of them before this Saturday.

But I hardly spend a few hours a day in the house anyway. So its not so bad, you know, I mean, compared to the time when I was in Cochin, that is.

Now that was loneliness. My best time professionally till now, but my worst as far as my personal life was concerned. Add to the fact that I used to work from home, and it sometimes would be weeks before I would have a decent non work related face to face conversation with anybody. Breakfast, Lunch and dinner were all big decisions. House was still a mess as I used to tour extensively and the maid stopped coming after some time when she found that the door was locked half the time. I still had the work ethic hangover of six years of campus life, accentuated by this particular situation where I could work in bermudas and have a bath when I thought my boss would be busy having his lunch a 1000 kms away and unlikely to call me up. The oh so familiar walls of my flat would sometimes get so depressing at times that I would just rush out in the evenings and take a walk along the beautiful ocean promenade in Cochin, its Marine Drive. I didn’t have a set routine then as I have now, nor consistent hobbies to save me from existential boredom.

Nowadays, I blog, I go to the gym at least 3-4 days of the week, read books and jog on weekends. Shaves of at least 25-30 hours in a week from my free time.

Less time to wonder now what to do with it, a good or bad thing, do you think?

P.S. I also had some great times in Cochin. I made some great friends, toured all over the beautiful state of Kerala, experienced houseboats, hills, toddy and beef. And am not ashamed to admit it, learned to drive a bike while I was there.

The Racing Mind

2006-03-18T14:15:00.000+05:30

I read somewhere that we humans use only 10% of our brain potential. Not surprising, considering the sedentary lifestyles that most of us lead. I mean, writing these posts is probably the only time when my brain is required to weigh in, and maybe the odd day when I play chess. I had realised long back that brains are not required to earn a good living. At the most, mental capabilities are just a useful accessory, to be shown of in the guise of graduate and postgraduate degrees and GMAT scores (mine’s 730- 97th percentile :) ). As useful as an aquarium in a palatial house.

But today, I caught my mind racing. It all happened like this. I had gone to this bakery to catch an after-jogging snack. When I returned home and got out of my car, my wallet was missing and I thought.

Shit! Did I leave it at the counter while paying for the snack? Or did I leave it at the table? Or did it fall out of my trackpants while I getting into the car? That would be bad. Man, I will never use these tracks again, its pockets suck! I need to block my debit cards and credit cards. Fuck, both my bike and car licenses are in the wallet. Ok, now should I run back to the bakery, or take my car or my bike? Shit, I need to pick up Raghu from the airport tonight. Should I drive without a license on me? Or should I call him and tell him to find his own way home? Should I call my mom in Chennai about this? Fuck! I had close to 2000 bucks in there! Oh my god! Where’s my mobile? Don’t tell me I’ve lost that too. Oh right, its at home, I didn’t take it with me when I went for the jog, thank god!

Not bad, huh? My mind was practically racing at full speed as I was searching frantically inside the car for my wallet in the hope that it would be inside the car somewhere. I found it, of course, wedged between the door and the floor of the car. I heaved a huge sigh of relief, kissed the wallet, considered whether to leave the driving license inside the car and ruled it out.

I slipped the wallet back into the pockets of my tracks and stepped into my home.

My Word Cloud!

2006-03-17T10:05:00.000+05:30

Cool, don't ya think? You can get yours too, here.

The Buddha in My World

2006-03-16T22:15:00.000+05:30

I just finished reading Pankaj Mishra’s, ‘An End to Suffering’. Don’t worry, I don’t do reviews.

I just thought I would put down some of it here, stuff which spoke to me at a personal level. These are thoughts which I too have ruminated about at different times in my own life (my god, how old do I sound here?!), thoughts which I wanted to express but hadn’t gotten around to saying them, and anyway, couldn’t have said it better even if I had tried. So here goes…

“…I had so little to speak of, so little to claim for myself. I couldn’t stop being awed by what seemed to be their confident sense of who they were and what they could do. The privilege of having settled opinions and a steady view of the world: this was what people like Vinod and myself, all of us who had yet to know ourselves, longed for in different ways.”

