Thought Process

Goodbye and Welcome

2007-06-01T13:15:00.000+05:30

You are cordially invited, with family (only non-pesky kids allowed) and friends (again, only non-pesky kids), for the blog-pravesham ceremony of my new blog at Wordpress.

Transportation to the new blog has already been arranged - all you have to do is hang on for another 10-15 more seconds and you will be at the blog-step of my new abode.

This blog will still remain, but only as a testimony of my journey so far and for those few of you who could undergo withdrawal symptoms since you're so addicted to this blog (the only 3 persons on that addicted list as of now is me, me and me).

All further updates will be at the new place. Please update your bookmarks (humor me, will ya?) and please do come by to the new blog as often, if not more often, as you used to come here.

Thank you, and see you at my new place!

P.S: If your browser likes embarassing me and is not exactly redirecting you, please exercise your finger muscles and click on the following link, thanks! -

http://thotprocess.wordpress.com/

Cafeteria a.k.a Country

2007-05-29T14:03:00.000+05:30

There's a big LCD TV in the cafeteria at my workplace. TataSky enabled, really funky.

The problem ('coz everything I write about is a 'problem' at some level), then, is the programmes we get to watch on that TV during our time spent in the cafeteria. If I happen to be there for breakfast some days (woe to ye if you judge me on my breakfast-making habits), I'm faced with either Tom & Jerry or on unluckier days, Himesh Reshammiya. The remote control is always absconding. On second thoughts, maybe that's just me.

During lunch hours, one is blessed by some mundane Hindi news channel, as opposed to the umpteen English news channels that can be viewed. News channels are safe bets when it comes to a TV in a public place 'coz it's very generic in nature. Unlike the saas-bahu soaps or, well, Himesh Reshammiya's nasal tones. My issue with Hindi news channels? Nothing in particular, just that it's too local and reminds one of cheap tabloids where the front page is dedicated to the pathbreaking news that a certain third rate actress was found in the company of a certain fourth rate actor in some fifth rate place. This, when bomb blasts rip my city apart and the culprits are still at large. This, when Aung San Suu Kyi's detention has been extended by one more year by the military government of Myanmar. This, when diplomatic wars are being fought across countries which vaguely gives one the fear that Nostradamus might just hit the bull's eye with his predictions.

But my rant is not about Hindi news channels. My rant is with the fact that I go to that cafeteria almost every day for my lunch and not once have I actually fished out the remote control from its hiding place and changed the channel to something that can be viewed by the majority. Ok, kidding, change the channel to something that can be viewed by me.

And as I sat there today having my lunch, hearing my colleagues and myself ranting about the stupid channel, it hit me that the state of the cafeteria is, sadly, the state of our country. I know to crib and cry about being made to watch stupid channels, but I rarely go for that remote control to change it. A lot of us know to crib and cry about the state of our country, but very few actually do something to change it. I can tolerate Tom & Jerry, but not the cheap news channels. Just like I can tolerate some politician making money out of fodder, but not politicians/rich-buggers escaping the law just because they have money and power.

Tomorrow I'm going to change the channel if I don't like what I'm seeing.

If someone has a problem with that, I can always chuck the remote into the sambhar that's floating in the oil. And then the entire world will watch what I want them to watch. *evil laughter follows*

P.S: Updates on my blog could become irregular for the next few weeks. I have deadlines to meet and most times miss, books to read, movies to watch - in short, a life to live. And this time around, reality ruins my virtual life. Bear with me, dear readers. And enjoy the peace and calm in this space while it lasts. One is tempted to use cliches like 'the calm before the storm', but one refrains.

Now in Portuguese!

2007-05-23T22:47:00.000+05:30

Apparently, my blog's Archive Listing is now only available in Portuguese.

Would it help if I said I had nothing to do with it?

Back to class

2007-05-15T09:23:00.000+05:30

Once in a while in your hectic life that is worklife, you get sent back into class for 'trainings'. Long long ago, so long ago, no one knows how long ago, I used to be in college. Where you had to be present before the bell rang, where coming late was the norm for hostel-folks and we (day scholars) were considered geeky nerds (yeah, if geek and nerd by itself wasn't bad enough) just because we sat in the front bench and came on time. Don't even get me started on school.

But I digress.

Without divulging a lot of details, I'll just say that I had a one day training class on a non-technical topic recently. No, you can't make me say what it was about. I'm just saving you some laughs. Given below are some of the observations I made in my notepad. Instead of listening to the instructor, you ask? No. I wrote these during those awkward silences that happen when the instructor asks a very easy question but no one answers 'coz everyone's so sure it's a trick question because the answer is so insanely simple. Too much education does that to you, ya know.

Observations -

- You get a wicked pleasure in seeing the latecomers come late. If you had to get up an hour ahead of your usual schedule just to get there on time, it is so totally unfair to have someone coming late. I have absolutely no qualms in judging you. Very critically at that.

- The EQ questionnaires. They have become oh-so-smarty-pants these days. I'll tell you why. The same question (word for word, mind you) is repeated at least thrice in the course of a 80 question questionnaire. If you're lying (for no apparent reason 'coz the answers are known only to you and you alone), you better have a good memory and keep your lying consistent. Else they call your bluff and you end up with what is, indeed, the truth. Which ofcourse is very bitter.

- I went one up on the smarty-pants questionnaire. I went back and checked my answer for the two previous times the same question was asked and kept my answer consistent. Take that, you silly stapled piece o' questionnaire paper!

- During breaks, if you happen to be some of the few in the room who decided the cafeteria coffee was not exactly worth getting up for, the topic of discussion is almost always the traffic and/or the weather. And trust me, everyone bitches about traffic. And everyone thinks the weather's way too hot. Even if you're talking in December, you ultimately end up talking about how bad the summer was! I think they should pass a law that forbids you to discuss weather.

- When the instructor calls out for volunteers to help him/her with something, the first reaction from us is panic. Plain, unadulterated panic. No one makes eye contact with the instructor lest he/she be called. That's when you remembered something really important that you absolutely had to make a note of and reach for your pen and paper. Or you just act like you were deaf. And look at everyone around you thinking 'why the heck won't you people volunteer? I'm deaf, I didnt hear a thing she said'.

These are just things I noticed in one session. But what still amazes me is that even after being out of class for so many years, that vision of someone teaching you still makes you do things that you used to do in school/college, even though it's completely unnecessary now because now you're a grown up! You can even walk out of that training room and no one can exactly ask you why. And even if they do, you can lie through your teeth and have them believe you one hundred percent. For, people, such is the life of a grown-up. Even if we don't volunteer to do something on front of 10 other colleagues. Even if we still take notes on things we know for sure we'll never need in our life. What if the 'teacher' saw me sitting without taking notes?!! Oh dear.

Ouch my toe!

2007-05-09T09:51:00.000+05:30

The title refers to my very emotional outburst when I stubbed my little toe [1] (which I think is not exactly so little anymore) on a sharp corner and spent the next 48 hours limping around like Capt. Long John Silver, minus the crutch and the parrot. It's amazing how a little toe can cause so much pain and anguish in my otherwise painless and anguishless life. The little bugger was swollen to two times it's normal size and wouldn't let me take a step without wincing when the pain shot up till my knee.

This is not the first time I stubbed my toe. No sire, it's not. If you know me well, you'd also know my tryst with resistentialism. To tweak my long-long-ago-so-long-ago limerick,

Once there was a girl who was accident-prone -
Whatever she did, it always ended with her groan.
She stubbed her toe today,
Like she does everyday
It's a pity resistentialism won't leave her alone!

Now for the conspiracy theory: When this happened before, my allegations were pointed at the Chair and the Bed. And I was this close to actually proving that the Bed did not like me one bit. I mean, let's face it - you stub you toe once, fine. Twice, fine. Thrice, well I have doubts. But the fourth time? And the fifth? I'm not blind, people! I can see things before I actually go bump into them and my policy in life has always been to never bump into the same thing twice. So the only other explanation to this painful incident is Mr.Bed [2]. The 6X6 wooden Goliath is taking on a poor hapless David aka me. Injustice, I tell you!

Just as I was on the verge of asking my husband to throw him out (and get me a new one, all at the risk of sounding highly insane and plain mental), I stub my toe on the door frame. The interesting thing here is that Ms.Door Frame is also made of wood, from a good teak lineage and has a really slim figure with a glossy polish - which Mr.Bed totally fancies. That cheating bag o' wood hasn't given a second thought to his wife, Mrs.Mattress and their Pillow kids. How awful, isn't it? And Ms.Frame is so smitten by this 6x6-monster-with-a-fancy-bedstead that she had absolutely no qualms in going against the Door family and turning against me, me who owns the very marble and concrete on which she stays attached! Where is this world coming to, I ask you!

So, what's gonna happen now? Nothing much. Mr.Bed and Ms.Frame are going to elope, leaving me sleeping on a weeping Mrs.Mattress, who's now orphaned with two little Pillows. If this isn't heart-rending, what is?!!!

There's just no point rambling here on my blog when I have this grave a situation on my hands at home. I've declared a state of emergency, and any Door related activities can happen only with my prior approval. Mr.Bed has been considerably warned against carrying on with his nefarious doings - hopefully he understands that being dismantled is a very ugly thing to go through indeed. Ms.Frame has been let off this one time with a strict warning that anything like this again would mean 100 times of shutting the Door really hard into Ms.Frame. Mrs.Mattress keeps thanking me profusely everytime I walk into the room (with unstubbed toes, mind you), and the Pillows have been so well behaved that I decided to let them lie around on the bed for a day without being stuck to one position.

I'm still watching out for any new developments on this saga. And how will I know if something's cookin'? Well, I still have some unstubbed toes left. And I still live with the same furniture.

[1] Contrary to popular belief, the title does not refer to a famous blogger's famous blog of the same name. I'm hoping he hasn't copyrighted the words, 'coz I really don't know what I would say when I stub my little toe!

[2] Note that it's Mr.Bed and not Mrs.Bed. I do not share Ekta Kapoor's ideas on how women do all the cheating, scheming and evil things, while men are their poor victims. I'm not exactly a feminist, but I do have my prejudices, whims and fancies. Sue me.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Poll is still on, please feel free to goad me to new heights or lambast me to newer lows, as applicable. Since I'm the one who started it, who actually asked for it, apparently I don't have a right to complain. But don't take everything light, ok? As opposed to good people with good hearts, I don't take criticism in a nice way. I keep grudges and take revenge all the time. If you're mean to me, well, count your days for they are numbered!

(I'm hoping if I intimidate you enough, you'll all go ahead and vote saying you dont care what the blog looks like 'coz I write so amazingly well. Time will tell if my plan worked or backfired. Bless the two souls who actually voted for that option.)

And the following 'comments' from the not-so-blessed souls who clicked on 'Other'. As usual, sarcy comments in square braces by me -

fook gak gablonk pbffffffffff!!!! [most definitely a Calvin fan! Cmon, own up.]
I am not bothered by them, do you? [I asked you. You're asking me back?! Man!]
just wanted to put kalla vote :D [Long live you! thiruththave mudiyaadhu.]

Thanks much. I asked for it, yes.

Like I've said before, with friends like this who needs enemies!

Mayday! Mayday!

2007-05-07T11:31:00.000+05:30

Update [15th May, 2007]: The poll has been closed, thanks to the schmuck who decided to cast 32 votes saying I should remove all widgets and another 32 saying I'm crap. I appreciate your enthusiasm, Mr.S, but shut it. And you know what's the best part? I'm completely ignoring you 64 times. How's that?!

Rest of world, thank you! I'll put in the changes to the template as soon as I find some time and inclination. And I'll try not to bother you guys with polls again. Thanks!

HOUSTON! WE HAVE A PROBLEM!

I've been postponing this little decision for so long now that I've finally decided to decide.

Problem Statement: I've been having this template for Thought Process for the last few months and I've ended up adding so many fancy widgets over time (mainly 'coz, well, they caught my fancy!) that it's come to a point where I'm beginning to find the blog cluttered up with too many things. Hence this poll.

Steps to arrive at conclusion: So, my dear readers, would you be so kind as to spend a few of your precious minutes, take this poll and let me know your ideas on what you would like to see on Thought Process, please? A lot of you are anon (or so I kid myself, so humor me will ya?) for reasons best known to yourselves - this poll would be a great way to keep your anonimity and still let me know what you think! Like they say, two mangoes with one stone. (insert sheepish+guilty look at murdering another Tamil idiom).

So without any further ado, scroll down, read the question carefully and exercise your right to franchise TODAY!

Thanks for your time and have a great day!

The way they work...

2007-05-02T10:28:00.000+05:30

I'm out of ideas for my next post (yes, yes, go party. But I will come back with a vengeance, mind you). So what did I do? Recycle, ofcourse!

The following post was originally published on January 14, 2006 A.D. Although it was very warmly welcomed on the blogger's erstwhile mainstay blog (on Yahooo 360), it did not have any impact on the blogger's current mainstay blog (this blog). Hence the re-attempt (apart from other sundry reasons).

Also, please note that the content and language of this post is from early 2006 A.D. and might be out-dated as of today. By the time you finish the post you would also realize how much the blogger has grown over the past 1 year with respect to this blog and blogging, in general.

Some things I've learnt after god-knows-how-many (B/T/K)ollywood movies...

1. If the engagement ceremony of the hero's sister is shown with unusual aplomb and fanfare (with a song in which the hero has to sing his sister's praises and dance), then the marriage will not happen due to some horrible reason and/or the sister will die in very sad conditions. This is, however, not applicable to Suraj Barjatya movies - his movies are all one big ceremony after the other.

Corollary - If the hero has a sister, she will be raped by the villian and/or she will die.

2. If anybody wearing spectacles removes them, someone has just died or been diagnosed as a terminally ill cancer patient. It will usually be someone closely related to the hero.

3. It's perfectly normal for the hero and heroine to jump around and dance - even in the middle of Mount Road.

4. Even if the hero is a pauper, he will wear jeans and his jeans will be a Levi/Lee/CK..worst case Pepe. Don't even get me started on the shoes.

5. All ghosts will wear a white saree and leave their hair untied (all ghosts are female unless specifically picturised otherwise). They will generally loiter around at exactly 12 o'clock outside the heroine's house. They will also sing creepy-tuned songs - and the heroine will scream only after the song ends.

6. The villian has to give a big speech to the hero (who's help captive) about how he managed to do all that he did (the hero was dumb enough not to know) and then boast about killing him finally. This will give time for the hero to send eye-signals to the side-kick to do something equally stupid and get out.

7. Whenever the hero comes to see the heroine (jumping gates and climbing walls) just like that, he will not be caught. However, the day he comes to take the heroine with him, the heroine's dad will see him and catch him or atleast chase him to the nearest tall building/hill-top temple (depending on whether the movie is in the city or a village).

8. The hero's side-kick will be dumber than the hero, but smarter than the villian (read point 6). The villian's side-kicks will have an IQ of a teaspoon.

9. If the heroine's dad wants to send her abroad (because she loves the hero ofcourse), visa formalities will happen overnight. Flight tickets also will be booked (and confirmed actually) overnight - even to the USA! It will mostly be USA. Or Canada.

10. Heroines cannot commit suicide. They just will not die - someone is usually around to kick the door open and take them to the hospital.

Phew!

P.S: Bless the soul who put an entry in Wiki for Mount Road!

Life's like that!

2007-04-19T13:20:00.000+05:30

Update [April 25, 2007 10:36 AM]: Prose and Verse updated!

You see a piece of cashew in your cup of curd rice. You eagerly put it in your mouth, expecting to savor the creamy nutty taste and for a split second, enjoy your sorry meal.

One bite.

It's ginger.

And you can't spit your food out since you're sitting with your colleagues in the cafeteria.

Reminds you of this thing called 'life'. Rarely cashew. Mostly ginger. And a whole of people around judging you by the nanosecond.

On Pippa, Anne and Tumblelogs

2007-04-17T14:40:00.000+05:30

What's with the title? Well, just that I've officially given up on thinking up nice titles for my posts. Given. Up.

I'm smitten with Anne of Green Gables. And the last line in the book is from "Pippa's Song", by Robert Browning -

The year's at the spring,
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hill-side's dew-pearl'd;
The lark's on the wing;
The snail 's on the thorn;
God's in His heaven— All's right with the world!

Apart from certain issues like the lack of crown jewels in my jewellery box, the absence of, not just a bright red Maserati in my porch, but the porch itself; and sundry other items of a similar nature, all's right with the world, indeed!

The last bit in today's broadcast: I have finally invaded the Tumblr space. Check out: http://thoughtprocess.tumblr.com

I'm not sure you can leave comments there (small mercies), so come right back here and tell me if I can still put off that trip to my shrink.

P.S: Very apt title for the post, no?

Guess?

2007-04-16T10:52:00.000+05:30

Enough said.

Image Source

Ariadne's Thread

2007-04-13T10:38:00.000+05:30

I'm a sucker for mythological stories. Be it tales from Mahabharata and Ramayana, be it fables from the Bible or stories of valor and wit from my Grandma - I love 'em all. No surprises then, that a reference to Ariadne and Theseus in a book by Robert Ludlum sent me running to Google to google up (yes, that's a valid verb these days) the story.

And once you've found what you were looking for, what do you do? You tell the world you found it. Even if the world didn't exactly ask for it.

Google, being Google, gave me more than what I asked for. A search on 'Ariadne's Thread' brings up, not just the mythology associated with it, but also conceptual derivatives of that story that's used in today's world, more specifically as an algorithm for problem solving.

The Mythology: Verbatim from here, 'coz I don't see why I should put it in my own words when the existing ones are good enough. Also because I'm plain lazy -

In Greek mythology Theseus was the son of the Greek king Aegeus. King Minos of Crete defeated Aegeus and threatened to destroy his country. Only if Aegeus sacrificed seven young Athenian men and women every nine years to the Minotaur would his kingdom be spared.

Theseus felt it was time to put an end to the sacrifice. When the moment came for another 14 people to enter the Labyrinth in which the Minotaur lived, Theseus offered to go as one of the sacrifices. During the journey Theseus met King Minos’s daughter Ariadne, who promptly fell in love with him.

Ariadne was willing to help Theseus find his way out of the Labyrinth. In exchange Theseus promised to marry her and take her back to Athens. Ariadne gave him a ball of thread and told him to secure one end at the entrance to the Labyrinth. He could then unravel the ball as he made his way. By following the thread Theseus would be able to find the way back to the entrance.

Theseus slowly made his way through the Labyrinth, unravelling the ball as he went. He encountered the Minotaur, and after a struggle slew the beast. Together with the others he followed the thread back to the entrance and out of the Labyrinth.

Now, that is the story. But what Ariadne's Thread signifies in the real world (as opposed to the mythological world, that is) is a means to make sure you don't get lost. Be it as a mechanism for tracking your transactions (in a software-centric enterprise) or as a generic means of problem solving involving application of logic to all available paths of probable solutions. To quote from a wiki reference -

It is the particular method used that is able to follow completely through to trace steps or take point by point a series of found truths in a contingent, ordered search that reaches a desired end position. This process can take the form of a mental record, a physical marking, or even a philosophical debate; it is the process itself that assumes the name.

What I understand from the implementation details provided at the above url, this is another algorithm that's used right from sudoku solutions to applications in philosophy and ethics. Sounds interesting enough to me, which just means I might spend more time going through the maze of material available on the world wide web - maybe I'll come out of the maze using Ariadne's thread! Or maybe I'll just get lost, lose my mind and never blog again. You'll know in a day or two, 'coz from when did losing my mind stop me from blogging?!

(C/D)are to be bored?

2007-04-10T15:45:00.000+05:30

(Update @ 12-Apr-2007 4:28 PM) New verse on Prose and Verse

Never approach Google for advice. Especially for advice on how to pass time if you're really really bored. Why? Because if you do, you'll end up finding what you're looking for! That missing piece in your life, that spark, that colorful rainbow, that really amazing feeling close to euphoria when you've found your life's worth! Yes, all that and more.

Little tidbits from what God Google blessed me with on things to do when one is really bored. As always, smarty-pant-responses in italics by moi -

- Try to not think about penguins (Tried. Failed. Miserably.)

- Watch TV, repeat everything said in an Italian accent (Tried. Amazingly successful. Family refuses to talk to me now.)

- Throw a surprise party for yourself. Turn off all the lights, then turn them on and yell "Surprise!" Act shocked. (Didn't try today. Sounded way too desperate. Maybe tomorrow.)

- Go up to a salesman and ask "May I help you?" (No comments)

- Go to grocery store in a bathrobe, slippers, and a towel around your head. Rubber ducky optional. (Not my kind of thing. But I would like a rubber ducky. A yellow rubber ducky.)

- Make a list of things to do that you've already done. (Done! result? I can do a lot of useless in any given period of time.)

- Laugh uncontrollably for about 3 minutes & then suddenly stop and look suspiciously at everyone who looks at you. (Not tried yet since I'm already at a risk of being carted off to a madhouse. Not tried YET.)

