achtung!

Deodorants and Lies

2011-10-08T00:58:00.000+05:30

"Actions performed in this advertizement are extremely dangerous and are performed under expert supervision and must not be imitated. "

We've seen this disclaimer and combinations thereof in several advertizements and television programmes. I was wondering whether such disclaimers should be provided wherever imitation of said actions was not likely to produce the desired results. Cars and bike advertizements provide this to some extent. They have lines like 'The mileage stated has been measured under test conditions', intending to say that if you tried to drive that new Indica thing in the city traffic and didn't get 25 kilometers to the litre, you shouldn't be too upset. If you complain, they will have the right to say "We told you so".

Let's cast our minds forward to a particular class of product that sells on the basis of shameless lies. And sex. Deodorant sprays. What a bunch of shameless liars. Apparently if I use a certain deodorant and walk on the streets I can expect to look behind and see an army of gorgeous women lusting after me. Or the neighbour's wife will shiver with pleasure and drop her plate due to loss of self control when I stand at my window and spray stuff out of that pressurized tin. It never happens. Liars. Cheats. Worse than senseless things.

They ought to put disclaimers on their ads. So that well meaning customers who want to smell nice and hit it off with the ladies don't end up disappointed and still continue buying those dratted things anyway.

For instance, Wild Stone should probably add some fine print such as 'Actions performed in this advertizement are performed by experts and under supervision. Do not imitate. Billboards should probably include 'Results portrayed in this advertizement are measured in a standardized test environment.' Or something like 'Please do not try this at home, lest you want to suffer extreme disappointment or chagrin. Well unless of course you yourself are extremely attractive and have the body of a Greek or Roman god.'

The deceivers at Axe should take hard looks at themselves. How they mislead unsuspecting hopeful guys with such tall promises! If truth prevailed, disclaimers of the like 'Do not be disappointed if the women of your town don't run out of their homes and offices to chase you with ruthless seduction in their eyes' would make an appearance in this age of consumer awareness. Or perhaps 'Use of this product may not necessarily turn your body into irresistible chocolate'. 'Visualizations shown in this advertizements are digitally generated. Do not imitate. In the real world, having a chunk of your buttock bitten off by a gorgeous woman on the subway may be a painful and traumatizing experience', and 'Do not attempt to pull off your nose and subsequently drop the debris of said nose into ice cream cones held by attractive ladies on the sidewalk. They may not take too kindly to such actions.'

The extraordinary cricketing tales of Purvarth Maddhyanakumar - V

2011-09-25T02:11:00.000+05:30

Test Cricket: That which separates the men from the boys. And the first B team.

As I'm reasonably sure is the case with many children of his age at the time, the sports my neighbourhood friends and I were interested in depended largely on the sporting season they were in. Let me explain: In the months of June, July or whenever the English summer is, we would have an irrepressible urge to play Lawn Tennis, thanks to The Championships at Wimbledon being telecast on Doordarshan. Or we would sometimes find ourselves playing Hockey with cricket bats, stumps and rubber balls, using a couple of bricks to demarcate the goal posts - during the Hockey world cup season. Cricket was an all season sport, that goes without saying. But the passion for the game would go up every now and then whenever a live telecast of an India match was on.

Doordarshan would also telecast a Cricket tournament called the Challenger Series played between the Indian team, India A team and India B team. By this time, I was in the 6th standard and the marvelous idea of forming a B team in the class struck him like a sack of coals. It made sense too. All proper cricket matches at the time in school were played between the two sections of the 6th standard. Only eleven guys got to play on that team, leaving the remaining 33 odd folks out in the cold to play whatever else they could salvage.

The idea was put forth in whispers and passed note chits (in a moral science classroom) to some members of the main class team, who responded positively to the idea and promptly challenged the B team to a test match! After the B team was put together, little Purvarth M became captain (probably because it was his idea, or others had better things to do!) In the B team think tank strategy meeting, it was decided that if we won the toss, we would bat. The reasons being the A team was armed to the teeth with fearsome batsmen such as TSR, RM, ADT, AR and so on. The B team, if they bowled first, considering that games were played only in games periods and lunch breaks, would end up bowling for weeks (the equivalent of two and a half days of relentless batting until declaration in a test match). To avoid this and the possible humiliation of having records scored against them, we chose to bat when they eventually won the toss to this match.

I had great dreams for this team. It was comprised of the proverbial bench of cricketers who were talented yet rarely got to play. Whatay marvelous it would be if we could give the A team a tough match! Or better still win against them! The night before the match was a sleepless one for the new captain - all I could think about was the match, and dreamed at night and day dreamed my way through the next day in school until the games period. The toss, as we know, was won by the B team and I had no hesitation in electing to bat first.

Disaster struck almost instantly. The records are inconclusive as to who the opening batsmen were, but they didn't last long as the pace of TSR, AB and RM blew away the top order in a matter of one games period and a lunch break. I who initially planned on batting deep in the order (much like our man MS Dhoni does today) had no choice but to come in at 3 down with only 9 runs on the board. Taking guard to much cheer and clapping and some good natured jeers for effect, I strode into an AB delivery first up and defended it down with much precision.

There was a reason I was never known for my batting. Nothing changed in this match either. AB mis-bowled his next delivery and the ball came harmlessly towards me. This was a test match, and I could have taken my time settling down in this one in a lifetime opportunity to bat all I wanted, but no! Throwing caution to the winds, I took one wild swipe at the ball, missed it completely and heard the anguish-inducing sound of all three stumps hitting the gravel. I wished at the moment the earth would swallow me up and send me to the other end of the world. To make matters worse, the score soon read around 12 for the loss of 5 wickets at the end of the lunch break. It was the end.

When the game resumed, it was during a double games period - but I had an extra second language class during the first of these two periods and could show up at the ground only in the second games period. I hurried to the ground expecting the worst, but as it turned out the news was not so bad. AUR had taken the crease and was putting up a defiant show of defensive batting. I watched on in glee as AUR stepped back to each and every scorching delivery and dropped it at his feet with precision. "That's how it's done, boy", said a tiny voice in my head. I forget now who the batsman at the other end was, but he stood and played with equal defiance. At the end of the day our score had reached 34 for the loss of 5 wickets and things were beginning to look up. However, that was just about as far as the first test match of our lives lasted. Maybe everyone had gotten tired of playing the same match for nearly a full week when we could have played limited overs games and gotten them over with!

Thus came to a premature end, the test match which should have separated the men from the boys. And also ended my first experience in captaincy. This wasn't the only B team which was formed though - more B teams were formed in the later years and there were matches played between the B teams of two divisions of the grade; much fun and excitement happened then too, but that's a story for a different time!

The fun of being fleeced

2011-02-25T21:26:00.001+05:30

Which ever form of long-distance transportation you use in India, keep an eye out for the taxi and auto drivers who come running towards you offering their faithful services with seemingly altruistic demeanors. If you're new to the city you're traveling to, speak to them at your own financial peril. However if you know your destination city like the back of your hand, or know how and where to go, you can linger around them for an amusing session in numbers and pitching.

I only need look back 2 days to give you 2 examples. I was traveling from Pune to Trivandrum, with a stopover of one night at a friend's place in Bombay. I know Pune and Trivandrum like the back of my hand and I know Bombay decently enough to know how to get around. My itinerary in a nutshell: I traveled by Bus from Pune to Bombay and flew down the next da to Trivandrum. I got off the Bus at Dadar East, and started to look for a taxi to take me to Lower Parel. I chose to humour the couple of taxi drivers who flanked me like bodyguards the moment I stepped off the bus. After 2 minutes of pretending to be not interested in their services I told them my destination.Taxi-driver 1 nodded benevolently and waved me towards his taxi.

He said politely - "Only 170 rupees."

I burst out laughing. It was worth it to see him quote that amount with a straight face. He tried to bargain after this, but it is always a pointless exercise after such an amount has been quoted. Besides, taxis in Bombay are supposed to be famous for charging fare by a meter. So I did some wtf-ing and told him I wasn't going to sit in his car. Eventually I waved down a passing cab and got to my destination for the princely sum of 40 rupees. I saved around 3 times the amount. Muahaha.

The next day I stepped out of the airport at Trivandrum. Here I was comfortable. Knowledge of the local language gives me added advantage when it comes to bargaining. The hitch here is that there is practically no other transportation from the airport to the city unless you have the patience to wait indefinitely for the one city bus that runs every few hours.

"250 rupees", came the quote from the middle aged seasoned looking rickshaw driver. Straight faced again.
"It's the correct fare sir, it costs 7 rupees a kilometer now. "
"Boss, I said take me to Medical College (around 10 kms away), not Attingal (a town half way between Tvm and Kollam).

"OK fine give 150 rupees. Come", he stated with an air of finality.

I kept walking and approached another auto outside the airport gates.

"Medical College. How much?".
"You're from here right, heh heh, you know right how much it costs, heh heh..."
"Yeah I know, but clearly you won't agree to accept standard rates. So, how much?"
"How can I say sir, you know this place... heh heh... "
"80. "
"Aaah, pattilla sir.. tch.. heh heh... "
"100".
"Heh heh.. OK".

Twenty something bucks over the standard rate. Not too bad.

Like I said, it can be fun if you know the ropes where you're going. Else boss, lag jayegi.

Smile of Innocence

2011-01-13T01:18:00.000+05:30

   "Vile Parle station aa gaya kya bhaiyya?"

   "Yeh samne kya hai?"

   Ignoring the sarcasm, Avinash slipped a ten rupee note to the autorikshaw driver before stepping out of the three-wheeler, stooping a little to allow his five foot eleven frame to exit the vehicle. He reached in and pulled out his five kilo backpack, smiling inwardly as he noticed the airline baggage sticker which read 'CCU to BOM' in large letters, thinking about the fried sardines his sister in law had packed for him back at his brother's house in Salt Lake, Kolkata.

   Blasted security at the Dum Dum airport, he thought to himself. They had refused to clear his backpack to be carried as cabin baggage because of the 'food item' inside. He had to walk all the way back to the check in counter thanks to the law abiding khaki clad muchchad.