“…Much of my life had been sheltered, spent in reading and daydreaming.”

“…But now I was settling into my new self- the self that had traveled and imagined that it had learnt much. I didn’t know then that I would use up many more such selves, that they would arise and disappear, making all experience hard to fix and difficult to learn from.”

“…In her own world- the streets and crowds of London, the vegetarian restaurant near London University where we presently went to have lunch- she appeared diminished.”

“…But there seemed something so particularly zestful and sympathetic about her, so without guile, that fantasy couldn’t but come tainted with guilt.”

“…things which that morning had added to my nervousness and made me think that I had arrived in the middle of a long and complicated film.”

“…the oppressive solitude that one could know in a large city, the lives of private longing and frustration which many of the people in the crowds seemed to lead, on whom the glittering past of the large metropolis that attracted a visitor like myself no longer cast its spell.”

“…they wanted to be accommodated beyond the life they had so far known, where they could shed the narrow racial or national identity they had been into and devote themselves to the making of money, the pursuit of learning and the search for love and freedom.”

“…To the more frustrated among them modernity already appeared as a tall mountain, where a few people already occupied the summit, watching others inch up the steep slopes, occasionally throwing down a tattered rope but, more often, giant boulders."

“…about the impulse to divide life into manageable parts, about the city as a collection of solitary individuals brought together briefly by a few shared interests.”

“…man as a psychological complex, who is a consequence of his past dispositions, of how and what he thought and said and did.”

“…He grasps them all but without clutching them, and he soon allows them to escape from his hands so as to run after new enjoyments.”

“…The constant striving for achievement, for the fulfillments that were small and brief in retrospect appeared empty, the effort to simply maintain a way of life that affirmed one’s identity, the hardening of social roles- all of this I had begun to see in my own life and understand more clearly.”

“Walk alone.
If they answer not thy call, walk alone;
If they are afraid and cower mutely facing the wall,
O thou of evil luck,
Open thy mind and speak out alone.”

And finally,

“Whatever beings may exist- weak or strong, tall, broad, medium or short, fine material or gross, seen or unseen, those born and those pressing to be born- may they all be without exception happy in heart!
Let no one deceive anyone else, nor despise anyone anywhere. May no one wish harm to another in anger or ill will!
Let one’s thoughts of boundless-loving kindness pervade the whole world, above, below, across, without obstruction, without hatred, without enmity!”

In unrelated news, discovered a bright clean scratch- probably made by a sharp metal object like a key or pocketknife or something- right down the whole left side of my car which caused me a lot of heartburn.

Darn, must have been one of those kids in my apartment complex who have been going berserk, playing Holi, today. Or could it be the guy who parks his motorcycle right next to my car? Or could it be the old fool with whom I had an argument in the park a couple of week’s back? Had he tracked me down and wreaked his vengeance upon my prized possesion?

When something like this happens, notwithstanding any amount of Buddhist philosophy that I may read, a small good part of me dies.

Pain and Rain

2006-03-12T10:45:00.000+05:30

I have been giving the gym a miss for the last two days. There is pain in my left arm. It’s not the familiar muscle pain, which I don’t mind. This is different. It’s a pain, which flows as if in a capillary tube deep within my arm. Sometimes I feel it flowing near my elbow, sometimes near my shoulder and today I could have sworn that I felt it near my ring finger. It’s not unbearable but it’s very irritating.

"Ligament trouble", Karam had said. "Take some time off, these things take some time". Karam is the very popular gym instructor.

Its also been raining in Hyderabad. Its unseasonal rain but a welcome break from the early summer, which had just started to spread its wretched tentacles. The last few days and nights have been cool, windy and very pleasant.

I missed the company bus today and was on my way to the bus stop nearby to catch an autorickshaw to work when a state transport bus splashed dirty mud from a puddle, all over my new shoes and trousers. I had to trudge back, change and start again. Then it started raining. Went back up again five floors to my home and reluctantly returned with a garish pink umbrella (Mom:"I have given the black one to your sister").