- In alphabetical order, list all the words you know (I bet this will definitely keep me occupied for the next 2 decades)

- Make orange juice and complain to partner that it doesn't taste like apple. Proceed to throw the contents on partner's head acting frustrated. (No. My family doesn't love me that much anyway, so I might be pushing my luck with this one.)

- Dress up like Queen Elizabeth. Ask everyone to call you Her Royal Highness and refuse to speak unless called so. (Yep, you guessed it right. I dont talk to anyone now. Everyone around me seem doubly happy about something. I wonder what.)

- Put up the Christmas tree. Say it's for Easter. (Done. I have one job less for Christmas this year!) (Kidding, ofcourse. I might say stupid things, but I'm not stupid myself.)

- Complain to God that Jupiter has more moons than we do. (Did that. God said the more I complain the longer He'll make me live. So I asked him why only the Queen can have crown jewels, why not me. I think I'm gonna live to be 200!)

Caveat: Do not try all these together in the same place at the same time in front of the same set of people. They might not give you an internet connection at the lunatic asylum.

Disclaimer: I'm not responsible for the repurcussions of the above actions. I don't know you, you don't know me, so you have no business doing what I say. For external use only. Batteries not included. Shake well before use. For office use only. Store in a cool, dry place away from direct sunlight. This article does not reflect the thoughts or opinions of either myself, my company, my friends or my non-existent cat. Offer valid till stocks last.

My best friend

2007-04-04T13:47:00.000+05:30

This post is dedicated to my best buddy.

My best friend (inanimate-object friend!) is most definitely my prized Victorinox Swiss Army knife (picture above). I think it qualifies as the single most useful, most handy tool ever invented by man. I always carry it in my purse and there were numerous times when I have thanked myself for keeping it there!

This knife was a gift from my dad. Well, what sort of dad gives his daughter a knife, eh? See, the thing is..Dad didn't exactly give it to me. **sly smile** It was there in the cupboard and I just assumed it was for me. But it sounds good to say it's a gift from dad no? :-)

I never bothered much about it when I was going to college from home. But its presence was totally required when I moved to Hyderabad to 'stand on my own feet' (till then I was standing on my parents' feet) . Somehow, this little object gave me a lot of courage. There was this time when I had to walk a few hundred feet from the bus stop to my house and there were no street lights - obviously, I freaked out. I then pulled out my trusted knife, took out the knife thingie and kept that in my hand and walked home. If someone, god forbid, had tried to get funny then, well, he wouldn't have seen the light of day (atleast, that's what I tell myself - Muawahahaha).

And now I can't believe I used to do that.

Other uses for my dear knife included -
1. Cutting impossible Ruffles Lays chips' packets in trains (I think Pepsi foods has a grudge on its customers and expects us to spend effort and tear the packet to eat the 5 tiny chips inside)

2. Screwing the handle back onto my pressure cooker (I do this everyday! Stupid handle won't stay!)

3. Cutting birthday cakes at my workplace if the official cake-cutter-knife-keeping colleague is not available

4. Opening a bottle of wine - the first time I saw my husband do this, I was so excited. I still dont know why.

5. I used that criss-cross edgy thingie (I'm bad at naming things, I dont wanna think about naming my kid) to cut the lock on my bag (no, I wasn't 'stealing' my own stuff, the key stopped working, hence the cutting). I wasn't successful, but then, it was useful in the beginning.

6. Opened numerous bottles of Maggi Tomato Ketchup. And spend the next few minutes fishing out the cap from under the refrigerator or the table.

You should see the look on people's faces when they are searching for a pair of scissors and you say 'Hey, I got it' and just pop out your Swiss knife! There are still some tools in it that I haven't found a use for. Yet. I love it, you know. Its really cute at the same time so ruff 'n tuff with the different tools in it. This is one thing I'm never gonna let go of. My suggestion - every girl should have one. It's really handy and a must-have in any purse. Oh, did you know? The latest ones come with a compact flash drive too! Hi-tech eh?!

Whoever said a dog was man's best friend did not have a Swiss Army Knife!

Me, myself and you

2007-03-30T19:08:00.000+05:30

Scene: Me is sitting staring the the 'Compose' window, not typing a word. Other-Me is yapping non-stop somewhere in the vicinity of the brain. Other-Me's voice sounds strangely familiar. The sarcasm is definitely familiar.

Other Me: So, write something fantabulously awesome that'll shake the entire blogosphere and bring them all to your blog-step!

Me: Oh yeah? Like what?

Other Me: I don't know! But something really really cool.

Me: Ice?

Other Me: Funny?

Me: (dejected) No. But it's irritating when you have to convey something really huge and you don't find the words!

Other Me: No words at all, eh?

Me: Nope. Nothing. Zero. Zilch. Nada. No. Shoonya. Poojyam. Sunna..

Other Me: Ok ok, don't go all polyglot-ic on me. How about google-ing for an image. It is equal to a thousand words you know.

Me: You think I didn't do that already, you knucklehead? Why don't you just shut the heck up for a while and let me think?

Other-Me: Oh, but I can't shut up. You know I can't. You can't shut up! How can I? Maybe you should just let me do the writing. Like you always do. *smirk*

Me: WHAT??!! HOW DARE YOU insinuate that I pass off your work as mine? How dare you, you..you cheater, pumpkin-eater?

Other-Me: Fine, fine. It's all your work. Now get to the work at hand. Write something good. But sweetheart, pumpkin-eater? Seriously? That's all you could come up with?

Me: *through gritted teeth* I will not swear or name-call on this blog, so shut it.

Other-Me: Oh right. Forgot. Did you wash the blog with turmeric and apply kumkum on it today? How about actually using that coconut you bought 2 weeks back? Can I get some camphor?

Me: Leave me alone!!!!!!!!!!!

Other-Me: Can't.

Me: Can too.

Other-Me: Can too not.

Me: You mean 'cannot'?

Other-Me: Whatever. *long series of beeps that can't be typed on a public domain*

Me: Ok!! No point resisting you. Give me one good idea and I swear I'll treat you like an equal.

Other-Me: God promise? You will?

Me: I will. *fingers crossed behind back - loophole for the promise*

Other-Me: You do realize I can know that you intend to cheat, right?

Me: *giving up* Fine fine fine! Tell me.

Other-Me: Considering the dire straits you're in, and considering the fact that your mental health is my mental health and considering the fact that I do owe you one from long time ago and considering...

Me: You know, I would like to publish a post on this blog at least before 2080 so...

Other-Me: *Dont-push-your-luck-too-far-or-I'll-have-to-kill-you look* considering the very obvious fact that your writing skills are fast drying up, I will give you one piece of advice.

Me: Which is?

Other-Me: Just say it.

Me: Er, what?

Other-Me: No big hungama, no party-ish shouting, no fancy pictures from Google, nothing. Just say it. Those few words. Say it.

Me: *bewildered*

Other-Me: What? You got a better idea, chum?

Me: No. This is it.

Other-Me: Then go! Now! Before they all leave. Go!!

So, Me is writing the following in the 'Compose' window and hitting 'Publish' -

This is my 200th post. I'm happy for me! (going 'YAY!!'). Thank you, my silent and not-so-silent readers, who put up with everything that I post here and who actually come back (God bless you!) and say nice things about what I write. It's easy to say that I write only for myself yada yada yada, but the honest truth is, after a point, it gets really lonely writing just for yourself (and the occasional spammer advertising engine oil). It could be no big deal for you leaving a comment, but if you're also a blogger you'll know it's a huge deal to see a comment on something you felt about and penned. And if I'm still here, still writing, still yappin', it's because of you. Yes you, right there, reading this line. :-) Thank you. You've been great, and I do hope I can keep you interested in Thought Process, at least for a little while longer. And I'll sincerely try not to get this mushy again. But maybe for my 300th post, no? :-)

Other-Me: See? That wasn't so bad after all, was it?

Me: *relieved* So now I have to treat you like an equal?

Other-Me: *strutting about proudly inside head* You bet, lady!

Me: In your dreams, you nut! *wicked grin*

Other-Me: Hey!! That's not...

Other-Me's voice fades out. Enter Bryan Adams with 'Summer of 69'.

P.S: 200! Two hundred! 2 followed by 2 whole zeroes. Yippie! Woohoo!!! I did it! I lasted this long! *goes away imagining Oscar statuette in hand, acceptance speech in mind*

Bram Stoker's Dracula

2007-03-29T10:13:00.000+05:30

Jonathan Harker is a real estate agent who has to travel to the mountains of Transylvania to meet Count Dracula to discuss affairs of the latter's latest acquisition, a rundown castle in England. Harker braves the journey, even though he has his own doubts when the innkeeper (where he stays for a bit) gives him a crucifix and asks him to keep it for his mother's sake. What follows is a bizarre adventure that starts with his imprisonment by the Count and ends with his escaping the dreaded castle where the dead rise from their graves. He keeps a count of the incidents that occur in the castle, and even when he is finally in the arms of his love, Mina Harker, he is visited by nightmares of the stay with Count Dracula.

Lucy Westenra is a demure English girl, who's biggest problem at the moment is being proposed to by three very eligible gentlemen. Dr.Seward is a psychiatrist, Quincey Morris is American and is fun to be with, but above these two, is Arthur Holmwood whom she truly loves. But weird things start happening to Lucy when she starts sleep-walking and is, one night, found in a graveyard with a man in a black hooded overcoat. She also has a mysterious wound on her neck which worries her doctor, Lord Van Helsing who has arrived to treat her at the behest of Dr.Seward.

When Lucy dies due to excessive blood loss, her family and friends are none the wiser about the meaning behind it. But Van Helsing has his own doubts, which are proved when he finds Lucy's coffin empty in the crematorium. What's even more bewildering is Lucy back in the same coffin during daytime, looking as beautiful as ever, without the slightest signs of being a one week old cadaver.

How did Lucy die? And why does she seem to be regaining her youth after death? And what are those 50 wooden boxes that the Count despatched to England from his castle? What does Mina have to do with all this, other than being Jonathan Harker's wife? How many more will fall prey to the Count, and become the Un-Dead?

Bram Stoker answers all these and more with his amazing horror story of a book, 'Dracula'. The book is a set of letters (between the various characters) and diary entries of the Harkers & Dr.Seward and traces the series of events that lead to the revelation of the true identity of Count Dracula and Mina Harker.

The language is pompous, characteristic of prim and proper English men and women, with exaggerated proclamations of friendship and faithfulness. But then, the novel was written in 1897 - enough reason why every sentence written reeks of chivalry! Some of those are so cliched-ly chivalrous, that if it weren't for the fact that the book is about vampires, it would seem outright funny. It's set in the England of yore, where women were treated as delicate darlings in the truest sense of the phrase.

The way the author has painted the characters, leaves nothing to doubt. Making the movie must have been a relatively painless affair, thanks to the vivid details presented in the book. What I loved about the narration was the way the author kept the interest going, even though the concept of vampires and Dracula, in general, are very well known these days. The puncture wounds on the victims, the garlic used to keep the vampire away, escaping wolves and a zoophagus mentally-ill patient - we know what it's all about, but still we can't wait for the actual words to appear in the book! Now, that's what I call a page-turner.

What remains now is the on screen adaptation of the book. Something tells me I shouldn't watch it alone. And maybe I should sleep with a couple of garlic cloves under my pillow!

An excerpt (from the back cover of the book) -

There he lay looking as if youth had been half renewed, for the white hair and moustache were changed to dark iron-grey; the cheeks were fuller, and the white skin seemed ruby red underneath; the mouth was redder than ever, for on the lips were gouts of fresh blood, which trickled from the corners of the mouth and ran over the chin and neck. Even the deep, burning eyes seemed set amongst swollen flesh, for the lids and pouches underneath were bloated. It seemed as if the whole awful creature were simply gorged with blood; he lay like a filthy leach, exhausted with his repletion.

If this cannot get you interested, I don't know what will!

You can read the book online on Dracula's page - apparently, the work is now in public domain in the US and other countries where copyrights expire for works published before 1923. (Whatever that's supposed to mean!)

If you feel the book is just too much trouble, well, you'll just have to catch the movie. The latest I heard of is the one with Gary Oldman as Dracula and Winona Ryder as Mina Harker (directed by none less than Francis Ford Coppola). But for a true bibliophile, nothing beats the touch and feel of a book. Absolutely nothing. So while you get a tub of popcorn and sit in front of the television, I will snuggle into my bean bag with a cup of hot chocolate and my favorite tome.

Image Source

P.S: The book is a gift from my husband - a souvenir from a church in Whitby, which was Dracula's home in England.

A dog's life

2007-03-26T12:41:00.000+05:30

No, not talking about my own. Well, at least, not in so many words. The daily commute from home to workplace and back takes it's toll on one's body and mind. The most affected, ofcourse, is the mind. Why? Because the mind is constantly on overdrive trying to make sense out of the chaotic surroundings (otherwise known as deathly traffic, arising mainly due to neanderthals under the garb of sophistication, behind steering wheels), and bring a semblance of sanity to the entire journey. It's not easy, I tell you. As if your self-consciousness was not enough, you also have to keep abreast of the latest styles of handbags, footwear, salwars, jeans and tops that the rest of the office is wearing. When best to do that other than on your commute!

After attire-checking-out-ing (I've given up on my vocabulary, bear with moi please), the other hugely popular time pass for someone on a commute is a game of Who's-Got-The-Most-Yucky-Lanyard. It's simple enough and enormously time-passy. And this can be played in and around any office space that has at least one other human being other than yourself wearing their corporate ID cards on a lanyard. And as a person who has successfully completed a zillion commutes, I've seen the best and worst of them all. So much so, I could write a thesis on it. Pity I 'm not doing anything even close to a post graduation (or just even education!) which would expect a thesis from me.

Well then, getting to the point, there are a million different types of lanyards. Ok, so not a million. But at least 20,000 types exist. From the completely harmless single string hapless looking one to the 5cms wide yellow colored I'm-a-clown-look-at-my-lanyard one - they're all there! And some poor soul is wearing one right now (and we convey our heartfelt sympathies to him/her) at the risk of looking like a, well, a cross between a clown and a pet. A lovable pet who goes around with a yellow leash around its neck.

It's not so much the size of the lanyard that matters. It all comes down to the color, IMHO. Honestly, the I-look-like-a-clown lanyard wouldn't be so gross if it had been, say, white! Where it could just blend into your shirt. Or you could be wearing a black shirt and completely throw my argument out of gear. Ah well. Happens. One wonders why some corporates insist on blinding colors like lemon yellow, Ferrari red, Fanta orange or candy-floss pink! Whatever happened to human rights?! If I were ever made to wear one of those monstrosities, I swear I'll quit! (Understandably, that's a blatant exaggeration. I won't quit. I'll come right back to this very blog and post my rant and expect you all to leave me sympathetic comments. Just so you know.)

But what sometimes gets my gall is people wearing these things for their mobile phones. I mean, when you have a choice between looking smart and looking like a dumb fool, what would you choose? Honestly! It's a pain on the eyes, people! It's a veritable pain on the eyes to see pink, red and yellow colored ribbons hanging around your necks and if this is your idea of cool, then you're probably living in the wrong century.

The whole thing reminds me of what my aunt says everytime she sees my ID card - 'Doesn't it make you feel like a dog?'. Yes Auntie, it sure does. And that's why it's safely hidden inside my purse. (I still have the lanyard mind you, otherwise the poor ID card would drown in the deluge of crap that is my purse.) You wouldn't catch me dead (or alive) wearing it around my neck. I'm not stupid, ya know. At least not as much as you think.

Image Source

The Bartimaeus Trilogy

2007-03-22T11:38:00.000+05:30

I'm no good with reviews. But once in a while you come across this amazing book or movie and it's just very very hard to not talk about it. Very hard, indeed, to not tell people to read it or watch it. Jonathan Stroud's Bartimaeus Trilogy may not be in the same league as J.K.Rowling's Harry Potter series, but if you're a fan of fanfic - rest assured - you will love these books. The imagination is vivid, the plot is non-complicated and above all this, the hero - Bartimaeus - is absolutely AWESOME! I'm no good with superlatives either, so 'awesome' will just have to do.

Remember the genie from Alladin's lamp? Remember 'I dream of Genie'? Yep, it's the same kind of genie, only very cheeky and spelt 'djinni'. Bartimaeus is around 5000 years old. In his own words -

"I am Bartimaeus! I am Sakhr al-Jinni, N'gorso the Mighty, and the Serpent of Silver Plumes! I have rebuilt the walls of Uruk, Karnak, and Prague. I have spoken with Solomon. I have run with the buffalo fathers of the plains. I have watched over Old Zimbabwe till the stones fell and the jackals fed on its people. I am Bartimaeus! I recognize no master. So I charge you in your turn, boy. Who are you to summon me?"

From 'The Amulet of Samarkand'

To add to the fun, he also talks in footnotes! The author's style of narration is the first of its kind that I have come across. The narration is partly through the eyes of Bartimaeus himself, and partly as a non-participant of the story. And since Bartimaeus is such an all-knowing, all-seeing, cheeky-and-witty-as-hell djinn, he tells us a lot more about magic and demons using footnotes. And trust me on this - these books are some of the few books where I actually laughed when I was reading them. Example? Here you go -

Situation: Bartimaeus is currently transformed into a fly, doing some eavesdropping. He buzzes too close to the guy and, whup! he's hammered by a rolled up paper and is left lying on the floor in a daze. He manages to crawl out of the pub into the open street. And what follows is -

Out in the street I kept the pub door in view, while inspecting my tender essence. It's a sorry state of affairs when a djinni who _________[5] is laid low by a rolled-up piece of paper, but that was the sad fact of the matter. All this changing and being batted about was not doing me any good. Mandrake...It was all Mandrake's doing. He'd pay for this, first chance I got[6].

[5] Insert achievement of your choice from the following selection: (a) fought the utukku single-handed at the battle of Qadesh (b) carved the great walls of Uruk from the living ground (c) destroyed three consecutive masters by use of the Hermetic Quibble (d) spoke with Solomon (e) other.

[6] Not that I could not do anything to him in my current state. At least, not alone. Certain djinn, Faquarl among them, had long espoused collective rebellion against the magicians. I'd always dismissed this as so much hogwash, impossible to achieve, but if Faquarl had come up to me with some boneheaded scheme right then, I'd have joined him with much high-fiving and inane whoops of joy.

From 'Ptolemy's Gate'

Now who wouldn't like an adorable djinni like Bartimaeus!

The books in the trilogy trace the series of events that happen between Bartimaeus, the magician Nathaniel (aka John Mandrake) and a commoner, Kitty Jones. Nathaniel (which is the magician's birth name, supposed to be guarded very dearly but which inadvertantly is learnt by Bartimaeus - thereby forming a different relationship between the magician and the demon) summons Bartimaeus for the first time to steal the Amulet of Samarkand from the wicked power-hungry magician, Simon Lovelace. What follows is a game of cat and mouse, with each wanting possesion of the amulet which has the power to absorb any magical attack and protect the wearer. How the plans of Lovelace are thwarted by Bartimaeus and Nathaniel forms the rest of the plot in 'Amulet of Samarkand'.

In 'The Golem's Eye', Nathaniel is older and is now a government official looking into the activities of a bunch of revolutionary commoners, headed by Kitty Jpnes. Their aim is to overthrow the tyrannical rule of the magicians and form their own ruling mechanism. Bartimaeus and Nathaniel come together again to find and capture Kitty Jones, but before that to get rid of a crazy Golem. I won't divulge what it is, so go ahead and read the book.

'Ptolemy's Gate' is the second most interesting of the trilogy, the first being 'The Amulet'. It starts slowly, but gathers pace soon enough and before you know it, you're having the most amazing rollercoaster ride of a book! We get to know more about Bartimaeus' past and his relationship with the boy magician Ptolemy in this book. Kitty Jones plays a bigger role in the events and Nathaniel undergoes a life-changing realization when he sees what he has become in the past years.

I wish I could just write the whole story here, for it's all so exciting and well, awesome. But I refrain. I'd probably murder it in cold blood (which I have succesfully done to a lot of my own so called stories), and that's the last thing I want to do to Bartimaeus.

There's magic, there's humor, there's action and some tragedy too. No surprises that the Amulet is to be made into a movie. Remember how they killed the essence of Harry Potter with those movies and their half-baked plots? Apparently, Bartimaeus is not an exception.

And before I leave you in peace, one last witty bit from Ptolemy's Gate - had me laughing in the waiting lounge of an airport, to curious onlookers who probably thought I'd lost it for good!

Thing was, I knew this mercenary. Both times we'd met we'd had a difference of views, and we'd done our best to resolve it in a civilized fashion. But whether I squished him under a statue, blew him up with a Detonation or (as in our last encounter) simply set him on fire and hurled him down a mountainside, he never seemed to suffer the slightest injury. For his part, he'd come annoyingly close to killing me with various silver weapons. And now, just when I was at my weakest, here he was again. It gave me pause. I wasn't scared of him, ofcourse; dear me, no. Let's call it judiciously nervous.
As always he was wearing a pair of ancient leather boots, scratched and worn, which positively stank of magic[1]. Presumably, it was these that had triggered my Pulse.