   "Kya farak padta hai yaar? Flight ke andar thode hi na khaane wala hoon", he had tried to reason with the stoic policeman behind the baggage screening counter. But mucchad would have none of it. Well, it was worth a shot trying to save the fifteen minutes of baggage claiming on arrival. Ah forget it.

   He swung the camouflage style backpack over one shoulder and turned away from the autorikshaw to face the mild winter sun. He took a deep breath of the morning Mumbai air, closed his eyes for a moment, felt the bright red of the sunlight diffusing through his eyelids and smiled in the mellow radiance. There was no real need to hurry; he had already called Moorthy the day before informing him he would reach office a little late, since he was taking the morning flight to Mumbai and taking the Shivneri bus to Pune thereafter. Keeping an eye out for the morning traffic, he leisurely crossed the narrow road to the Vile Parle railway station, the smile still etched absently on his bony face.

   The shining sun had reminded him of a smiling face back in Kolkata. That of his three month old nephew, whose sleeping face he had gingerly kissed before leaving the house in time for the early Monday morning flight to Mumbai.

   He still remembered the feeling of profound happiness he had felt when he received the phone call three months earlier from his older brother Subhash, informing him that he had become an uncle. He’d thought he would burst with joy.

   Holding Appu back in Subhash’s house had felt like holding a piece of heaven in his arms. He loved the way the tiny fingers wrapped themselves around his wrist. He loved the little baby noises Appu made when he was entertained or felt happy about something. He loved the way Appu smelled. He loved the amazed look on the baby's face when he swung a little rattle above his head. He could just sit and look at Appu all day and forget all the evils of the world.

   But most of all, he loved making Appu smile. He little cared how ridiculous he must have looked prancing around the cradle, pulling ridiculous faces, making weird noises, sticking his nose out for him to grab; anything to see the little one smile that fully content happy smile that only a baby can show. His favourite stunt was to hold Appu's stuffed 'Tigger' high above the baby's face and bring it down slowly towards him. Appu would reach out with both hands and jiggle his legs, and sometimes laugh out loud in excitement.

   Perhaps it's why everyone is so fond of babies, he reflected. A baby’s is a soul so fresh and innocent, free of disillusionment, one which can make the beholder feel complete. Making such a soul smile does bring about an inner feeling of fulfilment that nothing else can imbibe, he reflected, as he took his place in the queue at the ticket counter.

   Monday morning sluggishness seemed to have affected everyone this morning as the line moved forward ever so slowly. The young man behind the heavily grilled counter, no older than himself, seemed to be new at his work, taking his time to count and return the change to the passengers. After what seemed an eternity, the person in front of him called out "Ek CST return" and shoved a 500 rupee note at the novice. Ugh for crying out loud, he sighed to himself. He looked absently around the booking hall. There was nothing much to see save the few homeless huddled under some dirty covers.

   "Malik, thode chutthe paise de do malik".

   Awakened from his reverie, Avinash recoiled slightly at the sight of the emaciated face, looked away hastily and started to count the number of people in the queue before him. The beggar moved on, a limping with a stout stick in one hand and a grimy bowl in the other.

   A young woman sitting under a closed booking window barely a few feet away caught his eye. Two shirtless children were sitting on the floor beside her as she cuddled a baby on her lap. He gazed absently at the scene, as the woman rolled up a piece of rag, picked up a piece of paper lying around and stuffed it into the a fold of the rolled up rag.

   He watched as she raised this piece of rag and lowered it slowly towards the baby's face, her tired face in a glowing smile. A delighted laugh broke out on the baby's face, in shockingly familiar radiance, as it kicked its little legs and raised its arms towards the rag in excitement. Avinash stared, transfixed; his mind went blank; everything else seemed to fade away. All that seemed to exist was this woman and her child, in their own world.

   He blinked, oblivious of the weight on his back, or the railway station or where he was going. His mind spluttered incoherently, unable to tell him what he was trying to feel.

   He felt a sharp tap on his left shoulder. He started violently and jerked around. The man behind him pointed at the ticket counter ahead. The novice behind the counter had his arm out, with an amused look on his face.

   "Boss kidhar jaane ka hai? "

   "Uhh.. s-sorry bhaiyya.. Dadar".

   He scooped up his change with the cardboard stub ticket and stepped away from the counter, trying to ignore the chuckles from the others in the queue. Just before leaving the booking hall, he looked back. The baby was trying to reach out to its little doll; it had wrapped its little fingers around its mother's wrist for support.

   A recorded message rang out on the public address system, announcing the imminent arrival the train to Dadar. He deliberated for a moment, turned away slowly and walked thoughtfully onto the platform.

Identity

2011-01-09T20:20:00.003+05:30

No, not featuring John Cusack. This is about me.

An observation I have made about myself is that I speak in different accent and style with different people I meet. Perhaps it's because of the environment I grew up in, being in a Bengali family settled in Trivandrum. I was exposed to people who spoke in many different styles. For instance, my father speaks good English, good Bengali and good Hindi. My mother speaks good Bengali and English, and learned all her Malayalam and most of her Hindi after marriage. Most of this rubbed off on me and my elder brother, and naturally I learned to speak like them. I went to a school full of Malayalee students and Malayalee teachers; Malayalam was a compulsory language to learn until the fifth standard, and I had no choice but to learn to speak the language. Not that I wouldn't have anyway, since people spoke it everywhere.

I had Hindi teachers in school who were Malayalees, and would speak Hindi with very strong Malayali accents, English teachers who spoke the language with effortless perfection but couldn't speak Malayalam without a north Indian accent, Malayali science teachers who spoke English with a local accent and so on. Then there were the locals who spoke Malayam with different accents depending on which part of Kerala they were from. The list could go on for ages.

Add to this all, my older brother's and my habit of mimicking real life noises while playing with toys as kids. Screech of tires as a car skids of the parapet, hiss of poisonous snakes, boom of bombs exploding; there's no limit to what a child can imagine when it's at play.

What this all led to was an ability to speak with different people in an accent which was very close to his or hers. For instance, if a mallu asked me what time it was, I'd probably say 'Zevun Thyettie', getting the accent dead right to the last roll of the tongue. If someone in Pune asked me the same question, 'sewan thurrty' automatically comes out. When I speak to my friends from Bangalore or Kerala, my sentences are invariably festooned with words like 'macha' and 'da', which are commonly used among friends of similar ages in those parts. I had spent a week in Delhi last winter while attending a cousin's marriage, and I found myself adding 'ji' at the end of my sentences while speaking with locals.

I really don't know how my accent automatically changes when I converse with people from different places. Perhaps that's how I am; perhaps at some level I begin to speak like people around me because it brings about a subconscious sense of interactive comfort; although none of it is done intentionally.

Most States in India are formed based on the language that majority of the people of that region speak. Perhaps, in this system, my being born in a State, into a family which speaks a different language has negated the necessity of having a 'linguistic identity'. Regardless of the many surprised and inquisitive eyebrows that my family and I have answered to, I take this as a boon, a gift. To be able to understand and relate to at least two regional cultures and languages in a country so culturally rich and diverse; where millions of others like me are not so fortunate to have experienced, or to be able to experience the best of different worlds.

The extraordinary cricketing tales of Purvarth Maddhyanakumar - IV

2011-01-09T02:42:00.006+05:30

Throughout childhood, some of the proverbs that were poured over my head (nay, taught!), sometimes to the point of grey-cell-saturation were “Practice makes perfect”, “Rome was not built in a day”, and so on and so forth. Phrases and proverbs, which in a nutshell, were invented to build character. Now unlike the endearing Calvin and his dad, I didn't live in a country where it snowed every winter. Naturally there was never any snow in the courtyard to shovel away and thus 'build character'. Understandably, the proverbs came thick and fast to compensate for the lack of the character-building snow.

But I digress. What I'm driving at is that little Purvarth didn't just wake up one fine Monday and start delivering toe crushers at specifically demarcated trees with a rubber ball. He started off at the tender age of 2 or 3, pretending to be Kapil Dev running purposefully through the living room and hurling an imaginary red cherry at the maidservant struggling with a dirty milk-pot in the kitchen. Later of course, he advanced to higher levels of competence which involved a rubber ball, his elder brother's 'heavy' cricket bat, the initial struggles to catch a moving ball and so on, until he one day began playing with his neighbourhood friends at the 'practice ground', more about which you would have read in an earlier post.

When I was all of six years old, barely into my first standard, playing cricket on the road in front of the house with all the children in the neighbourhood, both young and old, used to be the high point of the day. We used to assemble on the poorly laid coal-tar turf by 4 pm on weekends and occasionally after school on weekdays, by which time the intensity of the hot tropical sun had subsided to an extent which, our parents were convinced (after much pleading) would not cause untold dehydration on us little souls. This turf of ours saw much cricket played by us for many years, right from the late 1980s until the last of us kids of the neighbourhood moved out of home in the early 2000s.

One particular game of cricket played here taught me a lesson, one that many most people who have played cricket will tell you too: you will have bad days on the field. But you need to have heart even if things don't go your way. It was well into my fourth standard at school, when one day, at the end of a long day at school all the neighbourhood kids had gathered around for a game of cricket. There were children of all ages. RD who was was the eldest of us all was in the 11th standard, Deergharth Madyanakumar (Purvarth's older brother) and SK who were in the 9th, DB who was a year older to me and a handful of other kids. In the company of towering (in age and height) personalities like this, DB and I generally did whatever we were told to do, like "field here!", or "stand there!" or "get ready to bat next!" and so on. And we quite enjoyed it too.

This was a day when I learned for the first time what it was to be 'sledged' by the opposition, and to be literally (sledge) hammered in the game. I was never a great fielder, even worse when in the primary school. If Purvarth M ever took a catch, it would result in utter disbelief from many, and naturally in much celebration. Somewhat like Venkatesh Prasad winning a match for India by virtue of his batting. RD was at the crease, ominously wielding his massive Jonex cricket bat while Deergharth was bowling. RD, knowing my weakness decided to play all the deliveries to point, where I was fielding. To make matters worse, he kept reminding me how pathetic my fielding was and promised me between overs to hit everything towards me. Amid the guffaws from the others, my ears burned in shame, because well, he had a point. There would be much yelling from the people on my team if a square cut from the batsman passed right by me and zoomed into the coconut grove (which was our boundary).