As I stood waiting for the autorickshaw in the rain, I suddenly didn’t like the weather anymore. Puddles exposed the emaciated roads, pavements looked dirtier, gutters were overflowing and the air seemed to carry the stench of garbage. Even the people around me seemed more irritated and restive than usual.

Then I suddenly thought about the slums, which are just down the road. Would their tarpaulin tents have held out this rain? Or would their life have become miserable with the slush engulfing and transforming their daily existence into painful drudgery?

When I passed them in my autorickshaw, I looked away.

A Chess Quiz

2006-03-09T22:35:00.000+05:30

I found a pretty interesting chess quiz on the internet. Had fun solving it and getting most of it right, of course. So, here it is, if you think you know chess, take a shot and let me how you did. I got 9/10. You can scroll down for the answers which are accompanied by my expert comments and explanations *smug smile*.
Oh, and before I forget, you can find the original quiz at http://www.funtrivia.com/playquiz/quiz70929821500.html

Question 1:
Which one of these endgame White setups (assuming Black holds a lone king) will always end in a draw?

1.king, knight, and bishop
2.king and two knights
3.king and queen
4.king and knight

Question 2:
If a knight is attacking the queen and king at the same time, which one of these strategies is being used?

1.skewer
2.fork
3.pin
4.check

Question 3:
Pins and skewers can be performed by several pieces, but not all. Which one of these pieces cannot pin or skewer?

1. rook
2. knight
3. queen
4. bishop

Question 4:
Which piece does the fianchetto strategy mainly benefit?

1. bishop
2. knight
3. rook
4. queen

Question 5:
Want to lose a chess game quickly? Fall for the commonly used Scholar's Mate. Which one of these squares is the target for this checkmate?

1. e2 or e7
2. f2 or f7
3. d2 or d7
4. h2 or h7

Question 6:
This is a chess situation: suppose White has a rook on d4, and Black's king is on g8, with three pawns on f7, g7, and h7. The pawns and the king are Black's only pieces left. It's Black's turn, so she moves her g-pawn to g5. What kind of checkmate is Black trying to prevent with this pawn move?

1. forced mate
2. back rank mate
3. smothered mate
4. double attack

Question 7:
Some structures of pawns are good, and some can really give you problems. Which one of these pawn structures is generally the strongest?

1. doubled pawns
2. passed pawns
3. isolated pawns
4. backward pawns

Question 8:
Now for some chess terminology- which one of these terms describes a situation where it is your turn and this puts you at a disadvantage?

1. zwischenzug
2. fianchetto
3. en passant
4. zugzwang

Question 9:
Another chess term- what is the term used for an 'in-between move', or a forcing move that is different from what would be normally expected?

1. zugzwang
2. zwischenzug
3. castling
4. en passant

Question 10:
There are several openings in chess, all characterized by a move, a position, etc. In which opening does White move his knight to f3 on the first move?

1. English Opening
2. Ruy Lopez
3. Reti's Opening
4. King's Gambit

Answers

Q.1. (4) King and knight, though mating with the first two options is not easy either.

Q.2 (2) Fork.
A bishop, rook or queen doing the same thing is known as a skewer.
A 'pin on a piece' restricts its movement, ie.discovers check on king, or threatens material loss.
And obviously, everybody knows what a 'check' is.

Q.3. (2) knight. Knights fork, as mentioned in Q2. And since knights can anyway jump over material, a pin by a knight is NA.

Q.4. (1) bishop. Refers to the bishop on b2, g2, b7 or g7. The bishop is placed on the longest diagonal on the chessboard from where logically, it is supposed to have the greatest influence.
With the same logic, knights have the least influence in the corners.

Q.5. (2) f2 or f7. The traditional weak squares in the beginning of the game since they are defended only by the respective kings and a double attack might bring about a quick downfall.
eg. 1.e4 e5 2.Bc4 Bc5 3.Qh5 Nf6 4.Qxf7#
Of course, a 'Fool's Mate' takes even lesser, 1.f3 e5 2.g4 Qh4#

Q.6. (2) back rank mate. The king is trapped on the last rank by its own pawns and cannot escape a check from a rook or queen.
A smothered mate is a similar mate delivered by a knight on an enemy king which is hemmed in by its own pieces.
A forced mate refers to a forced sequence of moves (typically a series of checks) leading to mate.
A double attack is a move that threatens two things at the same time. Forks and skewers are both double attacks.