[1]: In contrast to most of my masters (Mandrake's) shoes, which just positively stank.

Oh, this is just my kind of literature! And as always, don't let my review bring down your interests in reading the book - forget the review, remember the book! It's just that I'm amazingly good with words when I have absolutely nothing to say. And always at a horrible loss for words when there's something very interesting/good/important/useful/creative/intellectual to be said. Yes, I'm weird in that way. And yes, I was born like this.

TOW The Embryos

2007-03-21T13:46:00.000+05:30

Script for 'TOW The Embryos' (Season 4)

My favorite part:

Ross: Every week, the TV Guide comes to Chandler and Joey’s apartment. What name appears on the address label?

Rachel: Chandler gets it! It’s Chandler Bing!

Monica: No!!

Ross: I’m afraid the TV Guide comes to Chinandolor Bong.

Monica: I knew that! Rachel! Use you’re head!

Chandler: Actually, it’s Miss Chinandolor Bong.

A Rajasthani affair

2007-03-16T08:55:00.000+05:30

We stood before the entrance with an uncertainty that arises when you're not quite sure you did the right thing by coming there, when it's vastly different from what you had baselessly imagined. It took 2 whole minutes for that to change, with the re-assurance of a choice well made. We were greeted by trumpets and drums, and by an elderly gentleman who would have made a good village headman in a Hindi movie, holding a plate with the traditional welcome items like rose-water, kumkum, flowers and rice. If you're also a tourist and are really in the mood for some Indian Maharajah treatment, you will also be honored with a pagdi (a type of headgear) and a chain of pearls!

Welcome to Dhola ri Dhani, the Rajasthani theme resort (for want of a better word) located on the outskirts of Hyderabad. Although the term 'outskirts' is hugely debatable, the drive from our workplace to Dhola ri Dhani (hereinafter referred to as DRD owing to the author possessing a high level of laziness in her blood) through non-existent roads and villages sure made it seem like the middle of nowhere. Thanks to an over-zealous taxi driver who was pretty sure he knew what he was doing even when the car had to go over mounds of mud and sand - we could have been in the middle of a river being dug up and we wouldn't have known!

The ambience in DRD is typical Rajasthani - or so they say. I wouldn't know 'coz I haven't been to the Northwestern Indian state. All I can think of about Rajasthan is desert, a lot of camels, Udaipur-Liz Hurley-Arun Nayar-wedding and Rudali[1]. And BITS, Pilani. And hey, more recently, Eklavya! For a person like that, this is quite an experience. You're welcomed by Rajasthani folk music blaring from unseen speakers which, although quite endearing in the beginning, starts to get to you after a while and you just wish you could strangle the voice singing it and end the misery once and for all.

We ('we' here refers to a team of 15 people who's only intention in coming to DRD was to have absolute, unadulterated fun. And ofcourse, food. Oh wait, maybe that's just me!) took a walk around the place, waiting for the rest of the team to turn up. And what we saw left us saying, 'Hmm..that's nice'. There was a temple (which we conveniently did not visit), a bit of open lawns with those cots that one would find at a dhaba, lots of mosquitoes and the omnipresent folk song on the speakers. If you're a kid in body and soul or a kid in soul inside that rough-looking exterior, you could sit on the swing (which was pretty sturdy, I must say) or play see-saw with an equal weighing companion. You could also play a local version of bowling involving 3 golf-ball sized balls and a stack of steel tumblers. You get to pick artsy trinkets if you can unstack all the tumblers. Or you could totally miss all the tumblers, even if you're standing 5 feet from it. What's important is you had fun. Fun, ladies and gentlemen, is the essence of living. (I'm shortly coming out with my own Book of Profound Lines, stay tuned!).

I swear the camel smiled!

One of the things we realized about the place is that it can keep you occupied for an entire evening. There is a camel ride, if you like sitting on a moving stinky mountain and feel like royalty, even if its only for 10-15 minutes. And even if the rest of my team does not agree, I really think the camel smiled. Or maybe that's just the way a camel looks (more probable, isn't it? Ho hum.).

Mehendi! My hand!

We girls got some mehendi on our hands from the resident mehendi artist. If you're a guy, there's nothing you can do but feel left out (or you can go right ahead and get some yourself - whatever makes you happy, chum!). There were puppet shows and folk dance recitals (which we successfully stage-crashed at their invitation) that were really nice, these guys have some talent and it's a pity they don't have a larger audience. And if you're a hindi movie buff, worry not! there is an in-house production of Sholay in nothing less than Hyderabadi Hindi! Get ready to hear Gabbar say 'Jab tak tumhare pairaan nachte, iski saasen chalta'. I walked out of the amphitheatre (?!!) thanking my stars that they staged only the climax scene. Thank God for small mercies.

Puppet show

The highlight of our trip to DRD were two things that I haven't mentioned till now. Best for last, you see.

One, the food. Oh. My. God. Three different types of roti (bajra, missi, regular chapati), 4 curries to go with, dal baatis, dahi vadas, the yummiest jalebis, misri, papad and the I-totally-loved-it kichdi made of bajra and rice with ghee and sugar! This is my kind of paradise! 'Drool drool slurp slurp' would be a gross understatement. You'd feel full if you just taste the umpteen number of things on your plate. So much so, I didn't even notice my right leg going numb due to lack of blood circulation for we were sitting down and eating, a la Rajasthani isstyle. Finish the whole thing off with buttermilk, which I should say had a tad too much of coriander leaves and don't know why, tasted a bit like Hajmola! I guess I need some getting-used-to for the North Indian platter.

The second highlight was the magic show. It was mind boggling! This guy was right in front of us doing the most amazing of tricks, and we were mute spectators to the whole show! Well, almost mute - we did have to shout meaningless jargon, abracadabra and poo-poo (not to be confused with baby language please) and assorted actions that included coughing, sneezing and a certain action involving a ball and a bag between one's legs. I refrain from elaborating further on that and you're forbidden to ask me. What mattered, as always, was we had fun! And the last trick of the day? How about rubbing fists with your neighbor and choosing your favorite flower, only to come back with the smell of the exact same flower on your fist! I'm almost on the verge of believing that there is such a thing called magic and, wait for this, Harry Potter could be real! Now that, dear people, is what I call the essence of living!

On that note, also by popular demand from colleagues, presenting...the smoking camel! Apparently, the aforementioned camel can smoke beedis very expertly!

As Jim 'The Mask' Carrey would say - It's ssssmokin'

Photos by Vivek (Thanks!)

[1] Rudali - That beautiful movie which tells the poignant tale of a woman who could never shed a tear but who finally ends up a Rudali - women who are paid to cry at funerals. That movie where we saw a never-before never-after Dimple Kapadia playing Sannicheri. The same movie where Bhupen Hazarika's songs cast a spell on us, bringing the despair of the sandy desert into our hearts.

Newton and I

2007-03-12T10:52:00.000+05:30

Newton's First Law of Motion:
An object at rest will remain at rest unless acted upon by an external and unbalanced force. An object in motion will remain in motion unless acted upon by an external and unbalanced force.

My Corollary:
A weekend of rest will remain a weekend of rest unless acted upon by an external and unbalanced weekday. A weekend of fun will remain fun unless acted upon by an external and unbalanced Monday.

Right, all I need now is the Nobel prize for contributions to Science.

March 8

2007-03-07T10:29:00.000+05:30

It's that time of the year again. More specifically, OUR time of the year again!

Check out the things being planned by the Blank Noise Project in Bangalore -

This year on International women's day, March 8, Blank Noise supported by Radio Indigo invites you to WALK THE NIGHT!

We are meeting at rest house road, ( off brigade road) park at 6 30 pm. The walk begins at 7 pm. We conclude at 9 pm. All we need is you and your enthusiasm!

Please email us immediately at blurtblanknoise [at] gmail [dot] com. (Note: Please drop me a line in the comment space if you'd like to have the phone number. I'm a bit wary of putting up such information in a public blog.)

Bring along your friends, family, neighbours anyone, any age group! Fun. Thrill. Action. Guaranteed!

And if you're not a Bangalorean, then you can do this -

share. talk. inspire. understand. tell. speak. hear. be heard. narrate. voice. throw open.

Last march 8 (Women'sDay), we had a blog-a-thon that asked you to blog stories of street sexual harassment. It began with an announcement on this blog that was picked up by bloggers across India, and soon in different parts of the world. We shared stories we had never shared before, sometimes stories we thought we had long forgotten, stories that we had often wanted to bury. We read each other, we linked to each other and we linked back to the Blank Noise Project blog. We were touched by each other's stories, moved by them, and, we like to imagine, drew strength and sustenance from the the long, cross-cultural chain of shared experiences.

It's this strength that we're asking you to share experiences of, on March 8th, 2007. The baton is handed over right here, right now! Announce this on your blog and on the morning of March 8th, 2007, share with us a story (or two, or five or...) of fighting back?!

When did you flip a situation so you could resist, when did you give back as hard as you got? When and how did you choose to confront? When did you become an Action Hero?

Action heroes have formed the theme of the last few Blank Noise interventions and it's this spirit we ask you to share and celebrate on March 8 , 2007!

So announce the blog-a-thon, and on March 8, share your action story!

If you are a male blogger and wondering how you fit in, tell us about an Action Hero you know!

You could also be an agent- the one that collects stories of confrontation/ of heroism from your mother, grandmother, cousins, domestic workers, people in your office, the vegetable vendor, the woman bus conductor...anyone!

To participate:
1. announce the event.
2. blog your story
3. email us about it and we will link you right away!

If you are not a blogger, no problem, email us your stories and we will publish them on a new blogsite- www.blanknoiseactionheroes.blogspot.com

Please email us at blurtblanknoise [at] gmail [dot] com subject titled Action Heroes Online.

And if all this is still too much trouble or you couldn't care less, there's an even more simpler thing you can do - Hold hands with the woman you cherish most in your life and tell her how much she means to you. Could be your mother, could be your wife or girlfriend or just a friend. Could be your sister or a favorite cousin. Tell her you appreciate all that she has done for you and tell her you're always there for her, till the very end. If you can't say it to her, then write to her. Email her. Send her an SMS. Get her a Woman's Day card and don't forget to sign it. Send her flowers. Or chocolates. Anything.

Now if you still feel all these are just not your ways, well, then just spend the day with her, spend the day the way she wants to. She'll understand all those unsaid things.

P.S: Please please please don't over-do it. :-)

The act of forgiving

2007-03-05T11:24:00.000+05:30

Rasiya is a young Muslim woman in a little place in Kozhikode. She lives with her infant child and her father, near the backwaters of Kerala where it rains for 6 months in a year. Her husband, Akbar, works in Saudi Arabia and like most families from the neighborhood, had struggled to go there and is now struggling to save some money and come home soon. But Rasiya's world crashes down on her when she hears that Akbar has been imprisoned in Saudi on charges of killing another person. The sentence for the crime was death by beheading.

Ganga is a young woman from a staunchly orthodox Palakkad Iyer family. She lives with her in-laws in an Agraharam with her baby daughter. All is well with Ganga, until she receives news that her husband has been murdered in Saudi Arabia.

But all is not lost for Rasiya, for then she comes to know about the only way she can free her husband - if the wife of the murdered man signs a letter of pardon. If Ganga signs a letter of pardon.

This forms the setting in Kamal's Malayalam movie, 'Perumazhakkalam' (roughly translated as 'Rainy Season') which sees Meera Jasmine play Rasiya and Kavya Madhavan, Ganga. The narration is poignant, and the ever-present rain in almost every scene of the movie brings out the pain all the more - for isn't a rainy day a gloomy reminder of how even the weather is not cheerful? The rest of the movie depicts the struggle of one woman desperate to save her husband's life and another who has already lost her husband and holds in her hand the life of the man who killed him.

This movie got me thinking on this amazing human emotion called forgiveness. It is amazing because it is hard to comprehend from where can a person find it in him or her to forgive someone for their wrongdoing. It can be as simple as a case of misunderstanding between two close friends or as grave as the situation brought about by the story above. What makes the story less complicated, perhaps, is the fact that Raghu dies as a result of an accident, when Akbar was beating up another guy who owed him money. In a scenario like that, we, the viewers, feel that Ganga should sign the pardon and free Akbar because it was not intentional! But Ganga's words to Rasiya conveys a different pain - 'You can stand in front of me and cry for your husband's life. And I might even give it. But if I stand in front of your husband and cry for my husband's life, will he be able to give it to me?' The question leaves Rasiya speechless. But her determination in reaching Ganga, more specifically the woman in her who knows what it is to become a widow, does not falter.

I read somewhere that forgiveness is giving up my right to hate you for hurting me. Sounds fair enough. When I'm hurt, when I'm being betrayed, the least I can do is be angry with the perpetrator. The least I can do is refuse to forgive him or her and let the person bear the weight of their mistakes for the rest of their lives. The least I can do is let myself bear the weight of that hatred and anger for the rest of my life. But the best I can do is to forgive. And get it over with. For didn't the Lord ask us to pray thus? 'Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us'. We ask God to forgive us like we forgive others. When God forgives us if we truly repent, why can't we, humans, do the same? Simple answer - because we are not God! Not even close. Which probably reiterates the notion that to forgive is divine. Because it takes a lot to let go of our anger/hatred and tell the person that we forgive them for their trespasses.

Getting back to the story, the other aspect that the director has portrayed beautifully is the mindset of Ganga's in-laws. Hearing the news of the death sentence, the father-in-law asks his son to arrange for special prayers at the local temple as a mark of thanksgiving. It actually translates to a state of rejoicing at one man's impending death. The way the family behaves with Rasiya when she comes to their doorstep asking for Ganga is very realistic, given that she is the wife of the man who killed their sole breadwinner.

Does Ganga sign the letter of pardon, after all? Will her in-laws let her, even if she wants to? Can Rasiya get her husband freed before it's too late? Well, that forms the rest of the movie!

After watching this movie, I realized that there are a lot of other emotions entwined in an act of forgiveness. There will be doubts in one's mind whether it is the right thing to forgive and forget. There could be a feeling of unease that once you forgive you give up the last right you had to feel hatred towards the person who hurt you. But then, there will also be a sense of peace to know that you have forgiven and are moving on, a sense of closure to all the pain and anger.

And finally, if it involves another person's life, like Ganga is faced with, to forgive is, indeed, divine.

Picture: Kavya Madhavan and Meera Jasmine in 'Perumazhakkalam'

Update: I'm told that Nagesh Kukkonoor ('Hyderabad Blues' fame) has used this very same story in his recent Hindi movie, 'Dor'. Reviews on the www tell me the movie is worth watching, so maybe I will.

I (broken_heart) Coffee

2007-03-02T11:51:00.000+05:30

I've written about this before, but it's just so horribly frustrating that I'm going to do it again.

The other time it was tea. Now, it's coffee. There was a time in days of yore that I loved coffee. The smell, the color, the taste! But all that changed with the advent of the omnipresent coffee dispenser in my normal working life.

Picture this: You have a splitting headache, and you have work to do. What's the first thing you try? Coffee, ofcourse. And what if that coffee is such an abomination that you start to hate the very beverage? Or maybe I should thank my stars that I'm not a coffee addict because of this! Unlike my parents and friends, I don't need coffee to keep me going. But once in a while, one does miss the golden brown brew.

The problem is not with the coffee per se. It all boils down to the milk (no pun intended). Milk and not milk powder. I don't know much about the dispenser settings to control just how much milk powder, sugar and coffee flows into one cup, all I know is whatever is there in the cup finally looks a lot like dishwater. If it weren't for the fact that I do not know what dishwater tastes like, I would've loved to say the coffee tastes like dishwater. (And this is to prevent any smart-ass comment on me knowing what dishwater tastes like. Tell the truth, you did think of that, didn't you? Ha, gotcha!)

To make matters worse, it's not just the regular coffee. The options on the dispenser are very very misleading, mind you. Let's take it one by one - first, there's Cappuccino. Any resemblance to any coffee, good or bad, is purely co-incidental. And I did the greatest mistake of having cappuccino from an authentic little cafe in Rome, after which cappuccino from even Cafe Coffee Day or Qwiky's or Barista is nothing short of..well, dishwater! So that just made the whole thing even worse. Second comes Mocha. Again, pretty much a big fat brown lie.

The same goes for Hot Chocolate - it looks all nice and chocolatey, but the moment you taste it, well, it transports you approximately 15 years into the past when your Mom had to run behind you with a huge steel tumbler filled with yucky-tasting Complan. And if you're trying to calculate my age based on this piece of information, give it up - ain't gonna work, 'coz I'm totally lying about the 15 years.

The lesser of the evils in the dispenser seems to be 'Nescafe'. Don't let the name fool you into thinking it's the authentic Nescafe that your parents so hate (because they are staunch filter coffee addicts and drinking instant coffee is a sin by itself) and you so love (because you can't stand the after taste of filter coffee and the color is so much better for instant coffee). Lesser evil, but evil nonetheless.

So the only other option left is good ol' hot water. I once tried using them Bru sachets (instantly instant coffee, mix in hot water, add sugar and voila! dishwater ready!), but that didn't work either. Which brings me back to my original rant - there's nothing like fresh coffee. And there's nothing called fresh coffee in some workplaces.

If you're one of the lucky few who can smell the coffee brewing, sitting right at your desks, count your blessings 'coz there are a lot of us who do not have that luxury. But 'us' are also glad that 'us' are no longer coffee addicts, thanks to the omnipresent coffee dispenser.

Now, if only my Mom were here to make me a cuppa! Alas, wishful thinking!

Image Source: That cup of cappuccino scored a full 10 on the droolworthiness scale. So, drool on!

Helluo librorum

2007-02-27T07:40:00.000+05:30

I'm officially out of space in my little bookshelf. I don't find place for my precious Calvin and Hobbes' books (their size is not quite the standard size) and I don't like keeping books the way it's kept above. I like them all neatly arranged, indexed and then ordered by what I read often (read multiple times that is) and what I would like to read later. But no. No space! And I'm still in two minds whether I've to invest in a huge book shelf like the ones we see in the studies of famous writers and artists. I'm not sure my family can take that shock. It's just too early!

So till then, I'll just have to do with my little bookshelf. The new books will now start invading the space in the showcase. And when that's full, there's always the coffee table in the living room. God willing, if that's also full, I'm thinking about the dining table. C'mon, one needs place for books in one's house, right? We'll just have to be happy that I don't intend to move my masala dabbas out of the kitchen cabinets and use that for books. Now that would be a truly shocking shock for the family. Tell you a secret? I actually would love to see the look on my Mom's face if that happens! Evil me.

And the book currently out of the shelf and in my hand -

P.S: Yes, you guessed it right. I finally learnt how to download photos from the camera into my laptop. Talk about slow learners, eh? Better late than never, you see.

We the living

2007-02-22T17:18:00.000+05:30

" Kira Arguonova entered Petrograd on the threshold of a box car. She stood straight, motionless, with the graceful indifference of a traveler on a luxurious ocean liner, with an old blue suit of faded cloth, with slender sunburned legs and no stockings. She had an old piece of plaid silk around her neck and short tousled hair, and a stockingcap with a bright yellow tassel. She had a calm mouth and slightly widened eyes witha defiant, enraptured, solemnly and fearfully expectant look of a warrior who is entering a strange city and is not quite sure whether he is entering it as a conqueror or a captive." -- Ayn Rand, 'We the living'.

So starts the introduction of Ayn Rand's first hero, Kira Alexandrovna Arguonova. All of 16 years old when she enters her city, to the ruins of her bourgeois life. The State has nationalized her father's business and their property. The city that she knew has changed, but she is the only one in her family who sees the hope and possibilities that lie amid the ruins and the Red posters proclaiming 'Proletarians of the world, unite!'. She is also the only one who's dream is to become an engineer and build bridges of aluminium.

'We the living', Rand's first novel, talks about the struggle of Man against the State (to quote the book). The State here represents any authoritarian rule, any dictatorship in any country. Like all her later books, 'We the living' talks about life and the essence of being alive. This novel can be seen as a precursor to 'Fountainhead' and 'Atlas Shrugged', her theory that man must live for himself alone. Kira, who strongly believes in it, finds it difficult to live life by the terms dictated by the Communist State which demanded, not independence, but self sacrifice. The other characters in the book, each convey a tenet towards this theory and it finally comes together during the climax when the two most important men in Kira's life, Leo and Andrei, stand a face-off (or face a stand-off?) - where both the men are wrong, and both are right.

The beauty of Rand's novels is the image of the hero. Be it Kira or Howard Roark or John Galt. The character is just so awe-inspiring, that it continues to haunt you even days after you've read the book. 'We the living' is the first and only book I've ever read in my life so far that made me cry. The pain, the emotions and the conflicts in Kira's life are conveyed so beautifully, in a typical Rand-ian way that one completely identifies with it. It is like watching a movie or even as if it is happening in front of you to see. The words hit you that hard, and leaves an imprint for a long time to come.