My fears were not without reason too, for many such shots from RD zipped straight through me causing several shouts of "Purva! What the hell!!". On the bright side, I got plenty of exercise running repeatedly from point to square boundary and back all the time. Not that I needed it then though, how much extra exercise does a boisterous 6 year old really need? Anyway, after a while my turn had come to bowl. However to my dismay, RD was still batting and it didn't look like he was going to relent anytime soon.

"Hold on", I thought. "Here's my chance to get him out, and get back at him for all those jibes. Hah. He who laughs last laughs best!" With this renewed confidence, I breezed through my run up, jumped gracefully at the popping crease and let loose at RD batting at the other end. It's a different thing: bowling to fellow fourth graders and bowling to a seasoned high school stud. Despite my hopes and confidence of 'beating' the batsman and all that, my delivery benignly approached RD.

"THACK!"

RD hit a straight drive sixer, sending the ball gracefully way over my head and into another neighbour's compound, which formed our straight boundary. I was stunned into disbelief and wonder, and after the next ball which also went for six, absolute helplessness. Deergarth and the rest of my team were beside themselves with perfectly justifiable frustration. But that wasn't going to help at all, as RD kept smashing everything I threw at him.

Around this time, dad returned home from work, and his arrival coincided with the penultimate delivery of my over. He didn't go into the house immediately, but lingered by the fence, dangling his briefcase nonchalantly with two fingers. This penultimate was slightly better, but only in that RD didn't hit the ball for a six, but he strode out of the crease and creamed the ball right past me for a scorching four! I took a little solace from the fact that he didn't smash it for a six before dad. Relief was short lived though; I was losing all confidence and willingness to bowl at this madman. Nevertheless, I completed the over, and let loose at the batting RD with all my strength. He actually stepped out and swept the ball for a six, again right over my head. Dad responded with applause for the dude who was ruining his son's reputation, saying "Wow! He is just like Sachin Tendulkar!". That was the last straw. Unable to bear it anymore, I legged it from the scene of humiliation and ran into my house, ran bawling past my mum and the dining table, into my bedroom and screamed into my pillow every swear word a nine year old could think of. All directed at RD of course.

Demoralizing as this game was to my confidence with the ball, it helped me have heart later in my cricketing days in school. I knew what it was to have your best bowling smashed with disdain, and regardless of how many wickets I may have taken in school, there were numerous occasions when my classmates would hit me for fours and sixes. Somewhere deep down, this experience gave me the heart to go back to the bowling mark, and keep bowling at the batsmen with the same effort, if not more.

And much later, when I reflected about how little experiences teach us things, I realized another very important aspect of the game when I remembered my dad applauding RD. While making that comment, exasperating though it sounded to me at the time, he had introduced the concept of the Spirit of Sportsmanship to me. Someone who outclasses you fair and square deserves your applause, and after all much of the spirit of cricket is based on this aspect. I obviously didn't realize the importance of it then, but I did later, and realized how much healthier it made the experience sports in general.

The extraordinary cricketing tales of Purvarth Maddhyanakumar - III

2010-07-30T18:55:00.014+05:30

“You are the best bowler in the class” - The first, the best and one of the few compliments I had ever received about my cricket.

When our class first started out on its own journey with the game, there weren’t too many fast bowlers. Forget Cricket; there were many budding footballers and police-and-robber-ers and swing from tree-ers and slide show-off-ers and ace ‘swing’-ers. But fast bowling was still a sport in the making for most. Consider for a moment, the flutters little Purvarth must have created when he came in all of a sudden, with a long run up and a Kapil Dev like delivery. New kid on the block and all that.

The honeymoon period during which I had burst on to the scene, as you might have read by now, was absolute bliss. Suddenly, I was a sought after man. People wanted me. During the games periods, when opposing captains took turns to choose their teams, I’d be the first one to be called (an incredible honour I must emphasize), captains tossed the ball to me to start the first over of the innings and so on. It was like being in the shoes of some of the best cricketers in the class then. Like TSR, the left handed boy who everyone thought could do no wrong on the field. Like RM, another cricketing genius on the same level as TSR, if not higher. TSR was the fastest bowler in the class, one of the best batsmen and fielders, in close competition with RM who also was a batsman of prodigious skill and who could roll his arm over quite effectively too. These two lads would invariably be captains of the two teams playing; them being on the same team would be a complete carnival for the team who had them, you see. Then came the second level of geniuses like AR who used to play almost every game we could understand with effortless skill, GR who was one of the better batsmen and some others.

Being called first by TSR or RM was an incredible feeling, let alone being asked to bowl the first or second over of the match. Historic moment in the life of the individual, like for Zaheer Khan when Sourav Ganguly tossed the ball to him in the former’s debut match to bowl the first over. Ha!

Barely a few matches into beginning to play on the main stage, the hallowed football ground, using one of the trees lining it as the batting stumps, I was thoroughly enjoying myself. I used to try and model my bowling like Kapil Dev’s, not that I managed to copy it completely, but got the basic movements right. I’d get a wicket every now and then. Fast bowling was not a common thing and the batsmen wielding the coconut leaf ‘oala’ bats would keep missing frequently. We young kids were still growing; we had little palms and little arms and little legs; catching the ball wasn’t the easiest thing to do. Naturally, most wickets would be claimed through the ‘clean bowled’ or ‘run out’ way.

Then one day I tasted my first big moment. I never thought it was possible. It occurred one afternoon in the games period in a match with players chosen in the manner I’ve mentioned above. I was bowling the penultimate delivery of my last over. GR was batting, standing sedately in front of the tree, tapping his bat against his foot like Praveen Amre did on TV. I ran up purposefully and hurled the ball in the general direction of GR and the tree. GR attempted a wild swing at the ball, missed completely and the ball merrily bounced off the tree, just below GR’s right knee.

Wicket!

What's more, GR’s wicket! After much ecstatic jubilation had taken place, and GR had trudged off to make way for the new batsman, that all sports conquering fellow AR took stance. I had my heart in my mouth as I started my run up. AR shuffled his stance a few times as I ran up, probably trying to distract or taunt me. I wavered not from my purpose and let loose at the popping crease.

WHAM!

The ball thudded on to the base of the tree. AR was out! Clean bowled by Purvarth Maddyanakumar! What a day, ladies and gents, what a day! GR and AR out on consecutive deliveries! Later in class, people would make fun of AR and how he got out Golden Duck style. My heart swelled with pride at these moments. Bespectacled boy from nowhere did this! Ha!

It was time to be inspired by more than just bowling action now. Those were days when Sachin Tendulkar and Kapil Dev appeared in Boost advertisements. After he had drunk his cup of Boost, the cameral would pan across Kapil’s face as he stood at the base of his run up, tossing the ball up repeatedly with a murderous look in his eyes; just before delivering a ball which shattered the white stumps, sending the bails to Beelzebub. Needless to say, little Purvarth did the same, mostly with just the tossing of the ball. Not that I shattered the stumps with every ball or sent bails anywhere. Every time I wanted to take someone’s wicket, I’d toss the ball into the air a few times, glaring at the batsman, before running up to bowl. Whether I got the wicket or not didn’t matter much; it was mostly the thrill of doing something which Kapil would do, perfectly. Whee!

Kapil Dev. The fast bowler who inspired Purvarth M to become one

A few days later TSR came up while we were fielding somewhere on the field and said, “You are the best bowler in the class”. I had no words. It was the best day ever!

My last moment of triumph in the fourth standard came on the last day. It was the day our final examinations had gotten over; the last day of school in our fourth standard and we had the whole afternoon to play. By now, I had graduated from officiating in paper ball games to playing with the top dogs, as you already know. It was one of those rare matches where TSR and RM were playing on the same side, against my team. In this 8 over match, we batted first and scored a respectable 42 runs. As I opened the bowling, RM opened the batting with another chap; memory fails to recollect who it was. But he didn’t last long as he got run out or something. How can you not remember who got out in your over? - You may ask. Well, I think it was because of what happened next. TSR took stance with RM at the runner’s end. Deadly combo! I went tearing round the stumps, TSR tried to heave me on to the on-side, missed completely, and the ball hit the tree where the middle stump should have been!

4 runs for 2 wickets in the first over! We had them by the neck!

What might have been an upset never occurred though, because at that moment the bell rang and it was time to go home for the summer vacations. We all agreed to come back next year and continue the game, but that never happened either. What if the bell hadn’t gone off and we had completed the game? We might have made history, beating a team with both RM and TSR. But on the other hand RM was a fellow who could have swung the game single handed. I guess I will never know. I guess I don’t want to know either, because it’s much better to remember it this way.

Like the people on the Grecian Urn.

The extraordinary cricketing tales of Purvarth Maddhyanakumar - II

2010-07-05T18:46:00.004+05:30

It is only fair that you, sweet reader get to know how Purvarth learned his cricket; learned how to bowl; learned to bat; learned to have heart when some batsman carted him for four sixes in an over and still run to the popping crease into the jaws of the waiting monster with a bat; learned how to catch, albeit not very well. And also how it became that he played his first ever game of cricket in school, and earned much fame and lost it too later, and gain some of it back.

Here is what my practice ground looked like. A quiet peaceful colony, around 28 yards of paved lane, neighbor’s gate across the road at one end and a proud coconut tree at the other, just after the road curved away at a right angle. Houses on either side: potential window pane accidents at every swing of the bat! A line drawn on the tree trunk with a brick, about three feet from the ground; the popping crease drawn in brick again, with the afore mentioned brick being the stump at the bowling end; empty plots of land, festooned with coconut trees on all other sides of the batting tree. Now we know why they call it a tree stump. Haha. Ok.

Many a game have I played here, with the neighbors, all of whom were one to six years elder to me. You can imagine what would happen when a primary school kid tried bowling pace to a seasoned senior high school stud. That's right. This is where I learned to have heart. Well, I won't brag; there were times I ran away from all the humiliation to hurl abuses at that guy into my pillow, but yes, I eventually came around.