Q.7. (2) Passed pawns. Refers to pawns which can no longer be obstructed or threatened by enemy pawns. Such pawns are easier to promote to the eighth rank where as we know, they can take up new job responsibilities.
Doubled pawns refer to two pawns of the same color on the same file. They are weak since they are susceptible to attack. Moreover, they restrict and cannot support each other's movement.
Isolated pawns. Pawns which find themselves alone, ie. absence of pawns of the same color on their adjacent files. They are weak since of course, they cannot be supported by neighboring pawns. But interestingly, in certain situations, such pawns also aid an attacking player as the open files on either side can be used for piece activity.
Backward pawns. Like the name suggests, pawns which have not achieved much purpose in their life. Additionally, they might restrict piece movement, so obviously, they are a liability.
There are other pawn structures like hanging pawns, pawn chain, hedgehog formation etc., but they are out of scope of this discussion *smug smile*

Q.8. (4) Zugzwang. Refers to a situation where 'whatever move you make, you lose'. Its derived from the German: Zug (move) + Zwang (compulsion, obligation). Generally happens in King pawn endgames so if it ever happens in the middlegame its rare, so take a picture and mail it to me.
en passant. Derived from French and means 'in passing'. Refers to a pawn capture by an enemy pawn in this special situation.
-A player moves his pawn two squares, from his second row to his fourth row.
-There is a pawn of the opponent that can capture at the squares that is passed over by the pawn.
-In that case, this pawn of the opponent has the right to capture en passant in the directly following move.
-To capture en passant, the opponents pawn goes to the square passed over by the pawn (i.e., the square on the third row), thus moving diagonally forwards. The captured pawn is taken from the board.
zwischenzug. Refer next question.

Q.9. (2) zwischenzug. Another German term. I didn't know what this meant. Apparently, refers to a situation where, instead of making the obvious move, like an immediate recapture, a player interposes a move (like a check, I guess) to achieve a favorable objective.
Castling. A king + rook move to achieve a safe haven for the king. Of course, so many rules about castling, again out of scope of this discussion.

Q.10. (3) Reti's Opening. Well, actually, the answer is simplistic. The Reti is completely characterized by the first 3 moves, 1.Nf3 2.c5 and 3.g3. The first move can actually transpose into many other openings, including the English or even the Ruy Lopez.
Discussing these openings will mean I will have to write a book. But, if you find chess openings boring, read up on the King's Gambit :)

Well, sorry if I bored many of you with this technical ramble, but I had lots of fun. If any of you found it interesting, sure, anytime!

So Not DazedandConfused

2006-03-07T13:35:00.000+05:30

Malli Mastan Babu (IIM Calcutta, Class of 2004) has summited Mt. Aconcagua (again), the highest peak in South America (6962 m), on Feb 17, Fri at 3.30 PM. He aims to be the first Indian to summit the seven highest peaks in seven continents and the fastest in the world to achieve the same. He has summited Vinson Massif (Antarctica) on Jan 19, 2006. He plans to summit Mt. Kilimanjaro next and will soon leave for Tanzania. By June, if everything goes well, he will be the FIRST and the FASTEST!

More about Malli at this slightly dated www.1stindian7summits.com

My best wishes to you, Malli!

This Past Week

2006-03-05T03:40:00.000+05:30

Couple of funny things that I read about or heard this week had me laughing out really loud.
The first was about Abhijit Sawant announcing that he was going to release his autobiography. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Prashant Publications is going to release it. I was thinking that there could be three kind of stupid people in the world. One, who write autobiographies at the age of 17, two, people who publish it, and three, who read it. But then I thought, if there were enough stupid people of the third kind, that would actually make people of the second kind quite smart and people of the first kind would then be stupid NOT to write an autobiography.
Hmmm...Anyway, I think there should be a law preventing people who don't hold a driving license or are not allowed to drink, legally at least, from writing autobiographies.