'We the living' is different from Atlas and Fountainhead in the way that this is not a happy novel. All the trademarks of Rand are there, yet the human element is more pronounced in 'We the living'. The heroes in this novel are more human than her later heroes. As Peikoff says in his foreword to the centennial edition of the book, 'Kira, though not intended as a self-portrait, is Ayn Rand intellectually and morally; she has all of Ayn Rand's ideas and values.' This is probably as close as we can get to the person behind the genius of Ayn Rand.

One would have read a lot of books on life in Soviet Russia during the times of the Revolution, but this book is a true showcase to the bitter and painful reality of life, especially for people like Kira and Leo who believe in living life on their own terms, for themselves. The poverty, the hunger, the rations and the Communist propaganda - the ugly truth about the Utopian dream that the Marxist leaders promised to the masses. Misplaced ideals and a directionless move towards what they think is a fair and just society, combined with this heady feeling one gets with brute power in their hands brings Russia (or USSR to be more precise) to its knees, or rather the people are brought down to their knees. The long lines in front of cooperative stores to get their daily rations of bread, oil and sugar, the stringent rules for non-proletarians or the erstwhile bourgeois and the all pervading Reds paint a grim picture of how rotten life was for everyone under the hammer and the sickle. And the only reason it is so vivid is because the author wrote it from her own life, the life that she lived and breathed when she was a citizen of Russia.

Every book of Ayn Rand that I have read has touched me, my life in ways even I cannot fathom. It brings this feeling of incompleteness that I may have lived this many years without a purpose, without an ideal that could be life-changing if only one had the will to stick to it in the face of adversity. It takes a lot to follow your mind and your heart, and be willing to die standing up for your values and beliefs. On second thoughts, living by one's convictions is far more difficult that having to die for it. It takes a hero to do that. Not just any hero, an Ayn Rand hero.

Like Howard Roark. Like Francisco D'Anconia, Hank Rearden and Dagny Taggart. Like John Galt. Like Kira Arguonova.

Photo: Taken by me, a day before I finished the book.

Soggy delights

2007-02-21T15:17:00.000+05:30

All my creativity leaked out of my ears last night and now I have none left. Ergo, I will be putting you both (yes, I still firmly believe there are never more than 2 people who read this blog) through the following painful ordeal. Resistance is futile. Resign to your fate and read on please.

One of the most entertaining part of my work-day is the coffee routine in the evening. Not because the coffee is good (it never is, FYI), just because 1) I need something hot to drink at that time and 2) believe it or not, I badly need that eensy weensy bit of exercise (approximately 25 steps from my desk to the pantry, go figure.). Now, one cannot drink a coffee/tea without something to munch. The thoughtful people that they are, the office guys keep a whole variety of biscuits next to the abomination of a dispenser. (Some day I'll blog about how much I 'adore' that dispenser.)

Right, so about the biscuits. When I say wide variety, I mean really wide variety. We have the usual Marie, Krackjack, Goodday and cream biscuits (orange, milk aka yuck, etc) but then we also have *start drumbeats* Britannia Milk Bikkis *end drumbeats* Remember those biscuits? The first ones we probably had (if you're as old as me, chances are this was the first biscuit you had with your two tiny milk teeth) and maybe the only ones in the grocery store of yore! Like I was telling my colleague, these Bikkis always remind me of little babies leaving half eaten, soggy biscuits on the floor. Don't ask me why.

But the point of this post is not Britannia Milk Bikkis. It's about which biscuits are best soggy. Yep, yours truly will now reveal the findings of this top secret project to determine which biscuits..er..soggy biscuits go well with coffee/tea. All my opinions, which I will definitely try to impose on you. Escape it if you can.

1. Britannia Marie - Typical chai biscuit, isn't it? A full 95 marks on 100.
2. Britannia Milk Bikkis - They're ok. Just that they taste a wee bit too sweet when soggy with coffee/tea. If your coffee or tea doesn't have sugar, you might enjoy this. But if your coffee/tea does not have sugar, you probably shouldn't be having biscuits, no? 75 on 100.
3. Britannia Chocolate chip biscuits - I used to like them at one time. But then I had it so often that now I can't stand them. The chocolate chips kinda melt when they're soggy. But it's ok if you want a change in your usual soggy biscuit routine. 70 on 100.
4. Britannia Goodday - Ditto above. Like some Spice Girl said, too much of something is bad enough. I wouldn't suggest a soggy Goodday. It soaks up the liquid too soon and more often than not, breaks in the cup. And then you have fish around in the cup to take it out or even worse, leave it in till the beverage is over. Messy matter. 20 on 100.
5. Cream biscuits - Wrong choice again. The cream makes it too sweet. They have a new flavor called Milk cream (which if Im not mistaken is also used in soaps!! enough said.) - 'yuck' is an understatement. 20 on 100.
6. Krackjack/Salt biscuits - Not exactly good when soggy, mainly 'coz it's a bit salty. Salty biscuit dipped in sweet coffee tastes like salty biscuit dipped in...coffee! I lost what I wanted to write, so excuse please! Also, it takes longer to soak up the coffee. 30 on 100.
7. Britannia Bourbon - Woe to ye if you dip this in coffee or tea. Thou shalt never insult chocolate by mixing it with other things. Putting chocolate between two biscuits is bad enough. 0 on 100, because this is not acceptable behavior for a normal person. I mean a normal chocolate loving person.
8. Britannia True Coconut biscuits - Surprisingly good when soggy with coffee! Try it to know it. 85 on 100.

Note: I'm not paid by Britannia to do this research (although I wish they would!). It's just out of goodwill towards the general public that I indulge in such activities.

Bored? I understand. I'm bored too. Time for coffee! And...a soggy biscuit!

BTW, picture above has nothing much to do with the post. It just looked so yummy that I had to put it up and drool a bit.

P.S: I write too much in brackets, don't I? Shows what sort of a chatterbox I am, no? :-) Too late, you already know me/my blog.

Image Source

Ind vs SL, Live!

2007-02-17T10:12:00.000+05:30

Guess who's at Visakhapatnam watching the 4th ODI between India and Sri Lanka, live and in person?

If you said me, you couldn't be more wrong. Mainly because I'm here blogging.

But if you said my husband, WOOHOO! Bingo! Be jealous, all you cricket fans who couldn't make it. Be really really jealous.

And I know now what can make me watch a full cricket match - the fact that I can see my better half on screen!

Also, for once, I wait for the bowler to stop bowling or take longer gaps between each ball so the camera can roam around the stands and focus on my hubbie.

Well folks, I better get goin'! Got a cricket match and a husband to watch. Woohoo again!

Boxes

2007-02-15T09:52:00.000+05:30

Stumbled upon this song on esnips when I was searching for Peter Seeger's Little Boxes.

I found it so soulful and calming, that I had to put this up on a post, instead of just leaving it around on my sidebar.

Click below -

The People Of the Boxes, by Dawud Wharnsby-Ali

Hosted by eSnips

Or check the 'Listening' section to the left.

And since I'm anyway on the subject of boxes, remember the cute song that plays for the Zen Estilo advt? Well, that's the one I was searching for on esnips. Found it on Youtube, afterall!

Little boxes on the hillside
Little boxes made of ticky tacky
Little boxes Little boxes
Little boxes all the same
There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.

And the people in the houses all go to the university
And they all get put in boxes, little boxes all the same
And there's doctors and there's lawyers
And business executives
And they're all made out of ticky tacky and they all look just the same

And they all play on the golf course and drink their martini dry
And they all have pretty children and the children go to school
And the children go to summer camp
And then to the university
And they all get put in boxes, and they all come out the same

And the boys go into business and marry and raise a family
And they all get put in boxes, little boxes all the same

There's a green one, and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.

Isn't it one cute song? :-)

The Noodle Revolution, 1980s-2007

2007-02-14T08:29:00.000+05:30

Maggi Noodles. Synonymous with a lot of memories, mostly from times when one was too lazy to cook but too hungry not to eat? Those childhood times when Maggi was the THE snack of all times? How your mother scolds you that you serve Maggi for breakfast? Umm, no? Ok, maybe the last one is just me. Nevertheless, would be hard to find an Indian (or as Wiki tells me, a Singaporean, Malayasian, New Zealander or Aussie) who hasn't had Maggi in their lives. If you're below 60 years of age, that is. Somehow, old people and noodles just don't get along. And that's a brilliant idea for a next blog post. Oh, did I just say that aloud?

Why talk about Maggi now? Because I'm hugely hugely impressed by how innovative the blokes at Nestle are! They've just introduced Maggi Rice noodles!! After the regular noodles, the wheat flour (atta) noodles, now rice! Natural progression, one could say. And something that makes a lot of sense.

I'm a big fan of Maggi noodles. I still remember fighting for one extra strand of noodles with my brother (who, after punching me, would graciously offer me two, thereby making me look like the bad person in front of my mother, not to mention a complete glutton for noodles). How I used to cycle the 400m to the nearby shop to buy noodles and pester mom to make it for me before my brother comes. Ok, my brother is always a part of the noodle story 'coz, seriously, I HAVE fought that many times. Yes, I make a lousy sister. And no, I'm not so now. Happy? Those were times when I had just learnt cycling, so no matter what the distance, it was always my trusted BSA SLR. Even if it was to my friend's who lived, hold your breath, two doors away! I mean, two whole doors! Can you believe that?

Ok, umm, back to noodles. Back then, there was just veggie, chicken and tomato flavors, and we used to be such devoted fans of the veggie flavor. If my mother had the patience and the time, she would make it extra special by adding real veggies and it would look like the picture on top of the cover! Ah, those were good times. Then came a lot of flavors that didnt quite click (Chatpata, if I remember correctly), and I think there was one which was supposed to be like noodles in soup.

The marketing for Maggi has always been very sensible. Their '2 minute' tag line was very appealing for mothers and kids alike - mothers needn't spend precious time in the kitchen again and kids can make an entire project out of it! Let's face it, for a lot of us, the first dish we ever made in the kitchen (and for some, the only dish we can make in the kitchen even now) is Maggi noodles. If you were exceptionally talented, you would've made an omlette already, but hey, for regular people like me, it was noodles. Ok, I'm sorry my mind is so tangential, this post is still about noodles, noodles and just noodles.

The popularity of Maggi stems from the fact that it made noodles easy and non-messy. Though it neither tastes nor looks like the authentic chinese noodles, it is very much an accepted type of 'noodles'. So much so, I've seen restaurants serve 'Maggi noodles' next to the other regular Chinese/Conti dishes.

As to the catalyst of this post, Maggi Rice Noodles - available in 3 flavors: Shahi Pulao, Chilly Chow and Lemon. Take my advice, the last two suck big time - even more than Maggi Dal Atta noodles (which was banned from my kitchen after I couldn't finish even half a plate of it, even when I hadn't eaten all day). Shahi Pulao is just about palatable. Which made me realize that nothing compares to the original no-nonsense, no frills, regular good ol' Maggi Vegetable Noodles.

P.S: What's the big deal?

On tridandams and kirpans

2007-02-12T12:09:00.000+05:30

In today's newspaper -

Indian 'grounds' Chinna Jeeyar Swami

Interesting, given that kirpans (upto 6 inch blade, with 3 inch handle, according to BCAS) are allowed aboard. And, correct me if I'm wrong, the tridandam is made of wood!

I understand it's hazardous to carry any sharp objects or objects that could be mis-used on an aircraft, but why, pray, is there a different rule for different objects?

Very interesting, indeed.

Classics

2007-02-09T15:54:00.000+05:30

Oh how I miss these movies!

Especially ones with wicked magicians who hide their life in a parrot, caged across the seven seas! Or movies like the one above - Mayabazar - where Ghatodhgaja transforms into a girl, marries the dorky prince whom the princess doesn't love and carries the princess off to her rightful prince (if I'm not mistaken, it was Arjuna!)

Maybe I should just go to the neighborhood movie rental place and take out all these monochrome classics and re-create the magic in the living room that I enjoyed 15 years back. The living room now is in a sad state, indeed - 85 channels on TV, not one worth watching for more than 30 seconds. Any time of any day. 10 movies in the city's biggest multiplex, not one worth going to! And no, the popcorn doesn't help. Neither does McDonald's.

And oh, Youtube failed me for the first time: I was trying to catch hold of clips from the tamil movie 'Kaadhalikka neramillai', specifically the scene where Nagesh explains his horror movie plot to his dad, Balaiah. If anyone finds a video of that, please please drop me a line!

I leave you with another clip from 'Mayabazar' - where Gatodhgaja has transformed into a girl and is about to get married. Savitri is spell-binding in her acting!

Losing it...

2007-02-07T16:48:00.000+05:30

Has it ever happened to you that unknown to yourself you end up humming the same song all day? Or a phrase pops up in your mind out of nowhere and just refuses to die down no matter how many things you try to think about? Or how a word which you probably last heard in your 8th grade suddenly comes up in your mind for no apparent reason?

Any idea at all what I'm talking about? No? Hmm. Can't blame one for trying though, can you? Anyway, if you did get what I'm trying to say, good for you. If you didn't, act like you did.

I've had all three things happen to me the last few days. I've been humming a Himmesh Reshammiya number that I absolutely detest, been repeating the same proverb over and over again in my head and I remembered the word 'Mangifera indica' after god-knows-how-long, god-knows-for-what.

I tried listening to a whole load of other songs to make my stupid mind forget the Reshammiya number - no use! It's like stuck with fevicol or something! I could've even enjoyed it if it had been an ARR number or at least Ilayaraja, but no! It had to be Reshammiya. Why, O, why?!

And the proverb I've been repeating: Janani janmabhoomishcha swargadapi gareeyasi. The last I heard this was in Sanskrit class in my 6th grade (or was it my mom telling me this as part of her usual gyan? Hmmm.) and I've been thinking about this for the last 2 days, I have no idea why. To give this proverb company, came all the other Sanskrit slokas I had ever learnt, including the Vishnu Sahasranamam!!! Know what else I remembered? The first Geetham I ever played on the veena, Shri Gananatham and then Ra ra venugopala, to end with a Keerthanam - Ninnukori (Mohanam)! Iyo! You would think I'll admit myself into an asylum at least now, wouldn't you? Nope, not there yet.

Mangifera indica is the scientific name for mango. When I remembered this, I remembered a whole lot of other things on how scientific names should be written and the enter science class chapter! And I cannot remember what I had today for breakfast! (Heh heh. Typical exaggeration by yours truly. I had dosa for breakfast today.)

On the way to work, on the FM channel, I heard the RJ say something about chemistry and chemical equations. One guy said H + O2 forms water, H2O. Another lady corrects him saying, no, its H2 + O2 that forms H2O. And you know what I did? I tried to balance the equation in my head! Yep, 2H2 + O2 = 2H2O! (To maintain public *cough* admiration for my intellectual capabilities, I refrain from mentioning how many iterations it took me to arrive at that balanced equation. My chemistry teacher would have died of shame.)

If you forgot what I was trying to say, well, you're not the only one. Join the club.

To quote Einstein, 'A thought that sometimes makes me hazy: am I - or the others - crazy?'

I can't wait to see how many of you leave a comment saying 'You!'. Thanks in advance.

2 + 7 = ?

2007-02-06T16:37:00.000+05:30

Note: Make sure your browser setting allows animations to be played.

Source

On brevity and noodles

2007-02-05T11:16:00.000+05:30

Something I read today and really liked -

He that uses many words for explaining any subject, doth, like the cuttlefish, hide himself for the most part in his own ink. - John Ray, naturalist (1627-1705)

On a completely different topic -

The amount of Maggi noodles inside the pan always seems less than the amount on the plate. Which probably explains why the person I serve to first gets less noodles than the person I serve to next.

P.S: This is my 180th post. Who would've thought!

Mind

2007-02-02T12:17:00.000+05:30

I want this and I want that
I'd love a bit more of this, this and that
I wanna go here, I wanna go there
But sometimes I dont wanna go anywhere
I'd like to see you, I'd like to do this
I feel like eating anything, but this
I want a diamond, I want some gold
I actually want everything being sold
I love you, I hate you
I can tolerate you, but not you
I cant control this, I cant resist it
And one day you start losing me, bit by bit.

You're called insane 'coz you don't have me
You're put in an asylum, alas! they don't see!
If you have me, it is but to lose
Around your neck, tightens the noose
It's a problem if you have me, it's a problem if you don't
Without me you're mindless; you think you will manage? Oh no, you won't!

Neologism

2007-02-01T13:59:00.000+05:30

Neologism Pronunciation [nee-ol-uh-jiz-uhm] –noun
1. a new word, meaning, usage, or phrase.
2. the introduction or use of new words or new senses of existing words.
3. a new doctrine, esp. a new interpretation of sacred writings.
4. Psychiatry. a new word, often consisting of a combination of other words, that is understood only by the speaker: occurring most often in the speech of schizophrenics.

I'm not schizophrenic (yet), so let's forget meaning no.4 above.

Animosity (n) - Close to animals

Thunderbolt (v) - Run at the speed of thunder (also, at speed of sound).

Fanatic (adj) - Crazy about fans

Coffer (n) - One who coughs
(Also related: Coffee (n) - One coughed upon)

MAD (abbr) - Mom And Dad

Logical (adj) - Of or pertaining to logs

Font (v) - Past tense of 'faint', lose consciousness temporarily

Invoice (n) - Voice inside your head that only you can hear, usually signs of mental imbalance

Decrease (v) - Remove creases or wrinkles from a fabric

If you feel I deserve to be flayed mercilessly for murdering the english language in cold blood, join the long queue in front of my house. My house address? Heh heh, you really think so?

Ok, let me explain: I'm completely out of ideas for an *cough* entertaining, no-nonsense blog post. And I hate to keep the blog un-updated for you both who're probably the only ones reading it. Something's better than nothing, right? So there you go! (If you think nothing is better than nonsense, why, pray, are you still reading this?)

Hmm, it's no use. Beam me up, Scotty! This planet sucks!

P.S: If you're a silent reader of this blog, could you please leave a comment on this one so I can know how many people are interested in seeing me getting flayed? You can do this even if you're a first timer (and..er..the last timer) to this blog. Thanks much.

The Mouse

2007-01-30T13:03:00.000+05:30

Can you remember the last time you read a limerick on this blog? Me neither!

And that's enough excuse to make you all suffer one more time! Muahahahaha!

Once upon a time, on an island with a lighthouse
Lived a teeny weeny mouse, in a little mouse house.
He slipped on a pea,
And fell in the sea!
Moral? Peas could be injurious, if you're a teeny weeny mouse.

And so I continue to make Edward Lear toss and turn, 6 feet under.

You'll still come back to my blog, won't you? :-)

Boo!

2007-01-29T11:08:00.001+05:30

That time of the week again! (You're supposed to click the link - ya know, if you're as d'uh as me on a Monday morning)

You think posting a new entry with a colorful picture (which says 'Monday' of all things!) would make it better? (If you're interested, there's a a thing about the image too: The first image I found on Google read 'Happy Monday'. I found that too much to take, so I chose this instead. Say thanks.)

Nope.

No.

No way.

To make matters worse, I'm going to say this too: "A Monday by any other name would feel just as blue."

Sounds familiar? Quit complaining. The guy who should complain is doing somersaults in his grave already.

Morning musings

2007-01-24T10:16:00.000+05:30

1. I tried to squeeze face cream back into it's tube this morning. I seriously don't know what I was thinking.

2. There's a wind chime (with Mickey Mouse, for cryin' out loud) tied to the ceiling in my workplace. FYI, the room is completely air-conditioned, with only one main exit, one fire exit and no windows (or if you're feeling exceptionally d'uh this morning, I mean to say that there is absolutely no wind or breeze or anything of that sort which would make the wind chime move). I want to be there when the chime chimes!

3. If you're wondering how I tried to squeeze the face cream back in: stop it! We all have our moments. And if you know me personally, you're forbidden to ask me about this.

4. I spent a good (no pun intended) 20 minutes this morning watching an exclusive interview with Jade Goody. Seems one of her aims is to scale the highest peak in the world and she couldn't remember what it was called. She also thinks Mona Lisa was painted by a guy called Pistachio. O for the love of God!!!

5. If you read the above and don't know who Jade Goody is, you've spent enough time in the jungle, catch the next flight back to civilization.

6. Shahrukh is awesome with the new KBC. I think it has a lot to do with the fact that he is not trying to be an Amitabh. Although, I did wish he was not one of those typical north indians who think all south indians live on idli sambhar. FYI, we're also famous for Hyderabadi Biryani, Chettinad Chicken, Bisibela bath and Kappa-Meen Curry, not to mention the hazaar types of desserts and sweets. Just FYI.

7. Shahrukh cannot speak Telugu even if his life depended on it. Throwing together a couple of words ending with 'ndu' and 'lu' does not constitute Telugu. Even if you're Shahrukh.

8. I tried answering one of those viewer questions - the SMS didn't go through and I was too lazy to pick up the landline phone and try calling! So, that's one genius who lost her chance to be on the show. Unfair life. And stupid phones!