In the hallowed school grounds, much after the phase where we used to play with cardboards and paper balls and kochengas and chalk pieces, some of my classmates had taken to playing with real rubber balls and anything that could pass for a bat: pieces of plywood or a cut out portion of the versatile coconut leaf. Real stumps and creases weren't necessary. These were compensated for by trees by the playground, or sapling grills. The popping crease stumps were usually a couple of bricks, couple of pairs of shoes from some football playing kids, a schoolbag, or anything which formed some kind of mark. Sometimes even pencil boxes. In a couple of months into the fourth standard, the real cricketers soon identified themselves and would set up the afore mentioned kind of environment and battle it out like real men. I was too shy to go in and start bowling like Merv, so I would watch from the sidelines, like that chap who throws the ball back when hit for a boundary.

I eventually got over my shyness, and came out of the shell during an idle games period. The established fourth grade cricketers were out playing tough competitive cricket on the big stage, which is to say, against one of the casuarina trees lining the main hallowed football ground. A tree on that ground meant that you were playing serious cricket. Otherwise you were playing time-pass cricket. I approached the latter kind of match; a bunch of us were playing with a rubber ball, a stiff cutting from a tree trunk someone found, a sapling grill, and a couple of bricks. Time-pass game meant anyone could walk in a join a team while the game was still on.

"Do you bowl?” AA asked of me.
"Yes".

What followed was that wonderful feeling of first love that you must have felt at some point of time in life. In a class of mostly fragile 9 year-olds, I covered an admirable run up and bowled the first over of my life in school. From the reactions of my mates around, I gathered it was an impressive one. The over included a couple of bat-beats and a full throated appeal for LBW to the batsman himself, as there was no umpire. RP, who was batting, dismissed the appeal saying the ball had hit his ankle so it could not be out. (I learned many years later that it the ball hitting any part of the batsman's body excluding his forearm and fist was eligible for LBW, but whatever). After the over, AA exchanged a running high five with me as he ran past, leaving me exhilarated, beaming with unblemished happiness and all that.

It was only a matter of time before word spread to the bigger cricketing circles and I joined the group of few fast bowlers in class. And I couldn't wait for the experiences to follow.

The extraordinary cricketing tales of Purvarth Maddhyanakumar - I

2010-06-14T00:10:00.003+05:30

I didn’t really fit in with the regular crowd. There were over 40 like me, squealing and howling on our first day at school, asking for amma. I, bewildered, being the only bengali in a sea of wailing malayali toddlers, wondering what amma was, and confused as to whether I should be asking for it too looked outside the grilled windows, at the bunch of grownups peering in. I had a distinctive feeling of what the bunch of monkeys in the cage must feel like while the visitors to the Thiruvananthapuram zoo peered in through the grills, making funny noises, as though trying to be monkeys themselves. Hah. As if they didn’t know they used to be monkeys millions of years ago. Or so some chap called Darwin decided they were. The visitors here were anxious, no doubt, worried about their children’s first day at school.

On looking around, I noticed a handful of specimens whose eyes were dry, and who were not bawling for amma and appa and things like that. Probably their ammas and appas weren’t at the window. No amma and appa for me either; my elder brother had taken me to my new class and run off to his own. Brothers in the same school and all that, you know. Such were the beginning moments of my first day in school.

It would be several confusing days, months and a couple of years before I would officiate as umpire in my first ever cricket match in school. Much happened between my first day in school and the day I stood in front of a tree, all sagely and wise adjudging wides, no balls, stumpings and runouts. That, because I was too shy to enter the space between the two casuarinas as a player!

I was 8. That would be in the year 1991.The Christmas examinations were upon us. I of course had no clue about the seriousness of things. The junior school exams consisted of one exam a day; a two hour paper in the morning, after which lunch followed and most parents would turn up to pick up their children, so that they could go home and start revising for the next day’s examination. The remaining children used to live farther away from school, and would take the 3.30 bus back home, until which time they would indulge in all kinds of time pass, including cricket! Now what kind of full blooded cricket could a handful of screaming 8 year olds engage in while they waited for the bus?

Simple: a page from a notebook would be wrapped up into a tight ball (Some of us had the unique knack of making excellent paper balls), the cardboard used for writing the exams on would polymorph itself into a cricket bat, the two casuarinas would serve as the two sets of stumps. The rest of the school would be the cricket ground. It was on one such occasion, when mom was a little late picking me up that I stepped gracefully on to this field as the supreme decision maker. Amid the tossing of the paper ball, heaving of cardboards and squealing of the kids around, I stood sedately, raising my arms this way and that way accordingly, as I had seen Dicky Bird do on TV many a time. I was thoroughly enjoying myself when the mater descended upon the scene and scooped me away to the auto, despite the feeble protests of the junta around who evidently thought I was as fair and just an umpire as ever entered a cricket field.

Such was my introduction to cricket, as we knew it in school. Countless experiences would follow in the 9 years that followed: learning to bat, bowl, field, drop catches, experiences of joy, triumph, complete despair and other feelings I have not the words to describe.

My first ever cricket match took a while coming though, after a full year had passed and I was well into the 4th standard. That was when I had burst into the scene, the young fast bowling novice who took the cricketing lives of 80 fourth graders by storm, an era when most of this sample space would quake in their chuddies at the sight of Purvarth starting his run up to lethal deliveries!

Extraordinary cricketing tales

2010-06-14T00:05:00.001+05:30

A series of blog posts will follow soon, outlining the life of one Purvarth Maddhyanyakumar, mostly his cricketing life in his 12 years at school. Almost all of these tales will be inspired from real life incidents. Names of course, will be changed to maintain anonymity and dignity of people around him :) haha.

Watch the space.

The simple complexity of them old times

2010-06-09T00:13:00.000+05:30

Simple complexity ask you? Think of urban life in general today. I go where I want to, I speak with whoever I want to, wherever he or she is, I spend a pittance to send a short note to someone in some corner of the world within seconds, I watch what I want to.. the usual cliched reminiscing.

But things are so simple now. Can I sit at home in my undies and find out whether I will get a back row ticket for the latest blockbuster in town showing at a cinema 15 km away? Sure! Could I have done this in 1999? Are you mad?! It wasn't so simple then. I had to walk to the bus stop, wait for a rickety old KSRTC, squeeze out at East Fort 45 minutes later, run into Sree Padmanabha, stand in the midst of a sea of people smelling of coconut oil and Lux soap combined and if I was lucky, I could buy a 32 rupee balcony ticket for the latest Aamir Khan starrer. Call it nostalgia, but somehow all that was much more fun than booking a ticket online, getting ready at my own pace, and leaving home 15 minutes before showtime and shoot off through the 6 lane highway leading from here to the multiplex, run into the theater just as the show starts. Just-In-Time efficiency. Wow.

TV. How the experience has changed! When my elder brother was a kid, he never saw TV at home until he was 6, a year after I was born! Until then it was 'each other' and of course good old 'Aakashvaani' which entertained the household. The 1983 cricket world cup experience for many those who experienced would include a city bus ride to a friend's house to watch the match on live telecast (neat!) from England. The match would get over at 11pm IST, after which they would somehow return home (imagine what public transport must've been like back then) to an eager family dying to hear how India fared. India had won that one. How it must have been. Boggles the mind.
Then came the big black and white box. Keltron's path-breaking device! Bass heavy sound, green screen when off, black and white images when on! One knob each for Power and Volume, Tone - bass or treble(latest!), brightness and contrast! It would be a while before the image distortions because of voltage fluctuation generated more interest in us young viewers than some crappy serial about the tragedies of some unfortunate family!

Things would be different if a classic Bengali movie was scheduled to come on. Or a cricket match. Or a Byomkesh Bakshi serial. If the picture was scratchy or unclear, someone would be on the roof in a trice, heaving around the TV antenna in all possible directions, sometimes innovating with the elevation to get the 'right signal'.

"Is it clear?!!"

"NOOO! Keep turning!!!"

"NOW?"

"NOO! Keep turning!! NO WAIT WAIT!! Ugggh! TURN IT BACK TO WHERE IT WAS!"

"NOW??"

"TURN IT BACK TO WHERE IT WAS!!"

"I ALREADY DID!! WE NEED A LONGER POLE FOR THIS ANTENNA!"

If you smiled at this little exchange, then we are from the same era. De taali.

Letters. No form of written communication will ever be as personal as this. Sure it took 5 days to get the message across, but the same joy I felt as a kid receiving letters from my cousin from Delhi, from my brother who went to college in Allahabad, or from the girl I had a crush on, which would send me prancing silently from the letter box to my room in no time, letters my parents would receive from their brothers, sisters and relatives, yellow postcards which seemed completely inked out in (to me) unreadable Bengali which I would immediately take to dad or mom; I will never feel from an email. I've experienced this feeling for two decades before I truly caught up with the internet world. From the handwritten word, email took over, and it looks like gtalk will take it from there. Sure, it's more convenient and quick and awesome and all that. But the simple joy of writing a letter, sealing it up, searching the house for a postage stamp, walking half a mile to post it, and waiting for a fortnight for a reply, written personally by your loved one, will probably not be experienced from that new mail in your inbox. A letter on the other hand would feel like he or she was right there, talking to you.

The telephone. Oh boy. If you can remember a time when only one house in your neighbourhood had a telephone, and that would be used by every house in the neighbourhood to receive important calls? Then again, we are from the same era. De taali! STD though, still hasn't changed for some old timers. There will be those who will still yell into the phone while on an STD/ISD call. The trunk-call experience still lives in some form! If you saw someone doing that, you'd know they were from THAT era :)

Money transfers. I can't really comment on how things have changed here, never having received a money order in my life, but I could only imagine the emotions. An old couple in a village sees the postman approaching with a money order from their son in the city. Cliched? Sure. But no comparisons of personal natures from me here, having been on many an occasion bailed out of tight situation by a swift transfer of the dough from the watchful brother at the other end of the country!

But then, hasn't every other thing I've mentioned here changed for the better in some way or the other? I guess it's what you've experienced as a child that sticks on as the innocent and feel-good way of life. My folks will probably always prefer writing letters more than trying to send emails. I will probably always prefer emailing, or whatever other form of communication my work requires me to do.

Who knows, my children may some day write about how email used to be so cool and awesome, even though less quick than sending a thought from one mind to another. Who knows what they'll invent?