The second was about the story about President Bush and his retinue of 'security officers' of the four legged kind, which led to an accommodation issue at the Le Meridian in New Delhi which led to the Home Ministry officials having to step in.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
I was chuckling to myself the rest of the week imagining the position the staff of the hotel found themselves in. I wonder if they received any tips from those officers, or are they lieutenants. Hahaha...now don't get me started. Chuckle.

There was some indignation from my colleagues as well resulting from the Bush visit to ISB in Hyderabad, which is just across the road from my company. As no three wheelers were allowed in the said road from early in the morning, many of them had to make a trek to cover the last mile to office. I can empathise. Certainly, not the best of starts to a workday. Some claimed later in the day that it was all worth it as Bush announced the opening of an American Consulate in Hyderabad. You see, their trek in the morning resulted in saving the journey for millions to Chennai for their VISA interviews. Of course, karma.

Yesterday night, beer was guzzled after quite some time. Had decided to restrain myself unlike last time and was determined to keep it all in. It still ended up as quite an adventure though, as it poured and poured by the time I left. Lights also went out, it seemed, in the whole of Hyderabad. The result was yours truly, with 3 bottles of RC inside, driving an old bike in the downpour at 11 in the night with only the aid of headlights from assorted vehicles. Squinting through my wet glasses, dropped off a lucky friend at his house and somehow made it safely back home myself. Lights came on as soon as I came in. That was nice. And of course, Mom seemed to be pretty relieved.

She's been forwarding me profiles of girls from these matrimonial websites this last week. I find it all pretty irritating and asked her not to do it.

"But did you take a look at those profiles?" she asked.

"Of course not, I delete them as soon as I see the subject of the email", I lie.

And finally, am in the middle of a book written by Pankaj Mishra, "The End of Suffering". The structure of the book is unlike anything I have read before. He juxtaposes travel writing, history, philosophy and autobiography in a pretty unique way. And I agree with the review that Scotland on Sunday has on the book which says 'It is perhaps in these personal accounts where Mishra is at his best, simply because of the sheer evocative power of his language, and the land and landscape he conjures up'. Of course, am not some lit-snob so maybe am just being naive.

I have been thinking that I am leading a pretty happy life. But Mishra quotes Nietzche in a line, which made me think again,

Is my life the "cheerfulness of the slave who has nothing of consequence to be responsible for, who does not value anything in the past and future higher than the present'?

Back to My Roots

2006-03-02T12:40:00.000+05:30

Nowadays, am finding it really tough to find inspiration to blog. Not so long ago, it used to be so easy. It used to just come to me in the morning while travelling in the bus and I would get to office and put stuff down in under fifteen minutes.

It's an effort nowadays. I need a weekend and some good music to boot, to get my creative juices flowing. I was wondering why, for quite some time now without a clue. But today, I think I have found the answer.

I think it's the fault of all you creative (blogger poets) and terribly intelligent (Jessica Lal bloggers) bloggers out there who set such high standards. I just looked at my earlier posts and my latest ones. While earlier, I would happily blog about new roads in Hyderabad, strange menus in restaurants and obscure newspaper reports, my last three posts are discussing self important issues relating to my life's unfulfilled desires, national pride and my prickly ego. And all my spontaneous blog ideas are getting filtered by my new blogalter ego, which says,

"Are you really sure you want to put that up and expose yourself for the nincompoop you are?"

I am ashamed of myself for selling out. I have half a mind to delete the last three posts.

Today I had an interesting chat with Raghu, a colleague of mine. Now Raghu is also a batchmate from B School who I remember best as the CNC (thats Commander In Chief) of our hostel in the Inter-Hostel Sports meet (also known in secret circles as the World War). Now if you feel impressed or pity for him says a lot about the kind of person you are and whether we will get along if we ever meet.

But we are digressing,

"So how was your project?" I asked.

Raghu's just back from a 3 month engagement in the US.

"Screwed up man. Whole lot of escalations and issues."

He also expressed some choice adjectives for the project lead at which my ears kind of perked up.

I fished,"So what did the project manager do wrong? Just asking out of curiosity, you know, me being new in this industry and all."