9. I watched BBC for a while. Reminded me how news channels should be. What they do on the Indian News channels these days is nothing short of a circus.

10. Municipal elections are happening in Bombay, it seems. You would think the entire planet revolves around Bombay and not the sun. And only Bombay has a municipal corporation and only they have elections.

Blue Blah

2007-01-22T10:32:00.000+05:30

I could write a book about Monday Blues. All I need is to pick up all my Monday-blog-posts and voila! I got myself my book! It's got action, drama, poetry and violence (to my readers ofcourse, people have died reading about my blues). And the title would be something like 'How she met a Monday, got kicked and became blue' - sounds familiar? Blame the world wide web for all the awareness people have these days.

Right, so back to the main topic of the day - Monday. Today is actually not that bad. Yep, you can put your eyes back into their respective sockets, I just said that today - a Monday - is not that bad after all. Ask me why, ask me why! Beeeeecoz...**wink wink** it's even worse. **drops down dead**

After so many blog posts, how can you ever believe me if I say a Monday is not so bad after all.

Life

2007-01-18T09:26:00.000+05:30

I'm not real.
Just a mirage, a shadow that disappears with the fading light.
All that you hear about me is inconsequential -
For he who truly knows me cannot speak about me.
The me that you see is irrelevant -
For I'm not what you see, I'm much more and a lot less than that.
Anything you know about me is obsolete -
I'm ever-changing, morphing into forms you cannot fathom.
I'm not where you search for me,
I'm not what you wish me to be.
Cry all you want, laugh while you can
Despair, lose your hopes and question your faith
I will still remain the enigma that I am
For better or for worse.

Dress Code

2007-01-16T15:26:00.000+05:30

For all you folks who's work demands a dress code (at least on some days of the week, if not all) -

ODE TO A DRESS CODE by Joanne Leary, Cornell University

This is the tale of Sir Samuel Smithers
An impeccable gent, from his feet to his withers;
Of regal deportment (though not really handsome),
In the matter of dressing, he looked a King's Ransom.

They say, when a youth, he'd made a decision
To dress with unfailing geometric precision;
With finery fit for the poshest profession,
With elegance marked by Good Taste and Discretion.

His trousers, therefore, were items exalted;
And as for his socks -- well, they couldn't be faulted.
Gorgeous in gaiters and spotless in spats,
With wing-collared shirts, and silken cravats,
(Secured with a filigreed stick-pin of garnet)
Sir Samuel truly was Fashion incarnate.

I saw him attired thus -- Where, you may ask?
The Ambassador's Ball, or the Queen Mother's Masque?
Charming the ladies with sallies of wit,
Or trying his talent with bridle and bit?
Flicking the dust from the sleeve of his coat,
While sipping champagne on a fifty-foot boat?

Alas, poor old Smithers was far from blue waters,
And light-years from dowager heiresses' daughters.
Rather than hunting the foxes with gentry,
I saw him performing the duties of Sentry.
Specifically, checking the bookbags of patrons
And answering "Where is the Restroom?" of matrons.

Sir Samuel: "Library Page, Level III"
Was, in fact, what this fellow had turned out to be.
His duties included such dusty excesses
As gathering books from the deepest recesses:
From Reference, and Storage, and even Locked Press,
But never once did he abandon his dress.

I mused, while I watched him service a copier,
This man's got a job that couldn't be sloppier!
To remedy ravages wrought by the grime
Could hardly come cheaply in money or time...
I admired his stalwart and lofty ideals;
But wondered, where got he the money for meals?

Curiosity conquered my shyness at last,
And I ventured to ask, in a hush, as he passed:
"Sir Samuel, tarry a moment and tell,
How it comes that you dress so uncommonly well?
The dirt, sir... I mean, all that upkeep and such --
I'm sure you don't earn... well, not terribly much."

He stood there a moment, then spoke, sounding tired:
"I do this, you see, because it's required."
He paused again briefly, to let it sink in;
Then continued his tale, but now with a grin:
"But kid, let me tell you, there's more to the action;
The truth is, by God, I get satisfaction!
The job's rather meagre, as might be suspected;
But dressing this way, I find I'm respected!"

The dress code, you see, is a double-edged sword;
A burden, on one hand, and yet a reward.
Sir Samuel showed there are wheels within wheels.
(But still I can't see how he comes by his meals.)

(Sourced from an e-mail bouncing off the world wide web)

Image Source

Chocolate Chip Cake

2007-01-09T13:31:00.000+05:30

Betty Crocker Double Chocolate Premium Muffin Mix.

Made with Hershey's semi sweet chocolate chips.

Below that is this really yummy looking picture of a chocolate chip muffin surrounded by chocolate chips.

Note: This is not a food blog-entry. For the world of me, I do not know how to make chocolate chip cake from scratch.

That said, I can, however, make a chocolate chip cake from Betty Crocker's Muffin Mix. Trust me, I don't even need to see the directions. And I can make it using a microwave (when the directions on the pack ask us to use an oven) since I do not YET own an oven (my request for an electric oven is 'Pending Approval' from you-know-who).

Now, according to Betty Crocker, this is a Muffin mix. But then, the always-so-busy me does not have the patience to go shopping for muffin cups, ergo - this is now a cake mix. Poured the entire thing into a glass dish and chucked it into the microwave - voila, 30 minutes and yummy-smell-fills-house later, chocolate chip cake is ready to eat. Need I say that it tastes absolutely divine? It tastes absolutely divine.

And no one is welcome to my house till the cake is over. I'm not kidding.

Travelogue - 2

2007-01-04T15:38:00.000+05:30

Travelogue Part 1 - Darjeeling

(Long post ahead - proof that I'm the biggest chatterbox you ever had the misfortune to read)

The 4 hour drive from Darjeeling to Gangtok was awesome beyond words. Like I've mentioned somewhere before, the color of an unpolluted stream of water surrounded by green valleys is, indeed, aquamarine. The Teesta starts its journey from some glacier up in the Himalayas (or so I think, my laziness reached new heights of late so it prevents me from even googling or Wiki-ing this piece of information - beg your pardons!) and keeps us company all the way up to Gangtok.

Aquamarine Teesta!

Gangtok is the capital of Sikkim. Remember how we used to falter when we had to mug up the state capitals of the North-eastern states? Tripura-Agartala, Nagaland-Kohima? I forgot Manipur, sorry. Anyway, Sikkim shares its borders with 3 other countries - China, Bhutan and Nepal (Tibet is part of China, you see), so the Indian Army is omnipresent. It has 4 districts - North, South, East and West - and the reason I know this is thanks to our taxi-driver-cum-tourist-guide, Lama. I was so appalled with myself when I didn't even know what language they speak in Gangtok that I asked even the most silliest of questions (like what do you guys eat?) to know more about their culture and life. Oh, most people speak Nepali by the way and the staple food is rice and noodle-like things. And no, there is no language called Sikkimese.

We stayed at the Royal Plaza in Gangtok - and we got a room with a view! True star-hotel standards including the expensive food and no seperate non-smokers dining area (which I feel is a horrible horrible thing 'coz I cannot stand cigarette smoke).

Room at Royal Plaza, Gangtok

The view from our room was absolutely amazing. We could see the tiny brook (Teesta, again) flowing between two valleys and also the cable car between two hills.

View from our room, and the tiny brook is the Teesta

We took the 20 minute cable car ride, mostly over part of the valley and a busy city street. Not as scenic as the rides would be in Darjeeling (which they have now discontinued), but for a first-timer like me, it was still neat. I told you it was a trip with lots of first-times!

Cable car ride over Gangtok!

There are two main tourist spots that are must-see when we come to Gangtok - Changu Lake and Nathula Pass. Changu Lake is at a height of around 13000ft above sea level. It's a beautiful lake surrounded by snow-clad mountains and during peak winter, the entire lake freezes over. 2kms upward from Changu is a place called Baba Mandir. Now, don't mistake it for a religious place - it's nothing like that, it's also totally bizarre and in a way, spooky. The temple is dedicated to an army officer who died sometime around the Indo-China war in the 70s and who's spirit (yep, spirit - ghost - atma - whatever you wanna call it!) still guards the regions surrounding the Indo-China border. He still gets his pay from the Indian Army, he goes on vacation for 3 months in a year, there's an Army jeep that picks him up at his home everyday and drops him at his post and brings him back in the evening. And no, he is not alive!!!! Well, when our driver told us this story for a minute my husband and I looked at each other not knowing if this person was indeed dead or alive!

Baba Mandir

The biggest, most awesome part of this entire vacation was...SNOW!! Ok, for all you folks who live in places where snowfall is as common as sunshine, well, not so for me. I live in South India where even rainfall is a big deal. So, ladies and gentlemen, I have now officially touched snow. Yeah, took me this long, I know. There was snow around Changu lake and Baba Mandir was entirely covered in snow, rather ice 'coz the snow had melted and frozen back! That kinda made it too hard to play with, so my plans to build a snowman a-la Calvin unfortunately did not materialize! :-( Well, there's always a next time.

Snow clad mountains - the lake on the right side is Changu

Apart from the usual parks (and a greenhouse!) and view points (Tashi view point - for a view of the Kanchenjunga), the other highlight of Gangtok is the Buddhist monastaries. There are two main monasteries - Rhumtek and Lingdum. The former is the biggest in terms of number of monks and the latter was gifted by Jackie Chan! Nice, no? Now, our taxi driver also told us a lot about Buddhism and how the monasteries work. Did you know that every Buddhist family has to - has to - send one male child to the monastery to be a monk? Yeah, it's not like how it is in Christianity - its not voluntary. The children are as young as 3 or 4 yrs old when they are sent. Also, when an elderly person dies in the family, the family then has to go to a monastery and bring back a child monk and pay for his upkeep and studies. I guess it brings about a whole of community-dwelling kind of feeling in this religion.

Rhumtek Monastery, Gangtok

Lingdum Monastery was bigger in size than Rhumtek and the surroundings were more newer. The monasteries get their funds from the Govt. for their day-to-day affairs and also as donations from patrons. They contain the prayer halls, classrooms, living quarters and cafeterias for the monks. It was a very englightening experience to see a different culture and religion that we only hear about!

Lingdum Monastery - the monks were doing a kind of dance to the accompaniment of music!

We spent 4 days in Gangtok and that was more than enough - we even had a day off where we didn't do much of sight seeing. The weather was very very pleasant (as in not bone-chilling-cold) and the city was really nice. Hey, did I mention we watched Dhoom - 2 there?! Yay, we did! There are 2 movie theatres (only) in Gangtok, and one belongs to Danny Denzongpa! Our taxi driver was really sad that Sikkim's only claim to fame were Danny Denzongpa and Bhaichung Bhutia (who unforunately was 'bought' over by Bengal!).

So 4 days in Gangtok, and we were back down to Bhagdogra and then to Calcutta. I wanted to keep this for last - Calcutta is the most polluted city I've ever been to! No offence to any Calcuttans, I'll never go back to the city if I could help it. It was so dirty, so polluted, the buildings haven't seen a coat of fresh paint in decades and everything was covered in dust!! To make it up to ourselves, we indulged by going to Saurav Ganguly's restaurant, Saurav's, in Park Street. Dada was busy with his Ranji Trophy, so we didn't see him :-( The restaurant was nice - spread across 4 floors, each for Indian, Chinese, Conti and a Pub-Dance-floor. Only highlight of Calcutta - apart from a visit to Victoria Palace ofcourse.

Dada's picture at the entrance of Saurav's

Phew, long post, wasn't it? Don't be sad, it's over finally! :-)

So that sums up our week long trip to Darjeeling and Gangtok. We went during the off-season, so it was a bit colder than pleasant. The peak season is around April-June and then Sep-Oct. But if you need snow, you better be here in winter!

Amazing places, totally worth the time and money spent! It's only when you go on trips like this that you realize that our country has soooooo many different cultures and climates all packed into one compact country called India!

2007

2007-01-03T09:21:00.000+05:30

For last year's words belong to last year's language
And next year's words await another voice.
And to make an end is to make a beginning.
~T.S. Eliot, "Little Gidding"

Happy New Year, everyone!

12 days of Indian Christmas

2006-12-26T17:04:00.000+05:30

Ok, some people could find this racist, but I found it downright funny! Sue me.

Travelogue - Part 1

2006-12-21T15:01:00.000+05:30

Here goes... (long post, I wasn't joking when I said I write a bit and talk even more!)

Destination: Darjeeling, West Bengal.

Yeah, it's in West Bengal. Didn't know? No problem, me neither. The nearest airport is this absolutely nondescript, totally unheard of place called Baghdogra. Sounds funny, no? Anyway, we flew Air Deccan (which, miracle of miracles, was totally on time after the initial delay of 1 hour!) from Hyderabad to Calcutta, and from there to Baghdogra. Darjeeling is another 4 hours by taxi.

Tea Gardens, Darjeeling

Believe it or not, the tea gardens start right outside Baghdogra airport. And they vanish for a long time to later re-appear once you've reached Darjeeling. The ride up was amazing till we took the ride up (and down) from Gangtok. But that is a later post, this one is about Darjeeling.

My first impression about this cute li'l place was that it's not exactly as cute and little as you would have imagined. It's this feeling you get when you go to Ooty - too much commercialization, too many vehicles, congestion...and pollution also to an extent. At least by hill station standards, I think Darjeeling is polluted. It was colder than normal, or so I felt.

We checked in to the Fortune Central (part of the ITC Group) - the rooms were way above our expectations! But the heating system left a lot to ask for. We finally got the fireplace lit! My first fireplace ever! Heh heh. Lot of firsts in this trip, come to think of it.

Club room,Fortune Central, Darjeeling.

Tourism is, I think, the mainstay of the people here. Even more than tea and spices. Result? Every small nook and corner of the place becomes a 'tourist spot'! We were told there was a lake at a place called Mirik and it's an absolute must-see. Now, for a person who lives in Hyderabad, when I heard the word 'lake' I imagined something in the lines of the Hussain Sagar. First mistake. It took us all of 3 hours to reach the lake (the ride was entirely through tea gardens - Mirik is where the best gardens are I guess) - and the lake? It was one fourth the size of Hussain Sagar. Or even less. No big deal, no great shakes. Seemed a bit desperate on the part of the Darjeeling Tourism dept. But hey, maybe for them that qualifies as a proper lake worth being a tourist spot! No harm done.

Tall tall tall..so tall it almost reached to the heavens!

There were a couple of other such 'tourist spots' - a park, called Nightingale Park, which was actually not so bad - only, we were told its a 15 min walk from our hotel. What they apparently forgot to mention was its a 15-min walk UPslope. We people from the plains do not do so well when told to walk up hills, do we? At least I didnt. So I huffed and puffed my way up. It was almost completey dark by the time we reached there (sun sets at around 4:30PM), so we hung around for a while and watched the cultural programs that were happening there. I have no idea what that language was, could have been Nepali.

Nightingale Park, Darjeeling. (Picture sourced from Google Images)

Darjeeling is best seen by walk (ahem ahem). There is a market place with all the usual shops for woollen wear and stuff, not to mention an awesome looking INOX theatre complex. And we watched Casino Royale there!! Seems like the single most important highlight of our trip to Darj. If you ever want woollen clothes, best to buy it from here. Dirt cheap, bargains galore and the quality is not that bad either.

No tour is complete without a mention of the local cuisine. Well, Darj doesn't have any. We had the usual dal-roti-nan types of food (sob story for a genuine foodie like me).

Three places that were good and worth the while - the Peace Pagoda near the Japanese Temple, The Himalayan Mountaineering Institute (HMI) and the Zoo! The pagoda was a treat to the eyes with the huge golden statues of Buddha at various milestones of his life.

Peace Pagoda, Japanese Temple, Darjeeling

The HMI is a tribute to the mountaineers of this country. At one point, this institute was managed by Tensing Norgay himself. It has a museum for the Everest expeditions and other such feats. They even have the equipment that Norgay and Hillary used when they conquered the peak. Good one.

Himalayan Mountaineering Institute, Darjeeling. Also home to the final resting place of Tensing Norgay.

The zoo was small, but interesting. A total kids place, and I saw a bear up close for the first time in my life - I mean really really close. The cheetahs were also up and about, and we were lucky enough to catch a glimpse of a white tiger!

Black Bear up close!

We spent 3 days and 2 nights in Darjeeling. And that was actually more than enough, we managed to see all the major tourist spots and got some shopping done too. Oh, did I mention we bought tea? Yeah! we did! Don't forget the Darjeeling Chai for your morning breakfast - totally amazing and you would know why its a big deal the world over.

All seen and done, we took a taxi to Gangtok for the rest of our 9 day trip. And thereby hangs my travelogue...

December 12

2006-12-12T10:56:00.000+05:30

Happy Birthday to me!!

And yeah, Happy Birthday to the Superstar too! :-)

Of theft and a river

2006-12-03T12:59:00.000+05:30

My broadband connection went kaput. Know why? Some moron decided it would be good to steal, yes steal, a part of the telephone cables (which in turn controls my broadband connection) buried underground.

Hey, we're all tired of the usual reasons of a dead telephone like rains, faulty cables and all that right? So this is a new reason. Theft! Theft of cables!

Long live BSNL.

Till then, enjoy this one pic - of River Teesta, that gave us company on our way to Gangtok from Darjeeling. And on the way down from Gangtok to Baghdogra. The pic was taken by my husband from a moving car - good no?

By the way, you know a color called 'aquamarine'? Yeah, that was the color of the river. Aquamarine. It really exists you know, not just a made-up color for cars.

I know something's wrong with this post, but I'm not able to place it! Feels like I'm being possessed by someone and it's not me writing this! Let me know if you know what's wrong, please.

P.S: I'm working on getting the RSS feed up. I have to tinker with the template and right now, I'm just not in a mood to look at code! :-( So please bear with me, will get it done at the earliest.

Almost back...again

2006-11-27T11:09:00.000+05:30

Wondered where I was? No? Ok, let's try it one more time. And this time, humor me along, will you please? :-)

Wondered where I was? Well, good for you! Just the question I want to be asked right now.

Just got back from a week long vacation to Darjeeling and Gangtok. Just got back from celebrating my third wedding anniversary at 14000 ft (yes, fourteen thousand feet) above sea level, amid freezing temperatures and fistfuls of snow. Just got back.

So the showing-off blog-posts will follow shortly once I get the pictures in order.

Thank you for your continued patronage (or the lack thereof)! ;-)

Be right back!

WHAT exactly is the President's job?

2006-11-08T11:01:00.001+05:30

The usual blah

2006-10-31T15:23:00.000+05:30

You know my last post, where I was cribbing that I didnt know what to write about? Well, its different now. I suddenly seem to have too many things to write about and now my problem is I dont know where to start! By the way, is there an opposite to writer's block? Like if a writer has too many ideas going on and doesn't know where to start?! I wonder how that would feel.

Right. So, where was I? Oh yeah. A coupla things to give my unasked-for, totally-worthless opinion on -

1. Paramount Airways. One word, awesome! ok, make that AWESOME! I flew from Hyd to Chennai (for only Rs.2200!) and it was amazing. The aircrafts are new, all seats are business class (yes, you heard me right, business class), the food was great, the service was impeccable, the checkin facilities were really good (I didnt even have to push my own trolley! someone did it for me!!! Woohoo! Cmon, if you're as lazy as me, that's a huge deal.) and the flight was on time!

So if you ever have a chance to fly Paramount, go right ahead. Worth it. And they also have an offer where you can collect 7 Paramount boarding passes (to n from anywhere) and have the 8th travel completely free! :-) Nice, no?

2. Air Deccan. Now, I told you about my trip from Hyd to Chennai. From there to my hometown saw me board an Air Deccan flight..er..whom am I kidding, they're not actually flights, but for want of a better word, let's just stick to 'flight'. Right, so they make us sit in the aircraft 10 mins before take-off. I'm almost surprised that its gonna be on time. Almost.

Sat there for 15 mins. Now 15 might sound like less, but without air conditioning, on the tarmac, with Chennai's humidity for company would make 15 feel like 50. So here we were in a sauna and the captain (ok..make that 'captain'..) comes on and says the weather is bad for landing there, so there'll be a 15 min delay. Great. But no, it doesnt end there. After 10 mins, he comes back on and says the weather is really bad, so there's gonna be a 1 hour delay and we were supposed to deplane and board after an hour. Oh yeah! Now that's like Air Deccan, me thought.

The best part starts here: they deplane us, take us to the checkin counter again to get us fresh boarding passes, take us through the security check, back to the boarding gate and into the aircraft. In 15 mins. And the flight reached its destination a good 2 hours late.

Let's just blame it on the weather gods, else I might just become a murderer which I seriously cannot afford to be.

3. Chennai. Have you been to Chennai of late? Like in the last 2 weeks? Dont go. There aren't any roads left - it's just one big pothole fest. Now if you live in Chennai you might wanna thrash me, but please understand that for a person living in Hyderabad, good roads are as natural as the air we breathe. Yeah, be jealous. That's all you can do. I cannot remember the last time I saw a road in Chennai.