Of bags, logistics and rickmen of honour

2009-12-17T23:58:00.000+05:30

This is the kind of thing that always happens to other people; the kind of thing you always get to listen to and then react in awe or amazement or pure melancholic understanding, depending on how the thing ends. The difference here, as you may have guessed by the predictability of these opening two lines, was that this kind of thing happened to us, namely Dolas, Athar, Naren and yours truly.

We were doing all we could to get out of the house in time to get hold of a rick that would take us from Aundh to Wanowrie without making too much of a fuss, the kind of fuss rick drivers normally make when they smell a meaty fare from a gullible customer. Thanks to the new 'badge rule', our industrious rickmen at the auto stand who always drip with the essence of honesty and have the sun shining out of their backsides didn't dare to risk a ride into the city, as they didn't have/couldn't get hold of any badges (and one would normally think these blighters were the pioneers of the practice of jugaad). We eventually had to flag down another passing rick and get down to brass tacks immediately. After a short, hurried mutual consultation regarding the distance to be travelled, the actual fare and the leniency to the rickman for breaking the cardinal law of ricks by seating four brats like us, we scrambled into the confined space, applying the back forth back forth principle of confined seating, with a bag and a guitar in tow.

We spent the next 45 minutes seated in akward positions. Naren squeezed in at the far corner, me squeezed in laterally opposite to him, Athar seated at the edge of the seat with the guitar in his hands, between Naren and Dolas, who was, of course, seated comfortably like he always is. When we finally reached Om's place in Wanowrie we tumbled out of the rick gratefully. It was quite like the relief you feel when you unbutton an agonizingly tight pair of trousers and collapse on the pot to take a well deserved dump. Another round of haggling issued between us and the rickman who bravely stood his ground despite being confronted by the four of us blokes. Ten minutes after the dust settled and the rickman had gone away fuming,:

"Give me the camera. "
"Who has it? "
"You took out the camera, no?"
"Where's the bag? "
"Oh Shit!!!!"

It's not rocket science. You guessed right.

Naren and Dolas immediately turned around and set off walking in hot pursuit of the rickman who was probably halfway back to wherever he had wanted to go next. To be fair, one could always hope against hope that the fellow hadn't gone more than thirty feet before stopping to refill his stock of beedis or gutka or whatever. But alas, that was not to be. The mutterings of expletives gained momentum, frequency and amplitude as the shock and the realization of the loss washed on to us, especially on to Naren whose camera it was, like a tidal wave.

Sense prevailed soon, and we got down to the task of doing whatever we could to figure out a way to get the bag back. Hopeless as it sounded, we left our phone numbers with the security at Om's place, just in case the rickman returned with the intention of returning the goods. I also mobilized Jd into action, calling him up and asking him to do the same at the rick stand from where we had caught the blasted rick. (This may not have worked either, as this rickman was not a member of that stand).

Well, what was done was done, and there was no point hanging around in the cold feeling sorry about the whole thing, hence we proceeded to A's place for the party which we were on our way to attend and become the soul of, albeit with a bit of a tropical cloud hanging over our moods. The party and the next couple of days passed with repeating the story to others and basking in the reactions and suggestions of the audiences, much like the kind described in the opening lines of this anecdote. Maybe it was my excessive reading of Sherlock Holmes stories, but I also had the idea of putting up an advertisement in a local Marathi daily, with the description and contents of the lost bag, requesting the finder to apply at 221b, Baker street, and tipping off inspector G. Lestrade too for good measure, so he could calmly step out of the shadows of the doorway at the last minute, arrest the culprit and take all the credit for the success of the investigation without any objection on my part. The master stroke of the plan, as the good Doctor might have written four years later.

But before any of this could happen, Dolas got a call from the virtuous rick stand where Jd had given his number, inquiring about a lost bag. Our honest rickman, all reasons for fuming forgotten, drove all the way to Infosys Hinjewadi armed with our goods and showed up smiling from ear to ear, as if he was in a Happy Dent advertisement. He also insisted on a reward for his honestly much higher than what Dolas had estimated, relieving him of a sizable wad, and offering his number and guaranteeing his unfailing services, whilst beaming all the time and overflowing with the milk of human kindness. Not that we ought to complain too much though, it was pretty good of him to do what he did. Needless to say, we were more than elated and amazed at this new development, and we sort of felt like how old Red Rakham might have felt had he stumbled upon his treasure in the cellar of Marlinspike Hall instead of getting stabbed and blown up in his boat!

Shit happens, like Forrest fleetingly said. But shit sometimes un-happens too. That blows away the rain clouds and replaces the scene with the lark on the wing and the bird on the song and God in his Heaven and all that. All’s well that ends well!

Societal Hypocrisy

2009-11-07T18:22:00.001+05:30

Have you ever come across a bit of news that, when you first read it in a newspaper or an on-line news website, or in a link to it forwarded to you by a friend or acquaintance in a usual careless forwarding of an email which our generation so often does without a second thought, makes your eyelids fly open in disgust, aversive wonder and disbelief at the unbelievable sickness of itself? The kind of news that makes you wonder to yourself or aloud to your friends in turn, what the world and its madmen are coming to? Like, for example, the news about a father imprisoning his children for decades in his cellar to satisfy whatever his carnal needs are, delusional as they may be, or a report on the rape of a two year old girl and so forth; there's no dearth of such news these days. It is also a possibility that there's nothing new about these things; that they've been happening for decades and every generation comes across these bits of news and wonders what their times are coming to, and what times the generations to come will go through when it's their time to live.

Social networking has enhanced the spreading of news by leaps and bounds; and by this means I came across this horrible piece of news about how a man, apparently in a drunken stupor raped a stray female dog. (I use the phrase because the term used for female dogs has more than one denotation these days). Disbelief and disgust at the sickness of the act hits the reader first (in some cases maybe even amusement, but that's not on my mind). Rape in itself is terrible enough and committed in abandon despite what the right of mind would want to think about an improvement in social life, without it being committed on animals. I don't suppose I could ever describe the disgust and indignation I felt when reading it.

The news also mentioned that the dog was horribly traumatized after the incident, and was in a kind of unstoppable frenzy, with nothing anybody could that could calm her down. Such was the trauma of it all that she had stopped eating altogether. Street dogs in Indian mohallas, although stray normally have pseudo homes; they feed on leftovers from houses; they sleep on porches; and in most cases they do attain a slight attachment of sorts with the people in these mohallas. Naturally, the dog in this case had several to sympathize with her, and one of the families had volunteered to care for the dog post her trauma, and to try and get her to eat again. (A thought, aside from the context of the episode, which arose in my mind, was the completely contrasting meaning it gave to the commonly used phrase ‘treated like a dog’.)

While I do appreciate the kindness and sympathy of the family that did so, I cannot help but wonder at the hypocrisy of society, if I can call it that, which made itself evident in this very act. When a woman, a fellow human being, is subjected to such a crime, she immediately gets ostracized without a second thought; is boycotted by all other 'respectable' citizens; gets looked down upon in the same light as someone in the flesh trade or as someone to be avoided, if possible banished from social life altogether as though it was her fault for getting raped in the first place; her chances of getting married into a good family by the traditional arranged marriage system are as of that moment shattered for ever; and this is typical of majority of Indian society.

I know there are laws in place to deal with the criminals who commit these crimes, but I can’t say with conviction as to whether they are enforced to the full extent when it comes to bringing them to book.

I cannot help but wonder at the apathy when it comes to the woman's plight; that few would bother to care about the physical and mental trauma she inevitably has to go through; that she would become the object of ridicule and mental abuse when she needs, on the contrary, support and solidarity from the society in bringing the criminal or criminals, as the case may be, to justice; that she would find it next to impossible to find acceptance in society because a heinous crime was committed against her, as opposed to the sympathy which ought to be shown, like the kind being shown to the dog in the incident mentioned. I wonder what values and ideals of right and wrong we are imbibing in ourselves; what we in turn will imbibe in our future generations.

And while talking about the larger realm of right and wrong when it comes to the imbibing of the values, this is probably the tip of the iceberg.

An amazing story

2009-07-09T22:40:00.000+05:30

This is a forward I got in the mail, just got to share it with someone!

-----
This is an Incredible story!
In 1986, Peter Davies was on holiday in Kenya after graduating from Northwestern University. On a hike through the bush, he came across a young bull elephant standing with one leg raised in the air. The elephant seemed distressed, so Peter approached it very carefully. He got down on one knee, inspected the elephants foot, and found a large piece of wood deeply embedded in it. As carefully and as gently as he could, Peter worked the wood out with his knife, after which the elephant gingerly put down its foot. The elephant turned to face the man, and with a rather curious look on its face, stared at him for several tense moments. Peter stood frozen, thinking of nothing else but being trampled. Eventually the elephant trumpeted loudly, turned, and walked away.

Peter never forgot that elephant or the events of that day. Twenty years later, Peter was walking through the Chicago Zoo with his teenaged son. As they approached the elephant enclosure, one of the creatures turned and walked over to near where Peter and his son Cameron were standing. The large bull elephant stared at Peter, lifted its front foot off the ground, then put it down. The elephant did that several times then trumpeted loudly, all the while staring at the man. Remembering the encounter in 1986, Peter could not help wondering if this was the same elephant.Peter summoned up his courage, climbed over the railing, and made his way into the enclosure. He walked right up to the elephant and stared back in wonder. The elephant trumpeted again, wrapped its trunk around one of Peter legs and slammed him against the railing, killing him instantly.

Probably wasn't the same elephant.

This is for everyone who sends those heart-warming bullshit stories.

Goodbye, Moonwalker..

2009-06-28T00:49:00.000+05:30

The moonwalks, the vocal hiccups, the mid-lyric hoots, the full bodied twist and 'POW' punches... Gone too soon...

My first real introduction to English music was Michael Jackson's 'Dangerous'; it was released in the mid nineties when both me and the brother were in school. Bro had borrowed an audio cassette of the album and had gone completely bonkers over it. The music was infectious, and I joined in the madness; slip in the cassette, close all the doors and windows of the bedroom, play the song at full volume! I remember 'Jam' being one of my favourite tracks. It was just a matter of time before I came to like more and more of his songs, and not long before I got completely taken by the man's dance moves.