He knew I was just interested to dig up some dirty gossip but even he wanted to get some off his chest. So he ranted about how the communication was poor, processes were not in place blah blah blah.

Then he added conspiratorially,

"The guy, Andy you wont believe, used to pick his nose so regularly..."

A pause. I do it sometimes myself and tried to recollect if I had done it in the last ten minutes.

"...and then, used to put the same finger in his mouth, immediately afterwards!"

"Wow!" I said in admiration.

"And he used to do this in front of the American clients in meetings!"

He was almost jumping now. I saw the old CNC in him again for a second.

This was good. I think a weight is now lifted from my chest too.

A Positive First Impression

2006-02-27T16:40:00.000+05:30

Normally, this blog is pretty much inward looking. I write about stuff that I find funny, sad or something that bothers me, related to my everyday life. Then I try to include something from memory or try and abstract and put out something extra.

I generally avoid talking about world issues, political problems, critique policies etc. Basically the attempt is to avoid giving off any gyan because basically I don’t think I deserve to.

But its 1.30 AM and I can't sleep. I have to get up tomorrow at 6 AM and I should be sleeping. But I can't and my mind keeps going back to an article that I read a few hours ago in the latest issue of India Today (Mar 6).

Mr. N R N Murthy, Chairman, Infosys writes about how we should go about creating a positive first impression on the US CEOs so that we can improve our trade with them. This is just a summary of the points he makes in the article.

1. Ensure full transparency in our policies. Abolish case by case approval schemes.
Fine, nice global statement, nothing wrong with that. But I, with less than four years of work experience know that its utopian. Even the best processes can't cover everything and you cannot avoid case by case approvals. Just imagine, would it be too difficult to select an Indian cricket team based only on statistics. I mean that would be transparent, everybody would know that to get in the team, one needs a particular average, strike rate, specific fitness levels etc. We won't need any selectors to go watch matches. But will that get us the best team?

2. Create inexpensive signs of our trade openness by allowing McDonald's, Pizza Huts and WalMarts to open more outlets.
Inexpensive signs?! Wow! I can't believe this. The whole country has been debating about FDI in retail for months now and Mr. Murthy doesn't seem to think it’s an important issue. Oh yeah, the IT industry is not in the business of retail. Real Estate, maybe, but not retail. Right!

3. Create separate arrival/departure lounges. Let there be a hundred nice sofas where these businessmen can sit and wait while their entry, exit and customs formalities are being progressed. Employ young men and women in smart uniforms to take care of the formalities of the guests.
This just gets better. I remember George Fernandes had mentioned about a ‘strip search’ that he had to undergo in a US airport when he was the Defence Minister. And a few days ago, a reputed Indian scientist with full credentials from the Indian government was denied a VISA because his Muslim name resembled with an Al Quaida terrorist! Everybody who has frequented the US knows that you just need to be brown skinned to get special treatment from the immigration out there if you know what I mean. But we don’t want these goras with money standing in an Indian line!

4. Provide Incentives to helicopter companies to start services between the airport and the hotel for these people. This will avoid their experiencing bad traffic congestion. Then since these CEOs are allergic to wait in Govt. Office corridors, let us convert a huge mansion like the Hyderabad House in to a Hi-Tech Center with 20 well furnished rooms and get our ministers and bureaucrats and come there and meet these guys.
I don't think Mr. NRN was serious here. I would like to think he is just taking a dig at the political establishment in Bangalore for the traffic conditions out there. But if he is, I have a better idea. Lets shift the seat of our govt. from Delhi to a Miami Hotel. That should solve the problem.

5. Bring a level of certainty to appointments. Don't cancel or postpone them.
I have no problem with this one. Obviously, if those guys turn up on time we should keep our commitments too.

6. Create a cadre of smart and well-educated tour guides so that the spouses of these CEOs can tour the city.
Yes. Now as part of the UPSC exams, there will a new service called IGS. Indian Guide Service. Please. Those guys can ask any of the Seven Star hotels in which they stay in to arrange a tour for their spouses/companions. And pay for it.