Ok ok, I'm just exaggerating in the last sentence! Sue me. ;-)

4. Three new books on my bookshelf: Yann Martel's 'Life of Pi', Thomas Friedman's 'The world is flat' and Bram Stoker's 'Dracula'. Man, life's good. :-)

5. Tirupati. In my next post probably, waiting for the pictures. I mean, waiting for myself to download the pics into my laptop from the camera.

In the meanwhile...

2006-10-22T19:04:00.000+05:30

Sitting here with a blog compose window for like 30 minutes. And nothing to type!

So I just typed the above sentence, and then this.

And this.

It's good to be back, that too with absolutely no idea what to write about. Oh wait, did I say good? I meant bad. And did I say 'back'? I meant 'almost back'.

Or something like that.

Wear Sunscreen

2006-09-19T09:17:00.000+05:30

Yeah, heard me right. Wear sunscreen. It is one of those songs that touch you to the core (yes peeps, me is talking about a song). And for me, it's like a medicine - when things go wrong, when there's frustration all around, events not happening the way you want 'em to, this song puts the faith back into you. If you believe in those words, ofcourse. If you see me at work, headphones on, chances are this very song is playing in a loop for all eternity!

'The Sunscreen Song' (or 'Everybody's free to wear sunscreen') originally appeared as a column in some newspaper (I forget which!) by this lady called Mary Schmich. It was set to music some time later by the Aussie director Baz Luhrmann, sung (or spoken) by Aussie actor Lee Perry. The music itself is based on Quindon Traver's 'Everybody's free to feel good' - so much so, lines from this song appear in the Sunscreen song. And like every other popular thing, this song has its own urban legends associated - that it was a commencement address to MIT grads. But hey, doesn't matter how it came to be, but I sure am glad it is here.

This amazing song goes something like this...

Ladies and gentleman of the Class of '97.

Wear sunscreen.

If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this advice now.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh, never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they've faded. But trust me, in 20 years, you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked. You are not as fat as you imagine.

Don't worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing every day that scares you.

Sing.

Don't be reckless with other people's hearts. Don't put up with people who are reckless with yours.

Floss.

Don't waste your time on jealousy. Sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind. The race is long and, in the end, it's only with yourself.

Remember compliments you receive. Forget the insults. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how.

Keep your old love letters. Throw away your old bank statements.

Stretch.

Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn't know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives. Some of the most interesting 40-year-olds I know still don't.

Get plenty of calcium. Be kind to your knees. You'll miss them when they're gone.

Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll have children, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll divorce at 40, maybe you'll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much, or berate yourself either. Your choices are half chance. So are everybody else's.

Enjoy your body. Use it every way you can. Don't be afraid of it or of what other people think of it. It's the greatest instrument you'll ever own.

Dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but in your living room.

Read the directions, even if you don't follow them.

Do not read beauty magazines. They will only make you feel ugly.

Get to know your parents. You never know when they'll be gone for good. Be nice to your siblings. They're your best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.

Understand that friends come and go, but with a precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle, because the older you get, the more you need the people who knew you when you were young.

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard. Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft.

Travel.

Accept certain inalienable truths: Prices will rise. Politicians will philander. You, too, will get old. And when you do, you'll fantasise that when you were young, prices were reasonable, politicians were noble and children respected their elders.

Respect your elders.

Don't expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund. Maybe you'll have a wealthy spouse. But you never know when either one might run out.

Don't mess too much with your hair or by the time you're 40 it will look 85.

Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it's worth.

But trust me on the sunscreen.

Lyrics Source
Video Source

Cute and Cuter

2006-09-17T19:44:00.000+05:30

Two advertisements I can watch over and over again -

Isn't he the most cutest kid you've ever seen? :-)

Two posts in one day. Shows how totally busy and occupied I am, no? *wink*

HG2G

2006-09-17T08:54:00.000+05:30

"Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the Western Spiral arm of the Galaxy lies a small unregarded yellow sun.

Orbiting this as a distance of roughly ninety-eight million miles is an utterly insignificant little blue-green planet whose ape-descended life forms are so amazingly primitive that they still think digital watches are a pretty neat idea.

This planet has - or rather had - a problem, which was this: most of the people living on it were unhappy for pretty much of the time. Many solutions were suggested forthis problem, but most of these were largely concerned with the movements of small green pieces of paper, which is odd because on the whole it wasn't the green pieces of paper that were unhappy.

And so the problem remained; lots of people were mean, and most of them were miserable, even the ones with digital watches."

- Opening lines of 'The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy", by Douglas Adams.

This is what I call my kind of book - utterly irrelevant lines, totally funny and absolutely no pressure on your brain to remember or understand a virtually non-existent plot. Like a Superstar blockbuster. Heh heh.

Don't worry about my last post. I changed my mind. ;-) I do that sometimes.

Palinode

2006-08-30T10:52:00.000+05:30

Interesting word on today's AWAD -

This week's theme: words about poetry.

palinode (PAL-uh-noad) noun

A poem in which the author retracts something said in an earlier poem.

[From Greek palinoidia, from palin (again) + oide (song).]

The illustrator and humorist Gelett Burgess (1866-1951) once wrote a poem called The Purple Cow:

I never saw a purple cow,
I never hope to see one;
But I can tell you, anyhow,
I'd rather see than be one.

The poem became so popular and he became so closely linked with this single quatrain he later wrote a palinode:

Confession: and a Portrait, Too,
Upon a Background that I Rue!

Oh, yes, I wrote 'The Purple Cow,'
I'm sorry now I wrote it!
But I can tell you anyhow,
I'll kill you if you quote it."

It was the same Burgess who coined the word blurb.

Source

Bibliophile's dream come true

2006-08-21T11:22:00.000+05:30

The Book Gods are smiling on me!

New books on my bookshelf -

False Impression (Jeffrey Archer)
A Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (Douglas Adams) (Yes, it is a pity that I haven't read this book yet!)
Shantaram (Gregory David Roberts)
The Afghan (Frederick Forsyth)
The Historian (Elizabeth Kostova)
The Amulet of Samarkand (Jonathan Stroud)
Golem's Eye (Jonathan Stroud)
Ptolemy's Gate (Jonathan Stroud)

Ah, life is gooooooooood. :-)

Breakfast Bites

2006-08-18T09:36:00.000+05:30

The vada I had today was sweet. There was definitely sugar in it. I wonder why.

Sweet vada is yuck. Sweet vada with upma is double yuck.

Memoirs of a Geisha

2006-08-17T20:35:00.000+05:30

Two amazing books in one week! The Gods must love me a lot indeed! ;-)

This is by far the most simplest, most touching book I've ever had the good fortune to read. I'm not exaggerating!

It's the memoir of Sayuri, the daughter of a fisherman who becomes a geisha and her struggles on the way to finding her destiny. What strikes you first about the book would probably be its simplicity. The language, the narration - it doesn't weigh you down with all the verbosity that one would generally find in a 'memoir'. After a point, you might not even be conscious of the language or the fact that it is a book and you're not exactly in Kyoto seeing the entire thing happening in front of your eyes. The entire story is said from the perspective of Sayuri and you can actually feel a difference in the narration when it is from a 9 year old girl from a fishing village and a 30yr old geisha - the innocence that gradually fades away as Sayuri meets the people that make and sometimes break her life.

What I found spell-binding was the way of life for a geisha. I remember those calendars we used to have at home with a Japanese girl in a kimono for each month of the year (if I remember correctly, it was Mitsubishi's calendar - way back in the 1980s) - well, that girl is a geisha. Me didn't know that - I thought all Japanese women dressed that way! I couldn't have been more wrong.

Their way of life is so fairy-tale-like that it's just so amazing that people used to be like that (they could still be like that for all I know!). From the make-up, the hair (did you know their hairstyles are waxed into place and they have special cradle like contraptions to rest their heads when they sleep at night so their hairstyles stay in place?!), the kimonos (my favorites - the author gives awesome descriptions of each kimono and each one outshines the one before) and their etiquette and what not!

A beautiful book, reminds me of a lazy afternoon with a cup of hot masala tea and Mom's potato bajjis. Aaah, heaven!

Read it. My book-review sucks, but the book is way cool. **wink**

Maybe I can even watch the movie now and see how close my imagination is to the portrayals on screen!

Image Source

The Fountainhead

2006-08-16T15:23:00.000+05:30

Finished reading Ayn Rand's Fountainhead for the second time. I'm yet to come across a book that can stay on your mind every waking moment for at least a week after you finish reading it.

I want to meet Howard Roark. Yeah, as simple as that. If possible, I want to BE Roark. The philosophy is so amazingly simple! But the simplicity ends right there. There cannot be a more tougher set of ideals (or principles in life) to follow than what Roark does. His absolute love for architecture makes you want to..I dont know, it's just so overwhelming! That's the word - overwhelming.

I'm pretty sure I'm going to read this book again. And again. And yet another time. You'll be forced to, it's that addictive. You get transported into this surreal world where people can play the most dirtiest of politics, at the same time be the pinnacle of integrity. Your feelings towards the characters changes so many times in the course of the book. One time you feel disgusted thinking about the guy, 10 chapters later you fall in love with that same character.

I'll just be making a mockery out of the whole thing if I attempt to write about the book. Reading this book should be written down on the things-to-do-before-I-die list. At least thrice.

There's a reason why a book written in 1943 is still under publication (recently had a 25th anniversary edition published!).

A part of you changes everytime you read the book. That's for sure. I've had two already.

Cacophony

2006-08-14T10:12:00.000+05:30

Some people can listen to Himmesh Reshammiya at 8:30 in the morning, while having breakfast.

Am I the only one who finds him as enjoyable as the sound of nails scratching on a blackboard?

(I can't bear to read the above line - it makes me clench my teeth and close my ears!! But that's how I feel, so I'm gonna let it stay. Happy forgetting-the-sound-I-just-mentioned. *wink wink*)

Untitled

2006-08-13T09:38:00.000+05:30

It was pitch black all around her. She instinctively closed her eyes and opened them again, making sure she hadn’t gone blind. She hadn’t. That was a relief. She felt disoriented even in her haven. She was surprised how her own home felt so alien when the lights were out. I have to tell Ani to get that inverter no matter how expensive, she decided. The dark still unnerved her, like it had when she was a child.

She put the lid back on the box she was opening and turned around, hands outstretched, to go back to the hall and get the emergency lamp. She took two tentative steps forward, hands waving around to make sure she didn’t collide with anything in the room. She had an idea how far the door would be from where she was standing. She tried feeling out for the familiar contours of her microwave oven. Two steps to the right of that was the door. She now felt the rough wood and stopped for a moment to get a bearing on which way she has to move next.

There was a faint light outside the curtained windows. Feeling emboldened, her next few steps were more confident around the dining hall. There were no obstructions on the path to the hall, she knew. They had left it like that so Chinnu could play around in her small tricycle. Her heart skipped a beat, ‘Chinnu!’. She realized a moment later that her baby was out with her father. She smiled to herself, it was one of those things about being a mother. She wondered if her own mother was this protective of her when she was a child. No, she decided, no one would be as protective as her.

The showcase glass glinted in the feeble light from the window. Reminding herself to be careful not to knock over the trinkets kept in the glass shelves, she felt around for the edge of the showcase and moved further. She would hit the recliner any time now. And she did. She bent down a little and felt her way towards the table in the corner. Why the heck did I keep the emergency lamp in such an inaccessible place, she chided herself.

She stepped on Chinnu’s Pooh, left on the carpet – it gave a feeble ‘peeep’, as if in protest at being walked over. Their life had changed so much after Chinnu was born. And Ani wanted another child. Her stomach turned over when she thought about that. Ani would want to talk about it tonight and she was still not ready to tell him. She was running out of excuses to not talk about it just yet. He would not understand why she did it. No one would.

Lamp forgotten, she sank down on the couch. She had always wanted to be a mother. But the doctor had said Ani would not be able to give her that joy. Tears were now streaming down her face. She loved him too much to let him know the truth. And Chinnu! He wouldn’t love Chinnu the same if he knew. Or would he? He wouldn’t, said a little voice in her heart. Remember, he didn’t want to go for adoption. He wanted the child to be his own. But Chinnu wasn’t his own. How would he ever understand? She didn’t love Hari, she never did. But she always wanted to be a mother.

The lights came on, momentarily blinding her. She would not tell Ani the truth, he didn’t have to know. She walked over to the table and absent-mindedly switched on the emergency lamp.

Math!

2006-08-10T12:42:00.000+05:30

Loved the teacher's comment: 'Very funny Peter' :-D

Hat tip: Amit

Morons!

2006-08-03T10:02:00.000+05:30

To all you schmucks standing in front of the coffee-dispenser:

If you've taken your coffee, GET THE HELL OUT! It's a 4ft by 7ft room and you're not exactly as small as a mosquito (although, I wouldn't put it past you to be a bug), so do us all a favor and leave!

And for godssakes, pick a biscuit soon. It's a biscuit, not a million dollar house you're thinkin' of buying. Jobless as you are, did you have any idea that other people might actually have work to do? Or did you think we would take our coffee and join you in being a schlub?

Ofcourse, above all this, when someone says 'Excuse me', MAKE WAY!! How dumb are you, anyway?!

When will the world be rid of morons? Seriously, when?

Rant

2006-07-25T16:00:00.000+05:30

It's easy to get irritated and angry.

It's very very difficult to get un-irritated and un-angry after you've become irritated and angry.

A chocolate would have helped. But some people do not have that luxury.

A day off from work would have helped too. Again, ain't gonna happen for some.

At least, a small hope that the next day won't be as bad would have helped.

But what do you do when you know today was just the beginning and tomorrow is gonna be worse?

P.S: My spinning wheel is not working right now. Will spin the story in my next post. Hopefully, that is.

Spin me a story...(Part 1)

2006-07-20T12:05:00.000+05:30

It's difficult to write for children. Trust me, it is. I don't know what hit me this morning but I just thought of writing a bedtime-story-for-tiny-tots kind of story - and for the world of me, I couldn't! You know the ones with animals and far away kingdoms, with a moral at the end of each story - no siree, not me. We've gotten so entrenched in our everyday life and it's reality that it takes a huge effort from our side to imagine a completely different life and time (where animals talk, carpets fly and Gods have a weird sense of humor), and make an interesting story out of it without our sarcasms, without any judgemental lines, just pure entertainment and a lesson-learnt message at the end. (And that was a really long sentence I just wrote! What's wrong with me?!!)

Nevertheless, I'm going to try -

Let's do it one at a time then - first my characters: I need
- at least one monkey to act all goofy - the fun part. He might also become my hero in the last chapter
- a prince and a princess for all the mushiness
- two peacocks 'coz they're so beautiful to hang around with
- a herd of elephants, so the princess and the **cough** prince won't feel she's fat
- one donkey to make fun of...er..fool of, too
- some doves to denote love and peace and all that crap
- a flying carpet (I love 'em!)
- an elf who makes shoes at night (sounds familiar? just keep quiet will ya?)
- one nasty villian who keeps saying 'Mogambo khush hua' everytime something happens. The good part is, his name won't be Mogambo. Muahahahaaa!
- an old witch with straggly white hair, no teeth and sitting at a spinning wheel. (Yeah yeah, I've read Sleeping Beauty, so?)

Now for the story line: I dont want a love story. I dont want a villain-kills-parents-so-take-hero-takes-revenge story. I want something fun. **thinking**

Ok..thought enough..here goes...

Once upon a time in a far off land, there lived a monkey. He was a happy monkey, doing monkey things, eating monkey food and living with other monkeys. He lived in a forest near a big kingdom ruled by a young prince. He cannot be called king yet 'coz 'king' doesn't quite sound as romantic as 'prince'. So he was a prince. And he was handsome. And unmarried. And in a nearby kingdom lived a beautiful princess who was conveniently ruling over her kingdom in the absence of her parents who had died 10 years ago. (Author's note: I don't need to parents and parents-in-law - too much complication, keep it simple.)

The prince used to correspond with the princess regularly using her doves and his peacocks. The peacocks couldn't fly very well, but they helped by bribing the donkey to carry the message to the princess. In return, the peacocks used to hang out with the donkey thereby making him look cool among other donkeys. All was well with the two little kingdoms with their love stories, animals and other people.

But one day, there came a man at the door of the prince. He was shabbily dressed, hair unkempt and looked emaciated. (Author's note: Kids should learn new words). He had a curved stick in his hand, much like what Moses was carrying in the animated 'Prince of Egypt' movie and a rolled up bundle under his arm. The rule at the prince's palace was to welcome any guest and treat them well. So the ministers and the others took the man inside, cleaned him, clothed him and gave him food to eat. But all the while, the man never let go of his stick and bundle. This made the Prime Minister get very suspicious about the contents of the bundle. So before leaving for the night, the PM kept a window open in the room given to the man. He would come a bit later in the night and see for himself.

The royal clock struck 12. Actually, the tiny guard moving the gong struck 12. All was quiet and silent at the royal palace. The Prime Minister, dressed as a common man, came to the window of the man's room and peeped in. It was dark inside, the candles were not lit. Once his eyes got adjusted to the darkness, the PM saw a very strange scene. He stood rooted to the ground and watched the macabre unfold in front of his eyes.

And thereby hangs my tale... will get back to it in my next post.

Spelling Bee

2006-07-17T13:10:00.000+05:30

I used to think I was good at English spelling. Until I saw the 2006 National Spelling Bee contest. 90% of the words, I couldn't even pronounce, leave alone spell! The kids taking part were no older than 14 or 15 and my god, they were amazing! And I still, for the world of me, don't know how they could spell a word that's pronounced 'sittacism' correctly as 'psittacism' (the silent 'p'!!!). I'm guessing there are some rules for the way words are spelt based on their language of origin and the phonetics. The only other explanation can be that these kids have a dictionary-loaded microchip embedded in their brains that lets them do all this. The first seems more plausible, doesn't it?

The words were amazing too. I haven't come across these words in my Oxford dictionary (that I used to read a dictionary for time-pass is a totally different story), but I have a feeling if I go back and check now, I might just find them **shrugs**. I'm glad GRE doesn't test on spelling. I had trouble with the words even otherwise. I also had trouble with the analytical and quantitative sections, but that's beside the point anyway.

The contest was won by a 13-yr old who got her last word, 'ursprache', right. When I first heard the word, I thought this is it, she's finished. Well, she proved me wrong (like a lot of people do so very often). To see the other words that she got right: Click here

I was really in awe of all the participants in the contest. I know it takes a lot of hard work to get there and I'm happy for them and their proud parents. For an English fan like me, more specifically for a person who goes to Dictionary.com at least 20 times a day - this was absolutely mindboggling.

So, here starts my quest to learn how to spell. Better late than never, no?

Oh, BTW, I got 2 words right: 'izzat' and 'kundalini' - they had a Hindi and Sanskrit origin you see. ;-)

Entry for Monday

2006-07-17T11:36:00.000+05:30

It's Monday.

Source

To a good samaritan

2006-07-13T13:02:00.000+05:30

Scene: Busy traffic junction. Vehicles whooshing past red lights. In other words, a typical Indian traffic signal junction. It would be suicidal to even BE on the roads.

A well-dressed guy (by the looks, a software engineer) holding the hand of a really old lady (by the looks, a poor beggar) and taking her across the road on a zebra crossing. Took her the whole way to the other side and then crossed back to catch a cab/auto to his workplace.

I don't know who he is. But whoever he is, he did a really really cool thing.

To you, stranger-who-helped-an-old-lady-cross-the-road: Way to go, dude! It could be a trivial thing for you, but it would've meant a lot to that old lady. You probably saved her life by helping her out on that road today. And I know she would've blessed you with all her heart. And that is one of the best kind of blessings you can ever hope to get. Feel proud. And blessed.

Humanity is still around, you know. It's not completely wiped out. Yet.

The flower and the bee

2006-07-12T18:01:00.000+05:30

The little flower said to the bee,
'Oh, how you buzz away, always so free.'
Said the bee to little flower blue,
'I'm never free, I have work to do!'

'But you're still not tied down,
To the hard earth so brown!
Up, up and away you fly
Reaching high to the deep blue sky.'

'Ah, but that is far from true,
My dear little flower, so blue -
I can fly high on a day so sunny,
But come down, I must, for your sweet honey!'

You can take the kid out of kindergarten, but you cannot take kindergarten out of the kid.

Changes

2006-07-12T10:29:00.000+05:30

I'm tired of this template for my blog. So me going to make some changes.

If you find queer things or misplaced things or a completely messed up place, please adjust! I'm not that dumb usually, but it happens sometimes. Like a great soul once said, some people have the ability to mess up anything and everything. I know that person was definitely talkin' about me.

So do come back after a while - at least to tell me if my new template can stay or not.

P.S: If, even after a week, you find the same template, blame Garfield. Seriously, that cat is having a very very bad influence on good girls like me. It's as if being lazy is the latest fad or somethin'! **shakes head** It's hopeless, I tell you.