Asianet's Rosebowl channel used to screen videos of MJ very often, and throughout my school life more and more people of my age began to try aping his dance style. Michael Jackson by now has probably become a household name everywhere in the world, despite all the reputation shattering controversies. I reckon almost everyone in the world across the continents at least knows the name of the man. From students to professionals to corporates to shopkeepers to autorikshaw drivers and so on. He had inspired a whole generation of performers, and his legacy will live on I guess.

It has been years now since I last heard his music, and was hoping that the 50 sold out concerts he was to perform at would begin a fresh lap for the king of pop. There was always a little thought at the back of my mind, a hope which believed he wasn't done yet, that he would return to enthrall the world once again. It was just utter shock I felt when I read the news of his death on the Internet. It seemed like a lie, a stupid dream at first, it almost seemed like a silly rumour. But then it sank in slowly, and every song that I've heard of his began to play and replay in my head. And now I find myself listening and re-listening to all those songs I had come to love and enjoy over a decade ago; just like I did when I first started listening to Michael Jackson.

I'm sure such is the case with millions of other fans across the continents. Perhaps that in itself is a tribute to his genius; all his music probably being played all over the world right now an indication of how much his music and performances were loved.

Thank you for the joy and the music MJ. May you find peace.

Skid knot

2009-06-18T22:45:00.000+05:30

The monsoon is here, and it has announced its 'pre-arrival' with a crash, if I may put it that way. You can never be too careful in these initial rainy times if you're on a two wheeler, and in the midst of the rainy times too for that matter. Though once you get used to it raining all around you, skids and wet concrete are much easier to negotiate.

I got off at the Mikon office on Dhole Patil road to pick up my faithful wheels this evening. Pretty pleasant evening it was too, lovely breeze blowing across the lands and I prepared for an enjoyable ride back through some mild traffic. And then it began to pour. Knowing that the first rainfall can be pretty dangerous for motorists, bikers in particular, I kept the speed pretty less, avoided any daring overtaking rushes, in fact avoided any overtaking I could help and all looked good for a wet but safe arrival back home. But that was until I got off the University fly-over and on to the Aundh main road.

The road here is concrete, and things get wildly slippery when it starts to rain. Anyway, a speed of 35 - 40 km per hour didn't matter at all, when this tempo traveler around ten meters ahead of me slowed down rapidly. I braked cautiously, but not cautiously enough I guess because the back wheel promptly locked up and slid away to the left at a shocking angle. Needless to say, I went down like a pin into the mixture of earth and concrete. Can't say I was a hundred percent aware of myself in that fraction of a second it took me to fall, but thankfully I had enough sense to let the bike go crashing across while I slid on to the road. I was extremely lucky (thank God) there weren't any vehicles close behind me, and that there were a bunch of helpful on lookers who darted across in a trice and helped me and the bike to the shoulder out of the highway. I'm also immensely thankful I had my helmet with me! (I came to know later that around 8 or 9 bikers had fallen on that very spot over the last five minutes)

Besides kicking myself for not being careful enough, I can take a few things away from the incident.

Avoid using a two wheeler when it has just started to rain after a dry spell. If you must, then
(a) wear a helmet, even if you need to bike to the next block
(b) stay in as low a gear as you can help. Use engine braking as much as possible, because your regular brakes are very likely to skid on the fresh mess of mud and concrete/tar
(c) Avoid concrete roads as much as possible (especially if you're driving in India). These roads are more durable than tarred roads alright, but they offer a pretty poor road grip especially when wet.
(d) Drive slowly. Let it take ages to go from point A to B even if they're a couple of miles apart. Like someone somewhere said, it's better to be late, than be 'the late'.

Despite taking all precautions, shit happens.
(a)If you find yourself skidding helplessly and falling, let the bike go. Your bike can be fixed in time no matter how banged up it gets, but not necessarily you. Let the bike slide/crash/go and do your best to fall in a rolling movement to minimize impact.
(b) If you don't feel up to it after the fall, do not drive again right then. Get yourself taken care of first, you can always pick up your bike later.
(c) If you decide you're fine and to continue driving, ensure first that everything on the bike is working perfectly. Test your brakes, front and rear, take a few test turns, make sure your handle bar alignment is fine.
(d) This is a handy precaution. Keep 'ICE' contacts in your mobile phone. In case you lose consciousness after an accident (or for some other reason), a passerby would use your mobile phone to contact someone you know. ICE stands for In Case of Emergency. Have more than one ICE contact, and ensure it's a family member or a friend you can trust.

If you witness an accident where you are a passer by, try and stop the traffic coming on. Common sense would suggest that oncoming vehicles would stop immediately when a mishap occurs in front of them, but common sense doesn't prevail for some. If the victim is not badly hurt, ensure that he or she has been moved to safety to the shoulder. Otherwise, try to get professional help to move the victim.
If the victim is unconscious, an ambulance or hospital and police immediately. Then use the victim's mobile phone to search for ICE contacts. If he does not have ICE contacts, look for numbers stored under 'Home', 'Dad', 'Papa','Pops', 'Mom', 'Ma' and so on. If you can't find any such contact, call the last dialled number and inform them of what has occurred. It might just save a life.

Everything said and done, prevention is better than cure. Be safe, drive responsibly. If you live in a place where helmets haven't been made compulsory, do not take the liberty of not wearing one. It may look or feel 'cool' to feel the wind in your hair and all that, but it's not worth it.

If you live in a place where helmets are compulsory, buy a good, standard one (this applies to the former too). Do not buy a cheap helmet to 'adhere' to the rule, and wear something which will offer as much protection as a flower pot will. Spend a little more on the helmet, it's to protect your head!

Then there is the other counter theory against the use of helmets that people who call themselves 'free spirits' often quote, that it causes whiplash. Well, consider a crick in the neck, and consider a crack in your skull. Then choose.

Some Dave-il Matthews

2009-03-30T13:23:00.000+05:30

While I sit making life easier for the International Transfers team, I have dave matthews singing 'Some Devil' in my ears. Borrowed Yogi's headphones, plugged into my cd player and well, it's quite awesome!

Will be extremely disappointed if the battery on this thing runs out before the end of the day, because there isn't a shop in the vicinity for miles which store batteries!

Even Flow - I

2009-03-17T21:16:00.001+05:30

There really is very little point trying to drive on the roads of Pune while adhereing to traffic rules, signals, and right of ways. It's almost like the rule is exactly opposite of what it actually is/should be, of course, that is unless a traffic constable 'feels like' flagging you down for some palm scratching.

Those of us who make sure our vehicles are in proper condition are stopped regularly for checks, which is OK, but buses, ricks which make it impossible for anyone around them to breathe thanks to their colour defining exhaust fumes are apparently not expected to have their pollution levels under control.

Signals.. Try waiting at a signal for a red light to turn green, ten blokes in cars, bikes etc. are likely to honk their gonads off at you for not breaking the signal and 'saving time'.

You might see a really dignified looking gentleman driving a really expensive big luxurious car, and some part of you might just expect the blighter at the wheel to drive, well, at least responsibly. (You might even expect him to be educated, at least in the traffic laws) But be not surprised of the afore mentioned chappie veers dangerously across the highway from the left-most lane in order to take a right turn somewhere, thereby causing ten others to swerve for their lives for screech to a halt, in turn creating problems for vehicles coming up behind them. If given a piece of the mind, you can also expect the driver to dismissively justify himself - "But I had my indicator on."

Most vehicles seem to have some kind of built in device that prevents it from overtaking on the right side. It seems like a practice unheard of. Not only do most drivers overtake on the left, they generally don't let anyone overtake them on the right side either. Even ambulances and fire brigades have it rough out there, because people take their own sweet time to get out of the way rather than let the emergency vehicles go first. There ought to be a law which can throw you in jail if you obstruct an ambulance. (I think such laws do exist in some other countries)

The general mindset is even worse, because no one gives a rat's ass about road safety. The pedestrian gets it the worst I think. Gone are the days when you could safely tell your children to walk on the footpath; it is now used by scooterists and bikers who wish to by-pass a traffic jam or a red signal queue to get ahead, or used as a safe parking zone by cars, or used by hawkers to sell whatever it is, or is generally blocked by something or the other. The pedestrian crossings have been reduced to nothing but some random paint marks. It's no wonder you hardly see anyone using them! I heard a colleague of mine say to his friend - "If you stop at a signal over the pedestrian crossing stop line, the bloody cops act as if you've crossed the line of control!" Pity that such people are loose on the streets, with a license to drive.

What a 'HUT'

2009-01-13T12:49:00.000+05:30

I was walking back from the bus stop last evening on the way back from work, strolling at an easy pace to appease the sore toe I'm suffering from, and chanced to see an interesting looking signboard for a dhaba cum restaurant called 'HUT-K', and decided to give it a dinner try.

The place, at least visually lived up to its name, there were a few bamboo huts built inside. A part of me felt a little hopeful about there being a nice place close to home where we could get some quick meal in the future until the food arrived.

We'd ordered a mixed veg curry and chicken kolhapuri, the former turned out to be a heap of tastelessly cooked vegetables tossed in an overdose of various masalas, and the latter was nothing but boiled chicken mixed with lots of oil, chilli powder and added red colour. Quite tasteless, except for the heat of the chilli.

I don't think I'm going back there again.

In loo of writings on the walls

2008-12-20T14:37:00.000+05:30

We've all heard of loo writings, haven't we? It can be pretty amusing at times, and sometimes plain offensive stuff written on the walls and doors of public toilets.

My dad once told me about a public toilet he went to when he was in Canada. While in the loo, he saw the following limerick on the wall: "Here I sit, broken hearted; Paid a dime, but only farted!"

Stuff like this in hostels can be amusing too. The loo on my floor in my college hostel had a few such poems written in chalk on the doors and walls, though I don't really remember what they said.

The cake, however goes to a loo in the MNREC hostel in Allahabad; that was the college my elder brother went to. The moment you closed the door of the toilet and sat down, you'd see - "You are about to witness a tennis match. Look Left." You'd look at the left wall and see - "Look Right."

You'd then look at the right wall and see the words: "Look Left. "

What are we thinking?

2008-12-14T17:14:00.000+05:30

What unimaginable crimes people commit. Really. Earlier, I had written a post in my blog wondering about mob fury. Mob violence doesn't always happen as a reaction to a crime. It sometimes happens of its own accord.