In the book, "Doing Business in China" James Mcgregor makes a few telling comments about how China deals with multinationals and he gives words of advice to these MNCs. Some are

1. If your boss wants to do a quick deal in China, lose his or her VISA.
2. China doesn't forgive, and it never forgets. China has a long memory and seeks retribution when foreign companies defy its desires.
3. If Chinese ill treatment of foreigners ever depresses you, take solace in the knowledge that the Chinese treat each other even worse.
4. The Chinese govt. uses competition from foreign businesses to reform its own system and companies.
5. Chinese negotiators are masters of making you feel you need them more than they need you.
6. The Chinese will ask you for anything because you just may be stupid enough to agree to it. Many are.

These are just a few nuggets. And everybody knows that China dwarfs India in terms of FDI. Let’s be clear on one thing. These US CEOs are not in India today to do us a favor. They are here to make money for their shareholders. I am not saying that we should make them lick our boots, but hey, at least lets not pander and lose our self-respect when we do business with them.

Bending over backwards is just going to get us worms in chocolates and pesticides in cola.

In the evenings, when I pass by the slums near my home, I see blacked out ramshackle huts, naked small kids playing in the sewage, men and women sitting around leading their terrible life.

Somebody tell me again how all this FDI is going to help them?

About Improbable Wishlists

2006-02-25T11:55:00.000+05:30

A slow realization is dawning on me. I am now in my twenty eighth year and not getting any younger. As every day of the rest of my life passes by, I know it will get more and more difficult to try new things, take risks and explore new places.

So here's a list of stuff that I want to do and am afraid I might never get around to doing

1. Play Drums
2. Sky Diving
3. Meaningful Social Work
4. Film Making/Theatre
5. A Long Bike Ride
6. Do Mountains
7. Appreciate Poetry (Urdu especially)
8. Get a Tattoo

Enough of this moping! If everything goes well, I will be on a trek to the Everest Base Camp in April. That will strike off one from this list.

Here I come.

Getting my Goat

2006-02-23T14:38:00.000+05:30

Well, today I was on leave because I had a 'compensatory' off day. You see, I had worked on a Sunday a couple of week’s back. This had me really thrilled to bits and had planned a really funny post about all the reactions I have been getting from my friends whom I have considerately kept in the loop.

But then I happened to read Ms. Rashmi Bansal's latest post on my alma mater. That got my goat and ruined whatever insignificant plans I had for the rest of the evening. So wrote my comments, went to the IIM C website and posted about it in the alumni section. Then came back to YouthCurry and read through all the comments, there were about 15 by then. Also went over the blogs of the people who had written the comments. Found a couple of interesting ones. Came back and read more comments (last count- 25)

Well, am not going to criticize her post here so sorry to disappoint you. But her criticism stung. So I wondered what are the other criticisms which could potentially hurt me at a personal level. Let me see, dangerous to admit on a blog, but what the heck.

1. My family (obviously, they are the best and don't tell me otherwise)
2. BITS Pilani (my other alma mater, you cannot insult the memory of the best years of my life)
3. Chess (If you think I am crazy, I think you are stupid)
4. Aamir Khan (And NOT because of RDB)
5. Chennai (I don't know why but its my favorite city)
6. India (am out on a limb here, but yes)
7. Rock n Roll (Not the whole field, but there are a few mines you don’t dare tread on)

Sachin Tendulkar, Rahul Dravid and Amitabh Bachhan just missed the cut. Shahrukh who?

Hey, I just realised something. I missed mentioning myself in the list.

Or did I?

In the Zone

2006-02-19T15:12:00.000+05:30

To achieve something, my blood flows, my blood flows,
To rise up in my eyes, my blood flows,
It falls from my body, it hugs the ground,
Through streets and waysides, it meanders, crawls,
In search of new colors, my blood flows

From open wounds,____________
slowly, oh so slowly, my blood flows,
Taking along with it,
Questions in its fingers, answers in fists,
To achieve something, my blood flows, my blood flows

To achieve something, my blood flows, my blood flows,
To rise up in my eyes, my blood flows,
It falls from my body, it hugs the ground,
Through streets and waysides, it meanders, crawls,
In search of new colors, my blood flows

My blood flows, My blood flows,
My blood flows, My blood flows,
My blood flows, My blood flows,
My blood flows, My blood flows

Once in a while when you watch a movie like 'Rang De Basanti' (don’t worry, am not going to do a review here), one is generally in a contemplative frame of mind for about half an hour.