P.P.S: Long P.S eh? Yeah, I do things like that. **shrugs**

Live Update: So far so good. I could do better with the title. Looks downright crappy. Oh BTW, from now on, site best viewed on resolution 800x600 and above. Like it matters! :-P

Update 2: Check out my new Calvin and Hobbes font for the page header!!!! Awesome! I love it. :-)

Update 3: Ok, I've done something wrong. That much I know. Wanna see something weird? Click on 'Comments' and see the crazy sized font that appears! Or you could click on something in 'Calvins Desk' and see the old template show up! Yikes! Man, I got work to do... oh, just found another one - check out the really old posts around March 2006 - resolution does matter you know, I take back what I said in Update 1. **shoulders slumped**

Update 4: Hopefully this is the final update. :-) I've done what I could. I'm thinking of outsourcing the acceptance/unit/system testing to you, my dear readers! So please feel free to break my page ;-) Any comments/suggestions most welcome (for once!). You think I should increase the font size for the posts? I don't want to be the reason why you had to start wearing spectacles you know. :-

It's only words

2006-07-11T14:07:00.000+05:30

Scene: English class. 9th grade.

English teacher walks in. Goes straight to the blackboard, picks up a piece of chalk and writes a word on the board. 'Rendezvous'. Turns around and asks the class, 'Now, who can tell me how this word is pronounced and what it means?'

Silence. Then, abruptly - 'rendezvoos! 'rendezwouse!'

Teacher smiled and shook his head. 'Lemme give you a hint - it's french'. Silence. Embarassed smiles all over the place. We hate it when we miss a chance to go one up on our teachers, don't we?

Our teacher walked up to the board, underlined the word twice and said, 'It's pronounced 'rondehvu'. The 'z' and 's' are silent, and 'ren' is pronounced 'ron'. Now, any guesses to what it means?'. For a class that didn't even know how to pronounce the word, expecting them to know its meaning was a very optimistic expectation from our English teacher. Silence.

'It means a meeting. A pre-arranged meeting.'. Nods all over. 'Ok, now where were we on the lesson yesterday?'.

30 minutes later, 'Homework for the day. Find me a word for words that imitate sounds. Clue? It starts with an 'O''.

I ran to the library during the break to get hold of a dictionary (Google was not around those days, you see). Looked for 'O'. Hit pay dirt in no time. Onomatopoeia.

I never forgot 'rendezvous' and 'onomatopoeia' after that day. Even after hundreds of new and old words entering and leaving my active/passive vocabulary, these 2 stayed. It's amazing how these kinda things happen, right?

It's been an awesome journey so far, discovering words - a word a day! And there's enough left to last me a lifetime (if not more).

Oh, did you know there is a word to describe the smell of earth just before it rains or just after a light drizzle (man vasanai, in Tamil)? Petrichor. I can almost smell earth when I say that word. Silly me, eh? ;-)

FIFA and HDFC

2006-07-10T12:56:00.000+05:30

I'm happy for Italy :-) I'll always have a special place in my heart for this amazingly beautiful country and its people. And a well deserved win against France. I wanted to see Zidane repeat his 1998 magic, but the jerk went and got himself red-carded in the last match of his career. But man, that head-butt! Materazzi wouldn't have known what hit him! Reminded one of Figo in a not-so-long-ago match against Holland - some people are lucky to escape. Some are not. It just wasn't Zidane's day.

I am, however, glad the FIFA World Cup is over - I'm literally tired of keeping awake till 3 in the morning to see 22 guys run around chasing a ball. It was fun when it was around, but now that it's over - I have to admit, it IS a relief.

Most importantly - anyone else feel like breaking the TV when the HDFC Life Insurance Ad song 'Naa sar jukha hai kabhi' plays whenever the World Cup matches are on? I SO HATE THAT STUPID SONG!!!!!!!!!!!

Go Italy! :-)

What's in a name?

2006-07-10T12:45:00.000+05:30

He had always hated his name. Such a commonplace, old fashioned name. He sometimes felt his parents did that to him on purpose. Why would they want to name their only son that?! He cringed when someone called him by his name - he so preferred his nickname, Sonny. He wished he could change the name in the attendance register at school. He was tired of all the jokes.

He hated the day his parents named him Hari.

More than that, he hated the day Naukri.com released the advertisement with Hari Sadu.

11 and still on

2006-07-09T18:43:00.000+05:30

I'm watching 'Narasimham' for the 11th time. Totally enjoying it. There will be a 12th. And if I had my way with the TV, there will be a 50 or a 100 too.

P.S: Did you know Wiki has an entry for Narasimham? **smug** Kollaam, mone dinesha, kollam! :-)

Image Source

Drinking problem

2006-07-07T12:20:00.000+05:30

Email forward. Pathetic, I know. But it was too good to resist! So here goes...

Author of this piece, whoever you are - Way Cool! :-)

I had eighteen bottles of whiskey in my cellar and was told by my wife that I had a drinking problem, and to empty the contents of each and every bottle down the sink, or else. I said I would and proceeded with the unpleasant task.

I withdrew the cork from the first bottle and poured the contents down the sink with the exception of one glass, which I drank.

I then withdrew the cork from the second bottle and did likewise with it, with the exception of one glass, which I drank.

I then withdrew the cork from the third bottle and poured the whiskey down the sink which I drank.

I pulled the cork from the fourth bottle down the sink and poured the bottle down the glass, which I drank.

I pulled the bottle from the cork of the next and drank one sink out of it, and threw the rest down the glass.

I pulled the sink out of the next glass and poured the cork down the bottle. Then I corked the sink with the glass, bottled the drink and drank the pour.

When I had everything emptied, I steadied the house with one hand, counted the glasses, corks, bottles, and sinks with the other, which were twenty-nine, and as the houses came by I counted them again, and finally I had all the houses in one bottle, which I drank.

I'm not under the affluence of incohol as some thinkle peep I am. I'm not half as thunk as you might drink. I fool so feelish I don't know who is me, and the drunker I stand here, the longer I get.

2006-07-06T15:48:00.000+05:30

Is it Friday yet?

Untitled

2006-07-05T12:32:00.000+05:30

She didn't understand why there were so many people milling around outside her house. Was something wrong? Oh God, was there a robbery? She rushed inside. They had broken open the door and she could see the tools still lying about. Did that mean they caught the thieves red-handed? There wasn't much of jewellery or cash in the house, she knew that. Since her husband was flying abroad, they had kept it in the bank locker a week back. What remained at home were the electronic items. Strangely, the items in the hall were untouched. The DVD player was right there, so was her cellphone, the cordless phone, some silver curios in the huge glass showcase - surely, these would have been stolen first! Something didn't feel right.

She saw the police officers standing inside the master bedroom. She went inside and found them discussing about something in the bathroom - the tub, specifically. There was no light inside and they were using torchlights. She felt movements behind her and turned - 2 orderlies were carrying a stretcher into the room. They took the stretcher inside the bathroom. Now wait just one minute!, thought she. Why would they need a stretcher if it was a case of theft? Unless...unless someone was hurt! But the lack of urgency on the orderlies' part didn't attest to that. Which can only mean one thing - someone had been hurt. Fatally.

They brought the stretcher out after a few minutes. A figure, draped in a white bedsheet. No, it cannot be! It cannot be! Her screams were caught in her throat. She felt faint and swooned. She held on to the wall for support and tried to erase the memory of what she had just witnessed. She sank to her feet and the tears started running. She closed her eyes and sobbed.

She remembered then, how it had happened. She'd just taken a relaxing bath and stepped out of the tub. Since the floor was wet, she had slipped and had caught on to the first thing near her to steady herself. It wasn't enough. She couldn't control her skid and fell - her head hit the tub. She remembered seeing blood on her fingers where she had touched her head. And then, blackness.

And then she remembered standing outside her house, wondering why there were so many people around.

Guess?

2006-07-03T11:54:00.000+05:30

Monday. Blue. Red. Yellow. Color. Black. Blind. Amitabh. Rani. King. Armor. Sword. Sharp. Cut. Blood. Pain. Doctor. Injection. Needle. Medicine. Mom. Baby. Cry. Diaper. Yuck. Blank. Stop. Start. Green. Signal. Go. Traffic. Jam. Bread. Butter. Toast. Egg. Breakfast. Coffee. Tea. Water. Hot. Cold. Icecream. Yummy. Chocolate. Creamy. Orange. Mango. Juice. Fridge. Icecube. Freezer. Chicken. Meat. Hotel. Restaurant. Weekend. Shopping. Spend. Debt. Bankrupt. Work. Tired. Sleep. Bed. Cozy. Book. Coffee. Rain. Sleep. Dull. Dreary. Today. Monday.

**takes a bow** Thanks for putting up with my Monday-Blue indulgences.

The Umbrella Man

2006-06-28T17:35:00.000+05:30

A short story by Roald Dahl - something I read in my 10th grade! Googled up the exact story - it feels good to revisit your textbooks when you know you've already passed the exam ;-)

The Umbrella Man, by Roald Dahl

I’m going to tell you about a funny thing that happened to my mother and me yesterday evening. I am twelve years old and I’m a girl. My mother is thirty-four but I am nearly as tall as her already.

Yesterday afternoon, my mother took me up to London to see the dentist. He found one hole. It was in a back tooth and he filled it without hurting me too much. After that, we went to a café. I had a banana split and my mother had a cup of coffee. By the time we got up to leave, it was about six o'clock.

When we came out of the café it had started to rain.

“We must get a taxi," my mother said. We were wearing ordinary hats and coats, and it was raining quite hard. "Why don't we go back into the café and wait for it to stop?" I said. I wanted another of those banana splits. They were gorgeous.

“It isn't going to stop," my mother said. "We must go home." We stood on the pavement in the rain, looking for a taxi. Lots of them came by but they all had passengers inside them. "I wish we had a car with a chauffeur," my mother said.

Just then, a man came up to us. He was a small man and he was pretty old, probably seventy or more. He raised his hat politely and said to my mother "Excuse me. I do hope you will excuse me. . . ." He had a fine white moustache and bushy white eyebrows and a wrinkly pink face. He was sheltering under an umbrella which he held high over his head.

"Yes?" my mother said, very cool and distant.

"I wonder if I could ask a small favour of you. " he said. "It is only a very small favour."

I saw my mother looking at him suspiciously. She is a suspicious person, my mother. She is especially suspicious of two things - strange men and boiled eggs. When she cuts the top off a boiled egg, she pokes around inside it with her spoon as though expecting to find a mouse or something. With strange men she has a golden rule which says, "The nicer the man seems to be, the more suspicious you must become." This little old man was particularly nice. He was polite. He was well-spoken. He was well-dressed. He was a real gentleman. The reason I knew he was a gentleman was because of his shoes. "You can always spot a gentleman by the shoes he wears," was another of my mother's favourite sayings. This man had beautiful brown shoes.

"The truth of the matter is," the little man was saying, "I've got myself into a bit of a scrape. I need some help. Not much, I assure you. It's almost nothing, in fact, but I do need it. You see, madam, old people like me often become terribly forgetful. . . ."

My mother's chin was up and she was staring down at him along the full length of her nose. It is a fearsome thing, this frosty-nosed stare of my mother's. Most people go to pieces completely when she gives it to them. I once saw my own headmistress begin to stammer and simper like an idiot when my mother gave her a really foul frosty-noser. But the little man on the pavement with the umbrella over his head didn't bat an eyelid.

He gave a gentle smile and said, "I beg you to believe, madam, that I am not in the habit of stopping ladies in the street and telling them my troubles."

"I should hope not, " my mother said.

I felt quite embarrassed by my mother's sharpness. I wanted to say to her, "Oh, mummy, for heaven's sake, he's a very very old man, and he's sweet and polite, and he's in some sort of trouble, so don't be so beastly to him." But I didn't say anything.

The little man shifted his umbrella from one hand to the other. "I've never forgotten it before," he said.

"You've never forgotten what?" my mother asked sternly.

"My wallet," he said. "I must have left it in my other jacket. Isn't that the silliest thing to do?"

"Are you asking me to give you money?" my mother said.

"Oh, goodness gracious me, no!" he cried. "Heaven forbid I should ever do that!"

"Then what are you asking?" my mother said. "Do hurry up. We're getting soaked to the skin standing here."

"I know you are," he said. " And that is why I’m offering you this umbrella of mine to protect you, and to keep forever, if . . . if only . . ."

"If only what?" my mother said.

"If only you would give me in return a pound for my taxi-fare just to get me home."

My mother was still suspicious. "If you had no money in the first place," she said, "then how did you get here?"

"I walked," he answered. "Every day I go for a lovely long walk and then I summon a taxi to take me home. I do it every day of the year."

"Why don't you walk home now," my mother asked.

"Oh, I wish I could, " he said. "I do wish I could. But I don't think I could manage it on these silly old legs of mine. I've gone too far already."

My mother stood there chewing her lower lip. She was beginning to melt a bit, I could see that. And the idea of getting an umbrella to shelter under must have tempted her a good deal.

"It's a lovely umbrella," the little man said.

"So I’ve noticed," my mother said.

"It's silk, " he said.

"I can see that."

"Then why don't you take it, madam," he said. "It cost me over twenty pounds, I promise you. But that's of no importance so long as I can get home and rest these old legs of mine."

I saw my mother's hand feeling for the clasp on her purse. She saw me watching her. I was giving her one of my own frosty-nosed looks this time and she knew exactly what I was telling her. Now listen, mummy, I was telling her, you simply mustn't take advantage of a tired old man in this way. It's a rotten thing to do. My mother paused and looked back at me. Then she said to the little man, "I don't think it's quite right that I should take a silk umbrella from you worth twenty pounds. I think I'd just better give you the taxi-fare and be done with it."

"No, no, no!" he cried. "It's out of the question! I wouldn't dream of it! Not in a million years! I would never accept money from you like that! Take the umbrella, dear lady, and keep the rain off your shoulders!"

My mother gave me a triumphant sideways look.

There you are, she was telling me. You're wrong. He wants me to have it.

She fished into her purse and took out a pound note. She held it out to the little man. He took it and handed her the umbrella. He pocketed the pound, raised his hat, gave a quick bow from the waist, and said. "Thank you, madam, thank you. " Then he was gone.

"Come under here and keep dry, darling," my mother said. "Aren't we lucky. I've never had a silk umbrella before. I couldn't afford it."

"Why were you so horrid to him in the beginning?" I asked.

"I wanted to satisfy myself he wasn't a trickster," she said. "And I did. He was a gentleman. I'm very pleased I was able to help him."

"Yes, mummy," I said.

"A real gentleman," she went on. "Wealthy, too, otherwise he wouldn't have had a silk umbrella. I shouldn't be surprised if he isn't a titled person. Sir Harry Goldsworthy or something like that."

"Yes, mummy."

"This will be a good lesson to you," she went on."Never rush things. Always take your time when you are summing someone up. Then you'll never make mistakes."

"There he goes," I said. "Look."

"Where?"

"Over there. He's crossing the street. Goodness, mummy, what a hurry he's in."

We watched the little man as he dodged nimbly in and out of the traffic. When he reached the other side of the street, he turned left, walking very fast.

"He doesn't look very tired to me, does he to you, mummy?"

My mother didn't answer.

"He doesn't look as though he's trying to get a taxi, either," I said.

My mother was standing very still and stiff, staring across the street at the little man. We could see him clearly. He was in a terrific hurry. He was bustling along the pavement, sidestepping the other pedestrians and swinging his arms like a soldier on the march.

"He's up to something," my mother said, stony-faced.

"But what?"

"I don't know," my mother snapped. "But I’m going to find out. Come with me."

She took my arm and we crossed the street together. Then we turned left.

"Can you see him?" my mother asked.

"Yes. There he is. He's turning right down the next street."

We came to the corner and turned right. The little man was about twenty yards ahead of us. He was scuttling along like a rabbit and we had to walk fast to keep up with him. The rain was pelting down harder than ever now and I could see it dripping from the brim of his hat onto his shoulders. But we were snug and dry under our lovely big silk umbrella.

"What is he up to?" my mother said.

"What if he turns round and sees us?" I asked.

"I don't care if he does, " my mother said. "He lied to us. He said he was too tired to walk any further and he's practically running us off our feet! He's a barefaced liar! He's a crook!"

"you mean he's not a titled gentleman?" I asked.

"Be quiet, " she said.

At the next crossing, the little man turned right again. Then he turned left. Then right.

"I’m not giving up now," my mother said.

"He's disappeared!" I cried. "Where's he gone?"

"He went in that door!" my mother said. "I saw him! Into that house! Great heavens, it's a pub!"

It was a pub. In big letters right across the front it said THE RED LION.

"You're not going in, are you, mummy?"

"No," she said. "We'll watch from outside."

There was a big plate-glass window along the front of the pub, and although it was a bit steamy on the inside, we could see through it very well if we went close. We stood huddled together outside the pub window. I was clutching my mother's arm. The big raindrops were making aloud noise on our umbrella.

"There he is," I said. "Over there."

The room we were looking into was full of people and cigarette smoke, and our little man was in the middle of it all. He was now without his hat or coat, and he was edging his way through the crowd toward the bar. When he reached it, he placed bath hands on the bar itself and spoke to the barman. I saw his lips moving as he gave his order. The barman turned away from him for a few seconds and came back with a smallish tumbler filled to the brim with light brown liquid.

The little man placed a pound note on the counter.

"That's my pound!" my mother hissed. "By golly he's got a nerve!"

"What's in the glass?" I asked.

"Whiskey," my mother said. "Neat whiskey."

The barman didn't give him any change from the pound.

"That must be a treble whiskey," my mother said.

"What's a treble?" I asked.

"Three times the normal measure," she answered.

The little man picked up the glass and put it to his lips. He tilted it gently. Then he tilted it higher. . . and higher. . . and higher. . . and very soon all the whiskey had disappeared down his throat in one long pour.

"That was a jolly expensive drink," I said.

"It's ridiculous!" my mother said. "Fancy paying a pound for something you swallow in one go!"

"It cost him more than a pound, " I said. "It cost him a twenty pound silk umbrella."

"So it did," my mother said. "He must be mad."

The little man was standing by the bar with the empty glass in his hand. He was smiling now, and a sort of golden glow of pleasure was spreading over his round pink face. I saw his tongue come out to lick the white moustache, as though searching for the last drop of that precious whiskey. Slowly, he turned away from the bar and edged back through the crowd to where his hat and coat were hanging. He put on his hat. He put on his coat. Then, in a manner so superbly cool and casual that you hardly noticed anything at all, he lifted from the coat rack one of the many wet umbrellas hanging there, and off he went.

"Did you see that!" my mother shrieked. "Did you see what he did!"

"Ssshh!" I whispered. "He's coming out!"

We lowered the umbrella to hide our faces and peeped out from under it. Out he came. But he never looked in our direction. He opened his new umbrella over his head and scurried off down the road the way he had come.

"So that's his little game!" my mother said.

"Neat, " I said. "Super."

We followed him back to the main street where we had first met him, and we watched him as he proceeded, with no trouble at all, to exchange his new umbrella for another pound note. This time it was with a tall thin fellow who didn't even have a coat or hat. And as soon as the transaction was completed, our little man trotted off down the street and was lost in the crowd. But this time he went in the opposite direction.

"You see how clever he is!" my mother said. "He never goes to the same pub twice!"

"He could go on doing this all night, " I said.

"Yes," my mother said. "Of course. But I'll bet he prays like mad for rainy days."

To each his own!

2006-06-26T20:05:00.000+05:30

Long time no limerick (fortunately)... so here goes (unfortunately)...

There was once an old man of Mig,
He was eccentric - he glued, to his head, a wig!
"To each his own!",
Said the man, in a baritone -
Then, went right ahead and kissed a pig.

Don't ask me why. Just remembered an often heard sentence, 'To each his own, so said an old man who went and kissed a pig', in response to some people having some weird likes/dislikes.

Not one of my better works. Sorry Mr.Lear, I tried!

True or Farce?

2006-06-23T15:13:00.000+05:30

An investigation into the the 9/11 story – a lot of unanswered questions, contradicting statements and evidence.

I don’t know if this video is authentic or not, but it sure is good detective work. Watch it when you have time to kill.

20° C

2006-06-23T10:24:00.000+05:30

The 20° C that Mother Nature gives once in a while is a gazillion times better than the 20° C my airconditioner gives everyday. For one thing, my a/c doesn't give this really slight drizzle that just looks like fog. Neither does it give the smell of wet earth (if it does, well, my a/c badly needs a cleaning service done) or this tingly feeling that comes when a little droplet of a drop of rain falls on your cheek - you know, the feeling that starts at the base of your neck, sends a shiver up your spine and ends somewhere around your fingertips? Yeah, that's what I'm talkin' about.

The original is always better than the fakes. Always.

I'm content with today's weather. Perfection, I say.

She Dwelt Among the Untrodden Ways

2006-06-21T15:50:00.000+05:30

I read this cute li'l poem in the 'Exercise' section of my 10th grade English textbook (yeah, I can remember things as trivial as that) - remembered it today, actually remembered just the last line. But hey, in this world of Google, a line is more than enough! Hail God Google!