A news channel reported an incident of a youth being beaten up mercilessly because he fell in love and wanted to marry a girl of a different class or caste! There have been incidents where such young people have been murdered in the melee. In most of these incidents, the policemen turn out to be mere onlookers, possibly helpless when faced with a mob like that, or maybe out of sheer apathy. (Being a policeman is just another silly job, then?).

Another type of unspeakable crime, acid attacks. Why do we say that human beings are civilized? A bunch of young men or boys in the teens or early twenties throw acid on the faces of some girls, ruining them for life, sometimes even killing. What is the difference between such 'civilized' people from apparently good families and plain savages? Why do some people think that this is an acceptable thing to do, this throwing acid business. It makes the blood boil to even think that such youth have support in the society. Support from their families, from the politicians, from 'influential contacts', who would make sure that these criminals are not detained in jails.

I read about an incident in the papers where two such criminals, youths who had thrown acid on two young ladies (the condition of one of whom was said to be critical) were killed in a police encounter. Perhaps, just perhaps the police knew that these criminals had contacts in high places and would walk free again if they were alive. Maybe the shootout was justified.

The response of the people to this was mixed. Many lauded the fact that these criminals were removed from society; the father of the prime accused even refused to collect the body of his son because of the crimes he had committed.

On the other hand, another bunch of people are accusing the police of showing off their 'muscle power'. Well, I wonder if they did say at least something when these boys had thrown acid on the young victims! I wonder what their opinion was with respect to the fact that they had maimed two girls (perhaps many more in the past) for life. Why all this outrage, why all this public support for two mindless criminals? Well, too bad that they couldn't be tried and punished, or maybe put on death row by a court, but that's all the sympathy they should get. But that's just me.

Justice confused

2008-12-14T15:56:00.000+05:30

Justice seems to be a pretty confusing concept to me these days.

I keep hearing raves and rants about how our judicial system is flawed and how money and influence can get a criminal out of jail, and how cruelly manipulative the system is. Perhaps the flip side of this is the mob on the streets. Who is the mob? It is you, me, it is the people of our country, eventually. But what is the mob, is it plain hooliganism, rowdyism, vandalism or is it just swift and decisive justice?

The mob doesn't care what the crime is, an offender could be a pickpocket caught in the act, it could be someone misbehaving with women, it could be an errant driver involved in an accident, anything. The most common incidents of mob fury are road accident related ones. I was witness to two such incidents not too long ago. Avik had offered me a lift home from office in his car, and on the way we saw commotion on the street. Apparently a pedestrian had been knocked down by a lorry and had falled unconcious to the ground. It was pretty hard to guess whether it was the pedestrian's fault for arbitrarily strolling on to the main road or whether it was irresponsible driving from the lorry driver.

Avik seemed to be the only person in the area with any sense, he immediately asked the onlookers to get the injured man in his car and drove him to hospital. I got off the car to make room, and waited for him to come back to pick me up. While I was waiting, the crowd identified the driver who had hung around to see what had happened to the victim and started beating him up without mercy. I guess there were about 50 people beating up that one man. The anger of these men is not measured at all. Each has a varying intensity of beating; one of them may have fought with his family, one may have been fed up of dealing with the bureaucracy of state government officers, one may have a frustrating unsatisfying job, but all of them are angry for some reason or the other. And everything combined is taken out on the offender.

On another day, I was riding to office on my motorbike and noticed a gathering ahead on the way. A man driving a Tata Sumo had ventured on to the wrong side of the road and hit another biker side on. The biker had fallen and hurt himself a little bit, but thankfully not seriously. The sumo driver however, was extremely wary of stepping out of the car, knowing that if he did so, he would definitely be beaten up by an angry mob. In fact, a mob had gathered around the car threateningly, and the man inside had joined his hands and was pleading with the crowd to let him go.

Ideally, persons who cause accidents through negligient driving ought to be arrested and their licenses cancelled. But almost all such offenders run. And in most cases, the reason for running is not fear of the law, it is fear of the mob. I have read numerous reports of road accidents in the newspapers which mention that a truck or lorry had run over a pedestrian, the driver had managed to escape only to surrender later at a police station.

The example is just that of road accident culprits. However, not all criminals can be held in Indian police stations. One phone call from an influential person is all it takes for even a rape convict to walk free. So what is the right thing? It would probably take ages for a court to sentence a criminal for a crime; is it people's way of instant justice then, to thrash the offender at the scene of crime itself? If so, is it not a slap on the face of our country's judicial system, and does it not literally scream of the lack of faith that the people have in the law?

I'm sure it does, in some cases of mob fury I hear of on television, I see instances where maybe even the police are either fed up of the painfully slow procedures of the law and feel that the mob can give better justice, or are way too apathetic to make sure that the law is upheld.

I wonder what is right. Maybe it is another huge paradox we will never be able to solve.

A leader's ego

2008-12-02T21:55:00.000+05:30

Yet another disgusting crapshow by our politicians:

http://ibnlive.in.com/news/kerala-cm-insults-nsg-commandos-family--comment/79504-3.html

These are the words of one of our leaders.

The country is in turmoil. The people are furious at the apathy and reactions (or lack of ) of our politicians to the repeated strikes on our lives. It would have been pretty big of VS Achuthanandan had he accepted or even tried to understand the reaction of Major Unnikrishnan's father when he tried to visit.

Politicians visiting the families of the heroes seems like a farce, even every child in the country has a negative opinion of them; what else could they be trying to gain from these visits, but political mileage?

But these are the words of a leader, perhaps there is absolutely nothing that sets him apart from a small and cheap minded man; insulting the family of a martyr just to satisfy his bruised ego. Is this the best that we have?

Moo point

2008-12-01T00:30:00.000+05:30

LK Advani decided to bunk the all party meeting and go ahead with his election campaigning. Clearly power is more important than unity in troubled times like this. I sometimes wonder whether they are really interested in the job. Or whether they even comprehend the higher principle which they're supposed to serve.

Having said that, let me just write down here how the all party meeting which went on for 5 hours has been summarised, as said by Pranab Mukherjee. He stated that all the parties collectively condemn the attacks, and they they are deeply saddened by the loss of lives, and the loss of our heroes in the police, and the commando forces.

Well, that's an improvement. We didn't know that the other parties condemned the attacks too. We thought that they were of the opinion that the attacks were a good idea! Thanks for clearing that point, Mr Mukherjee. Amazing that it took you only 5 hours to decide that. Maybe you were merely voicing RR Patil's views during those 5 hours : "Chalta hai".

Truth and violence

2008-12-01T00:07:00.001+05:30

New, but somewhat expected turn of events then. Shivraj Patil finally decides the throw in the towel, and the rest of the party apparently realizes only now that "we can no longer sit back". I wonder what they're planning on doing to that effect.

The first strong message they could and should be sending out to the world is to not postpone the hanging of the terrorist Afzal Guru. Let's see, he masterminded the attack on India's very symbol of sovereignity, which is to say the parliament. He is undoubtedly the mastermind behind scores of other attacks as well. He planned the killing of hundreds and hundreds of people in the name of religion, but apparently doesn't care which religion his victims belong to (enhancing the fact that terrorists have no religion). All these charges against him are supported by overwhelming evidence as well. He was arrested in 2001, and was supposed to be hanged in 2003 I think, a judgement passed by the Supreme Court. But he still lives. All this while it ought to be India spearheading the war against terror.

It's about time that the strong statements started going out. Carry out the hanging, let it be known that India means business and that we're not just speech making benign old codgers.
Pakistan is repeatedly stating that they stand with India in the war against millitant groups. Lashkar e-Taiba, although banned on paper still thrives under a new name, their leaders come out and make anti-India threats at will, which are broadcast on TV. So if Pak is indeed with India, we ought to be asking them to arrest these millitant leaders and hand them over to India so they can be tried here. If India has to spearhead the war on terror, let us make this demand of Pakistan and set a deadline for this. Otherwise, they'd leave us with no choice but to go and arrest them ourselves, as illogical as that may sound.

Qureshi, the Pak foreign minister may say what he wants, he can grimmance and scowl and speak as forcefully as he likes, but the people of India are not likely to believe his words. How can we, after all our attempts at peace have resulted in the 1965 war, the Bangladesh war, the 1993 blasts, the Kargil war, the attack on India's parliament, the attacks in Mumbai and all over India and now, the full fledged carnage at the Taj and Oberoi hotels.

61 years ago we won our freedom from the British with the Mahatma's principles as our weapons. Sadly, now we are dealing with lies and violence.

Home Ministry? Are you joking?

2008-11-28T22:20:00.000+05:30

I just saw this link http://www.indianexpress.com/news/Patil-goof-up--TV-cameras--compromise--rescue/391573 a while back and realized for sure that Shivraj Patil is in the wrong place. He has no business handling home ministrty and we are only doing the terrorists a HUGE favour by letting him continue in office.

Apart from making the painfully repetitive un-inspiring spineless statements and robotic promises he has not done anything at all except appear to 'call high crisis meetings' and other such hogwash. The real battle is being fought out by the commandos, the ministers can't do a thing about it now, we all know where the terrorists are and what is being done to secure the city; so what exactly is an incapable waste of space doing in the Home Minister's chair? I hope he goes back to Delhi and stops being such a burden, all he has done in this crisis is to "rush to mumbai", and in the process use up extra police and army protection for himself when we need all those personnel to protect our own people!

In addition to this waste of time and space, he's also gone and announced the "secret" timings of the NSG's departure from Delhi to Mumbai to handle the situation, and bawled out everything to the media, and subsequently the world. It would be unpardonably childish to assume that the terrorists inside the hotel wouldn't have heard it too, they're a handful of incredibly trained murderers who have held off the Indian Army, the ATS, the National Security Guard troops AND the Marine Commandos, the best in the country for nearly 3 whole days. I'm sure with their satellite phones and other such they'd come to know exactly what India is doing to hit them!

What is the point of a "surprise attack" if the highest authority of internal security goes on air and blurts out critical information as if to try and redeem his incapability? If you have any shame left, Mr Home Minister please, oh please do the country a favour and quit the post. You can't handle this one bit. We the people have more faith in the army and the national guard than we can ever have in you or your "promises".