So was I past midnight, driving back home, listening to some nice songs on the FM wishing for some dramatic announcement on the radio when the RJ says this (in good Hindi, I might add),

"In a few hours from now, it will be another morning. Birds will start chirping and autos will start plying on the roads. It will also be time for all us to wrap up our dreams and get busy with our mundane life and the activities, which are part of it. But for many of us today will be a little different.

Because today is a Sunday.

Hope your Sunday is a bit different in a way that you want it to be. But in the meantime, this is Rakesh Ahuja signing off and wishing all of you a very good night."

Good Night Rakesh.

Filling up a 'Share' Auto

2006-02-16T00:23:00.000+05:30

"Borabanda Borabanda Motinagaraaa!"

I hear him shouting as I head over there. Like every night, it’s a mess.

There are at least five 'share' autos in a virtual free for all on a couple of routes, which leave from the Yousufguda Checkpost. The whole place bustles with activity just like any other lower middle class marketplace. Loads of fruitsellers around with their wares. A wine shop attracts its own loyal clientele. There's a pharmacist, a small restaurant, hardware shop, an electrical appliance store and a general store around this circle. Cars, bikes, autos, people hurrying at 9.30 PM to get home to their families.

Like I said, it’s a mess.

We make eye contact still 20 ft away and he shouts at me almost as if he knows me,

"Come on Come on Motinagar Borabandaaa!!!"

I am completely non-commital as I make quick survey and find all the autos on my route empty except for his where a guy was sitting in. But then he could be a dummy. I am tired though so I just get in.

He immediately gets a second wind and shouts louder than ever before,

"Borabanda Borabanda Motinagaraaa!"

Another guy gets in. And I was right. The first 'passenger' gets out and starts shouting too,

"Motinagar Motinagar Borabanda!!!"

If you haven’t figured it out as yet, this is how it works. Since there is no order to how the autos leave, it’s a perfect open market. So the auto which gets filled first (it takes 5) leaves. So all these guys shout their throats out every night trying to leave ahead of the rest.

Ok, so now that leaves people like me with the difficult decision to make every night to optimize our selection every night so that the auto in which I get in leaves early. The result is a curious situation that all travelers like me ideally want to be the fifth person in an auto and never the first because in the latter case you have minimum control over when your vehicle might leave. There's a good chance that you might feel pretty stupid on a few nights as you see other autos come and go. One can always jump out of the auto and join another one but somehow that almost never happens. Its almost like once you are in, you are part of a team.

Now in a perfect economic world, nobody will go anywhere but thankfully there are always some lemons around. And there are dummies.

Some of the autowallahs have a dummy passenger sitting in the auto, which gives him a small competitive advantage over the others and acts as an incentive to passengers to get in. When a couple of 'real' passengers troop in, the dummy gets up and assumes his real role of a conductor of the auto. Though the two or three passengers now realise that they have been had, there's nothing much they can do about it. And you can never really identify a dummy for sure.

"Borabanda?" A muslim couple ask my autowallah. The wife's in a burkha.

"Sir, please come up front" he requests me.

The auto can seat three at the back and four at the front (dont ask me how) including the driver and the 'dummy'. Ladies obviously are never expected to squeeze up front so I get down and sit next to the driver, half of my left bum hanging in the air.

We need one more. And then the bus comes along.

The bus is another constraint. People quit autos and get into the crowded buses. The bus ticket costs a buck less. Its always too crowded for me but the Muslim couple don’t think so and they leave.

I look at my driver and wait for the choicest profanities to flow out which am sure are at the tip of his tongue but he just sighs and says,

"Look at them scoot."

The bus leaves. We are back to two. He gets up and starts off again,

"Borabanda Borabanda Motinagar Motinagaraaaa!!"

I get up and climb again into the back seat.