She dwelt among the untrodden ways, by William Wordsworth

She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A Maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love:

A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye!
Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.

She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and, oh,
The difference to me!

It's monsoon, you lazy loon!

2006-06-20T17:40:00.000+05:30

Monsoon's here. At least it was when I left home this morning. Every time it rains for 2 hours at a stretch, we think it's finally here - and then it's back to the sweltering heat for another 2 days! Looks like someone up there hasn't made up His/Her mind yet (you know why I added 'Her' - seriously, why can't it be a Her? Give me one good reason.).

It's an amazing thing, isn't it? Rain. The petrichor. And the effect is so instantaneous. Not like summer or winter where you know it gradually that the season's changing. One good shower, and you forget it's summer! The feeling that comes when you gulp down a mouthful of cool water after a long and hard walk in the hot sun - I guess that's how the earth feels when the first shower comes down.

And after a good 2 or 3 hours of downpour, everything around looks so clean and fresh. Like someone came around and scrubbed the entire place and made it spic and span. Every leaf, every petal, every inch of wood on the huge banyan tree, every little pebble near the tar road with cow dung stains all over that somehow reminds you of your ancestral village.

Ever noticed how a lot of our memories are associated with smells? When you find that rare bit of paddy field in a concrete jungle and get a whiff of the wet earth and grass - you're just transported back to Grandma's village with the lush paddy and sugarcane fields. The smell of cows. The smell of roasted corn on the cobs. The smell of mud when you wash peanuts still in their shells.

I seem to have deviated a lot from monsoon now, haven't I? Blame my tangential mind as usual. Another example that women's thoughts are like noodles - you never know where one ends and the next begins. Men, on the other hand, think in blocks - so the thought flow is not continuous. If you think about it a bit more, that kinda explains a lot of things on why men are from Mars and women, from Venus (and that, people, is the most cliched thing ever about men and women and I hate cliches!).

Coming back to monsoon (noodles, remember?) - you know what's the best thing about rain? Apart from the smells and the cool breeze and the occasional drop that splatters nearby, dispersing into a fine spray that's a bit like a spray of perfume? Rain, IMHO, is the root cause of all laziness. Ever felt like getting up from bed when it's pouring (or even drizzling) outside? And even if you dragged yourself out of bed, ever felt like going to work? Leave alone work, ever felt like keeping down that mug of coffee (praying that somehow the mug fills itself with the rich brew again)?

Where am I going with this ramble? (That's a stupid question - it's a ramble, it's not supposed to go anywhere! But..whatever!) The point I'm making is: I'm feeling lazy and it's all because of the rain. Garfield has to pardon me for this blasphemous statement, but yeah - blame the rain. And the mug of coffee, ofcourse. And the latest Ludlum I'm engrossed in (it's called 'The Ambler Warning' - will blog about it when I'm done with it).

P.S: Am I supposed to mention a song of the moment? Everyone seems to be doing that these days! Why, though? Is it like whatever song is running on your Realplayer now or is it the song you wished you could hear right now? Or is it just whatever matches the mood of the post? Or..you know what? Forget it! I'm not listening to any songs right now. And that's the way I like it at the moment. Longest P.S ever, eh? **shrugs**

Pink Panther - I

2006-06-20T15:35:00.000+05:30

Remember the cute pink tiger waltzing around the screen to this unforgettable tune? After watching all the mundane and hardly-funny 'comedy' movies floating around, Pink Panther was a welcome relief to me.

It's a story of the ever-fumbling comical French detective, Inspector Clouseau (Peter Sellers), trying to catch the Phantom, a jewel thief who's out to steal a diamond belonging to a Princess. Things get a bit difficult since Clouseau's own wife is an accomplice to the Phantom!

What I loved most about the movie was the effortless humor almost in every scene. Some people would find it silly - sometimes, too silly to even deserve a laugh - but that does not apply to me! Also amazing were the starting credits with the Pink Panther! OMG, I died laughing - never before have credits been so interesting and funny in the entire history of my movie-watching!

The movie was also released recently with Steve Martin playing Clouseau, but I doubt if he would do as good a job as Sellers. The accent, the clumsy behavior (he cannot walk in a straight line without knocking over atleast a flower-pot, a table and/or his own Stradivarius) - man, he rocks! The movie has an old world charm to it (it is old - released in 1963, or so IMDb says) and the costumes and sets are way cool.

Well, if it's a weekend afternoon and you got nothing better to do, rent this movie and catch some laughs. Totally worth it!

Image Source

It happens, sometimes

2006-06-20T14:53:00.000+05:30

Bloopers from the world of football - yeah, it happens sometimes!

Random Musings

2006-06-16T18:10:00.000+05:30

- Cold coffee, Appy Fizz, Mazaa or any other cold beverage cannot replace water when you're terribly thirsty.

- The only food thats healthier and tastes better than its not-so-healthy couterpart is Veg Sandwich made out of Wheat bran bread. The not-so-healthy counterpart is Veg Sandwich made out of regular milk bread. And they both taste like heaven when you're starving.

- The taste of the food is directly proportional to your hunger.

- If you're not feeling hungry during lunchtime yet and you see that the time is close to 2 PM, you suddenly feel very very hungry.

- Supermarket theory 1: People with pushcarts in a supermarket are slower than a herd of tortoises slipping (& sliding) on butter.

- Supermarket theory 2: The more the number of people waiting to be billed, the lesser the billing counters.

- Sunday theory 1: No one stays at home on Sundays. They are all either on the road or in supermarkets.

- Sunday theory 2: The ones on the road are, as usual, blind, deaf and plain dumb. So are the ones in the supermarkets.

- Kwality Walls' Chocolate Cornetto has chocolate-coated raisins at the bottom of the cone. It used to be just chocolate.

- Tamarind trees are not inhabited by ghosts at night. At least, not till 10:30 PM.

- Would be fun if the Cricket World Cup, Football World Cup, Wimbledon, the Olympics, the Commonwealth Games, the Super Bowl - all happened at the same time. Every time.

- If you'd forgotten, today is a Monday.

Joke...or something like it

2006-05-25T15:40:00.000+05:30

Did you hear the joke about the vampire? It sucked!

Bouquets for my jokes (or joke-telling abilities) may be directed to the 'Comments' section. Brickbats may please be directed back to wherever they came from.

If you want to make matters worse, you can also check my Yahoo! 360 blog (yeah, I got two of 'em, as if the damage done by one is not enough - there is just no limit to insanity in this world, people!) and take part in a completely useless, nonsensical, time-pass poll! Exercise your franchise - TODAY! Or never. Whatever.

Edward Lear and Me

2006-05-23T15:53:00.000+05:30

Of late, I find myself in a mood for limericks about random things. Something like the original idea that Lear intended - crazy anecdotes about people who have names that rhyme with crazier words. No clue what I'm talkin' about, eh? Try this...

This is one by Lear -

There was a young lady of Wilts,
Who walked up to Scotland on stilts;
When they said it is shocking
To show so much stocking,
She answered, "Then what about kilts?"

Get the picture? :-) Now for the bad part of this post - my own limerick :-)

There was once a girl in Bloomingdale
She was shopping for a dress and a veil.
The dress was white,
And the veil, just right -
But alas, she now looked like Florence Nightingale!

I got nerve putting up my crap next to Lear, huh? Ah well..it's my blog after all - you know, MY blog..(stress on MY, ofcourse)..

It's good he died in 1888 (according to the www. If I'm wrong, you cannot sue me for this) - if he hadn't, he sure would have hung himself now.

And this is just the beginning... **evil music in background**

If you never want to come back to this blog again, I can understand. :-(

Inspiration

2006-05-17T17:48:00.000+05:30

He looked at the sheaf of papers on his table. His accomplishment, he felt. It was his baby. It was the one big thing he had always wanted to do. His own book. He closed his eyes to savor the moment - he had just written the last chapter. The most exciting, most unexpected of all the chapters. He was sure he had a bestseller in his hands. "Mr.M, what was your inspiration to write this masterpiece?" "Sir, how many other offers have you got, now that your first book is a huge hit?" He could hear the reporters, jostling for space with their mikes and notepads. He could feel the heat of the camera flashes.

With a satisfied smile, he started to arrange the papers - he had done that umpteen times in the last 30 minutes, but somehow, he kept doing it again. Perfection, he called it.

He placed the papers inside a folder and almost reverently, kept it inside the cupboard.

He then turned to the assortment of open books on his table. All his favorite authors. His inspiration. Would they notice the similarities? He shrugged off the thought - you're just being paranoid, he chided himself. They wouldn't know. No one would. It was an art, plagiarizing. And he was the master artist.

Home, sweet home

2006-05-08T11:29:00.000+05:30

Home. It's such a comfortable word, isn't it? Home. Rest. Peace. Mom. Home. It doesn't matter if you don't own it, doesn't matter if it isn't huge or beautiful. Doesn't matter if it's just one room with a bed and a table. Nothing matters as long as you can call it home.

You fight your way through work, the traffic, the morons behind steering wheels with no clue about driving, the dust 'n smoke and finally, home. Nothing matters the moment you cross over the threshold. You chuck the laptop on the table and slosh down on the comfy sofa. After 15 minutes of pure bliss, you get up and change. A shower, your alma mater's T-shirt and the oldest, most comfortable pair of PJs - Armani? what Armani? I could go meet the Queen in these clothes! If they let me, that is.

Coffee in hand, you open the door to the balcony. You just missed the sunset - no worries, the sky is still saying good bye. The entire world in front of you, bathed in orange. Down on the easy chair, legs up on the stool, you stretch back and close your eyes. This is what heaven must feel like. The coffee never tasted as good. You catch the tune of an old melody in the wind. You see birds flying back to their nests, a cacophony of chirps. You don't mind - the pings and drings of the laptop have numbed your ears - the sounds of life are always welcome. There are no sounds of automobiles or drilling machines. The only mechanical sound is that of a bus braking before the speed-breaker - the rickety ol' bus reminds you of grandma's village. You drift off into another world.

Time flew. It always does when you're having a good time. The stars have come out. The moon's playing hide and seek with the clouds. The breeze is cooler. It brings with it the smells of yummy things from the neighbor's kitchen. It's a different joy to realize it's from your own kitchen. Dinner's served. From one heaven to another.

Dinner, followed by some mangoes. You think they should make mangoes the national fruit or something. You drag yourself out of the chair and into the sofa - 'kazhichchu kazhinjaal manushane onninum kollathillae!'. You switch the TV on and catch the last 5 minutes of the primetime soap. You wonder if they'll ever move the story. You channel surf, only to doze off at channel no. 20. Sleep. The third heaven.

Home, sweet home.

The week that was

2006-05-02T13:24:00.000+05:30

On Thursday (27 Apr, 2006):
For a long long time, one wish forever grew -
A little place of our own, ours through and through.
Many a sleepless night,
Only one thing in our sight,
We're moving into our own house - finally, a dream come true!

On Sunday/Monday (30 Apr - 1 May, 2006):
Little did I know that a new house isn't just a gain -
It came with much more - my prayers went in vain!
Pack and unpack,
My back went 'cra-aa-ack' -
Shifting to a new house is sure a big pain!

Rest of the week:
Boxes boxes everywhere, as far as eye can see!
Umpteen sacks and covers, alas! poor me!
This is so tragic,
I badly need magic -
Dear Lord, this is my prayer to thee!

Say what?

2006-04-26T15:34:00.000+05:30

Source: The Hindu, dated 13th April, 2006. Newscape section (that appears at the top of the page)

Found, at last

The police in California recovered a motorcycle 35 years after it was stolen, as it was being shipped to an unsuspecting person in Finland who bought it on online auction eBay. It was a year-old Yamaha 360.

Cool

2006-04-25T13:00:00.000+05:30

Define cool. C'mon, humor me - define cool (in the context of a person, not temperature!). Do you immediately get this image of a hip girl (or guy) in jeans and t-shirt with a funky hair cut/color (4 Cs - cut, color, curls, combed), nose ring, toe ring, ear ring, orange tinted Oakley, a generous splash of Gap..you know what I'm talkin' about, right? So does that define cool? My question in short: Does attire define cool? Even if you say No, I know deep down you know it's not true. Even I've been ingrained like that - jeans is cool, salwar-kameez is not. Saree? Getouttahere!

My rant arises from a conversation I had some time back. X and I were having lunch and at the table nearby there was a girl with jasmine flowers in her hair (gajra in Hindi, malligai poo in Tamil, malli poo in Malayalam and malle poovulu in Telugu). The fragrance was awesome. If you live anywhere in Tamil Nadu, it's no big deal - agreed. But if you live in Hyderabad, then 'seeing' white jasmine flowers is a miracle in itself - what you find will generally be in varying shades of brown (flower wearers would know brown means dried!). So getting back..X and I saw that and I was really missing my college times when I used to keep those flowers every single day. I love them.

X immediately said, 'Wow what a fragrance! Should tie that on my wrist and walk around!'. Maybe now would be the time to mention that X was a girl (and not a malluveti minor - that's Tamil for a guy who wears a pink silk kurta, white silk dhoti with a gold chain around his neck that ends in a pendant shaped like two cornucopias stuck at the heads..with gajra tied to his wrist..get the picture? A bit like Shakti Kapoor with gajra in his hand..).

I hid my shock. Instead, I said, 'Yeah..reminds me of college times. I used to wear that every day'.

X actually doubled over in amazement. She went, 'What? Eww!'.

Two words are enough actually to understand what she meant. You're sooo not cool! You wore flowers like that? Were do you live, Keezhakalkandarkovil?! (That's a cute little railway station on the way from Trichy to Chennai..hee hee) What a pattikaadu! (Tamil for a plain village girl). I didn't say anything on the topic after that. We went our respective ways to our desks.

But this conversation (if you can call it that) kind of got me thinking as to why people think it's not the IN thing to be what you always were. It's no big deal for me to cover up my 'un-cool' habit of keeping flowers by saying 'Yeah, I used to be that dumb!' - but why should I? Who defined cool like that?

I say it's not your attire but your attitude that shows if you're cool or not. I don't think it's un-cool to go to a 5-star hotel and order Masala Dosa when everyone around you is ordering Bouillabaisse and Beef Stroganoff. I don't think it's un-cool to go to the most happening multiplex or shopping complex wearing your favorite cotton churidhar - with your hair braided instead of left open. Wearing a pair of jeans (torn at the knee caps, mind you) doesn't make you cool - people would always find that out the moment you open your mouth.

LOOKING cool is easy - any Ann, Mary and Jane can do it. But BEING cool - well, that's something you gotto work on. That's something you cannot take from your wardrobe and just wear.

A person who is 'cool' will not think it's un-cool to wear jasmine flowers in your hair. Yeah, that's the way it works.

X - if you're reading this (by some freak of nature, ofcourse): Yeah, I used to keep jasmine flowers in my hair when I was in college. And guess what? I would do it even now if only I could get fresh jasmine flowers. If that makes me un-cool, then yeah - I am un-cool. And I'm not going to change.

The Song of the Sorting Hat

2006-04-24T13:13:00.000+05:30

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,
But don't judge on what you see,
I'll eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,
Your top hats sleek and tall,
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head
The Sorting Hat can't see,
So try me on and I will tell you
Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart,
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffis are true And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,
if you've a ready mind,
Where those of wit and learning,
Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin
You'll make your real friends,
Those cunning folk use any means
To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!
And don't get in a flap!
You're in safe hands (though I have none)
For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

Source: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, by J.K.Rowling

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Love Story

2006-04-23T13:56:00.000+05:30

It didn't hurt anymore. She'd gotten used to it. The screams just died in her throat these days. All that remained was this constant ache in the heart. And a sense of betrayal that refused to die down no matter how much her mind thought otherwise. He had loved her. She was conscious of the past tense every time that sentence came up. Had loved her. She doubted if there was any left now. She had always believed that a heart that loved cannot hate. If hate comes in, love tiptoes away. Unheard, unseen, but felt by the heart. But she stayed on because she still loved him. Inspite of everything, she did. And she was not going to give up. She also believed that love conquers all. She was also conscious of the foreboding in her heart that something was to go wrong. Very wrong.

He hated himself. Not her, but himself. He hated his dependence on alcohol. He hated himself everytime he hurt her. Physically or otherwise. He longed for those wonderful times they had spent with each other when he was not the monster he was now. The laughs, the long never ending sweet nothings...her smile! He could not remember the last time he had seen her smile. He had loved that smile above all. Now all he found were tears. And fear. There was always a fear in her eyes. He sometimes wished she wouldn't take all that he did and just leave. But she never let go. He loved her more for that. But somehow, that could never stop him from having that one last drink.

They found their bodies the next morning. She lay crumpled at the foot of the bed, the bedstead streaked crimson - crimson like the floor beneath her. His body was hanging from a rope tied to the fan - looking down at her, asking for her forgiveness and loving her more than ever.

God's Debris

2006-04-22T17:00:00.000+05:30

It's a bit on the longer side, but I'm yet to read a book that made me think so much..an excerpt...

Source: God's Debris, by Scott Adams

Do you believe in God?” the old man asked, as if we had known each other forever but had somehow neglected to discuss that one topic. I assumed he wanted reassurance that his departure from this life would be the beginning of something better. I gave a kind answer.

“There has to be a God,” I said. “Otherwise, none of us would be here.” It wasn’t much of a reason, but I figured he didn’t need more.

“Do you believe God is omnipotent and that people have free will?” he asked.

“That’s standard stuff for God. So, yeah.”

“If God is omnipotent, wouldn’t he know the future?”

“Sure.”

“If God knows what the future holds, then all our choices are already made, aren’t they? Free will must be an illusion.”

He was clever, but I wasn’t going to fall for that trap.
“God lets us determine the future ourselves, using our free will,” I explained.

“Then you believe God doesn’t know the future?”

“I guess not,” I admitted. “But he must prefer not knowing.”

“So you agree that it would be impossible for God to know the future and grant humans free will?”

“I hadn’t thought about it before, but I guess that’s right. He must want us to find our own way, so he intentionally tries not to see the future.”

“For whose benefit does God withhold his power to determine the future?” he asked.

“Well, it must be for his own benefit, and ours, too,” I reasoned. “He wouldn’t have to settle for less.”

The old man pressed on. “Couldn’t God give humans the illusion of free will? We’d be just as happy as if we had actual free will, and God would retain his ability to see the future. Isn’t that a better solution for God than the one you suggested?”

“Why would God want to mislead us?”

“If God exists, his motives are certainly unfathomable. No one knows why he grants free will, or why he cares about human souls, or why pain and suffering are necessary parts of life.”

“The one thing I know about God’s motives is that he must love us, right?” I wasn’t convinced of this myself, given all the problems in the world, but I was curious about how he would respond.

“Love? Do you mean love in the way you understand it as a human?”

“Well, not exactly, but basically the same thing. I mean, love is love.”

“A brain surgeon would tell you that a specific part of the brain controls the ability to love. If it’s damaged, people are incapable of love, incapable of caring about others.”

“So?”

“So, isn’t it arrogant to think that the love generated by our little brains is the same thing that an omnipotent being experiences? If you were omnipotent, why would you limit yourself to something that could be reproduced by a littleclump of neurons?”

I shifted my opinion to better defend it. “We must feel something similar to God’s type of love, but not the same way God feels it.”

“What does it mean to feel something similar to the way God feels? Is that like saying a pebble is similar to the sun because both are round?” he responded.

“Maybe God designed our brains to feel love the same way he feels it. He could do that if he wanted to.”

“So you believe God wants things. And he loves things, similar to the way humans do. Do you also believe God experiences anger and forgiveness?”

“That’s part of the package,” I said, committing further to my side of the debate.

“So God has a personality, according to you, and it is similar to what humans experience?”

“I guess so.”

“What sort of arrogance assumes God is like people?” he asked.

“Okay, I can accept the idea that God doesn’t have a personality exactly like people. Maybe we just assume God has a personality because it’s easier to talk about it that way. But the important point is that something had to create reality. It’s too well-designed to be an accident.”
“Are you saying you believe in God because there are no other explanations?” he asked.

“That’s a big part of it.”

“If a stage magician makes a tiger disappear and you don’t know how the trick could be done without real magic, does that make it real magic?”

“That’s different. The magician knows how it’s done and other magicians know how it’s done. Even the magician’s assistant knows how it’s done. As long as someone knows how it’s done, I can feel confident that it isn’t real magic. I don’t personally need to know how it’s done,” I said.

“If someone very wise knew how the world was designed without God’s hand, could that person convince you that God wasn’t involved?”

“In theory, yes. But a person with that much knowledge doesn’t exist.”

“To be fair, you can only be sure that you don’t know whether that person exists or not.”

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Ellen Degeneres - Here and Now

2006-04-21T14:03:00.000+05:30

Fan of stand-up comedy? Check this out!

Watched this on Comedy Central months ago, been searching for it ever since...

Found it on YouTube finally! :-)

Ellen Degeneres - Here and Now

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