Mumbai attacked again, the walls shake.

2008-11-27T20:24:00.000+05:30

Just gave this article a read, and I guess it's extremely disjointed, i guess because i've written this over a long time and that I myself am pretty shaken with all this crap happening around us.
..........................................

I had just finished watching the fifth ODI between India and England last night, and was about to turn in when I casually switched the channel to NDTV, and then realised that India was under attack; YET again. And this has been the worst attack as far as I can remember.

This time, the whole incident seems to have taken the life out of everything; terror attacks happen every few months in our country, it seems like a periodic thing that unfortunately is expected to happen. Despite feeling angry, shaken and living in a state of uncertainty I was somehow always able to push it to some corner of my mind and get on with my work as usual up to now. This time however, it seems to have taken the life out of everything. Every few minutes I was invariably checking google news, ndtv and whatever news websites I could find, I just couldn't pull myself together to get down to work seriously..

A bunch of godless bastards just barge into Mumbai and start killing people left right and centre, attack the pride of Mumbai and India, the Taj hotel. India TV is openly accusing Pakistan of these attacks, some others are saying that this is being done by some bunch of morons who call themselves Deccan Mujahideen, and NDTV has reported that the terrorists were overheard talking in Punjabi to someone in Pakistan itself, the link seems clear.

I wonder whether India will finally do something about all this. As expected, the home minister Shivraj Patil has gone and said on air what he has learnt by heart by now. Condemn the attacks, tell the public that he will take all necessary steps to bring the cowards to justice. Why doesn't he just shut the hell up and resign! Clearly he isn't doing a damn thing to handle "Home ministry". What's heartening to see, is that at least the BJP and UPA seem to be working together in this crisis; but the CPM sticks to the blame game and says the home minister is responsible for this. Well, if you just blame other people and don't even as much as burp a word of support, I for sure will never ever vote for you.

Rushi, meanwhile is sitting next to me asking in his trademark one liner way - "How on earth can Deccan Mujahideen be from Karachi?! Obviously Pak is involved, the terrorists clearly have international funding to be able to withstand a siege like this for over 24 hours!"

I am also watching some footage on NDTV showing Barkha Dutt interviewing a lady and her daughter who I think have lost a member of their family and Dutt is actually asking her on live TV how she feels. I have a lot of respect for NDTV, but that was disgusting. Otherwise their coverage has been quite good. At the same time, I can't help feeling admiration for Sreenivasan Jain of NDTV who has been at the Taj Hotel site from the early hours of the morning, and is still reporting and holding the telecast together till now, and it's nearly midnight!

Earlier today while watching the live coverage, I could not help noticing that the TV channels were showing commandos taking positions around the Taj Hotel, and it struck me instantly that showing such footage on live television was utter stupidity. What if one of the terrorists flicked on a news channel to see the reactions to the attack and saw everything been shown regarding positions of police personnel? A couple of commandos positioned on top of the Gateway of India could be seen on TV! I did send an email to NDTV voicing this concern, and I'm sure several others would have sent similar feedback as well, and they did stop showing live footage of the 'war zone', that was a relief!

Top ATS officers killed early in the battle, the countries best commando units all working together to tackle the situation, the Taj Hotel, a symbol in itself of the great city of Mumbai for over a hundred years burning, the city bleeding all over; all this is exceedingly disheartening. I sincerely hope this doesn't snowball into rioting in Mumbai and elsewhere, I sincerely hope and pray that extreme thinking maniacs don't suddenly decide that this has been done by Muslims and they should be punished and all that. The only way out of this is if we close our mind to such dividing hateful thoughts, and smoke out those bastards who are responsible, strangle the bloody necks of the mindless devils who fund and train these terrorists, and forget that peace and appeals for calm is NOT going to make things better. I like what Shobha De said to NDTV; she practically yelled out agaisnt the incapable politicians, saying 'stay out of this city, the army is doing what it should. We don't want to see your Z level security when hundreds are dying all around you, we could use that bloody security here!'

My heart also goes out to all the Taj hotel staff who are being praised for taking care and reassuring their guests throughout the ordeal. I wonder how many more Indians must die, how many more families must be shattered before we finally change our policies make sure no one ever dares to attack us again. How long before we have a system where a captured terrorist is sent to the gallows instead of being 'pardoned' when it is clear that they've killed and murdered in the name of religion! We are obviously in a state of war, goddamnit. No one attacks a countries parliament or repeatedly blasts bombs all over a country for an effing pastime! This is a war that is not happening at the borders but within our nation, on our mother land, who says you can retaliate only at the border? When will we finally stand firm and repel these bastards once and for ever instead of meekly making a robotic benign statement for the record and choosing to forget about it, as if to imagine that it never happened?

Turning the other cheek?

2008-09-14T11:02:00.000+05:30

It has been fifteen years since the 1993 serial blasts in Mumbai, hundreds of people have lost their lives in countless terror attacks since then, and when it comes to reacting to such incidents I think we can guess exactly what the reaction from our leaders is.

Every time something like this happens, the news channels announce that the prime minister has "condemned the blasts", sometimes in the "strongest words possible". And then he goes on to "appeal for peace and calm". Yes, that ought to make the terrorists feel guilty and ashamed of themselves and will probably make them walk to the nearest police station and turn themselves in. I guess that is the PM's general expectation from these terrorists who seem to be able to strike whenever and wherever they wish! And as if to strengthen the people's faith in the government, the home minister adds that these acts are committed by those who wish to "disturb the communal peace and harmony in the country" and that these people are cowards 'jo chup ke vaar karte hain'.

But hello, is that enough? From where I see it, these "cowards" are winning hands down. As I write this, I'm watching a news programme on NDTV, and they're showing the home minister Shivraj Patil's reactions to the countless blasts that have shaken the country for the last few months. Amid a host of cameramen, microphones, cameras and mobile phones, he screams out to the country, "We will find those responsible, we must take all possible measures to ensure that the people responsible for this are punished as per the law and that such incidents do not happen in the future!" And needless to say, he would invariably have done nothing but "condemn the blasts".

They're also pointing out that after the last terror attack in Delhi, the govt had installed CCTV cameras in many sensitive and crowded areas of the city. In fact, some of the areas where the bombs went of yesterday were covered by these cameras, and they could provide crucial evidence for an investigaton into these blasts. But as it turns out, the cameras don't work! They are just mounted on some pole or the other and are just there, benignly pretending to watch over everyone. After all these years of apparently fighting terrorism, we lack in even basic precautions like this!

I also came across a statement made by our PM in today's paper, where he mentions that prevention of terrorism is now the government's first priority. I mean, really, our people have been dying in bomb blasts throughout the country for so many years, even places that have so far been known to be peaceful like Bangalore for instance have been attacked, and that was over two months ago, and they've put terrorism on top priority only now? And for how long will it remain a top priority, I wonder. Perhaps until the next blast takes place and claims another fifty lives. (Then of course, the PM will condemn those blasts, appeal for peace, and the home minister will say that these people are cowards and must be brought to justice).

Well, occasionally we do hear about the two or three terrorists who have been gunned down over a hostage crisis, where a few civilians also lose their lives. But the real threat still roams around among us, they continue to run free, and the rest of the citizens continue to be sitting ducks. A bomb might just explode in the multiplex you have gone to watch a movie. Or a mall, or under a seat in a bus or local train, or as in the latest case, in a dustbin in a market. True, who is going ot go about checking dustbins every day to check for bombs? But something needs to be done. We are obviously at war with these terrorists, and if we can't smoke them out we a least need to make sure that we take precautions all the time. It could help to have a bomb squad constanly on the alert, making a quick scan of sensitive places like markets, malls and so on every two to three hours. It may not sound feasible but the other option is to start scanning the markets for bombs after five of them have already gone off and killed 20 people! (which is what happened yesterday too)

But it would help to see some change in security measures. When i walk into gold adlabs in pune, this security wala holds a metal detector to my shirt pocket and then tells me to go ahead. Really, he might as well go home and do his thing, what is the point in hanging about and doing something SO important with such utter callousness? There needs to be a blast somewhere in the country which kills a lot of people to make us aware that we need security; there will be stringent security measures in place for the next five days, and then "the city will limp back to normalcy". Basically, after these five days, we are sitting ducks again!

For God sake, the National Parliament was attacked by terrorists, and all that our leaders did was "condemn" the attacks! Which is as good as turning the other cheek. As good as saying "You attacked my parliament. Here, attack the India gate too. "

Throwing the mind back, and a little forth..

2008-09-04T21:56:00.000+05:30

Here we are again, what.. after yet another long gap of pure laziness, or lack of time to sit and tap in a few words into this little blog of mine, I finally drag my ass down in front of laz's vaio to sit and tap a few words into this little blog of mine :)

Not that I have anything to write about though, life has been quite hectic at work.. what with people getting others to do something for them for 6 gruelling months, and at the end of those 6 months, it turns out they have very little clue of what they want in the first place! :P The day and sometimes a lot of the night usually passes off listening to all sorts of songs on the player in my phone and setting different by-lines in my gmail chat thing :D those who know me decently well enough know that those bylines are just lines from some song I'm listening to at that moment, and that i like at the moment! Well, now you know too, since you just read this! :)

During the monsoon and in fact just before it as well, Naren and I (and laz on one occasion) decided to just leg it from the city and speed off on our respective bikes to some incredibly scenic places in and around Pune.. An apart from being incredibly scenic, the rides were simply amazing; mostly consisting of miles and miles of flawless road, cool breeze flapping at our jackets at seventy to ninety kms per hour, smooth and lovely curves on the ghats that lie en route, and also coming to realize how much my bike loves corners! :) Did a trip to Mulshi, Lavasa and Malshej ghats recently.. I've also put up the pics in my orkut album, so do click your way to my album there!

Still a few places I really want to bike off to, for starters I'd like to find out how much my bike loves the sea side and maybe some arabian sea water too! Naren and friend of ours did such a trip while i was away in coorg for a long weekend, where i was either doing absolutely nothing, or was playing the banjo with the bro and ze boud and joni, of course.. amid some good stuff and some simply delicious plates of coorg special pork!

Coming back to places to roar off too, there's matheran too which my insides are moaning out to go to.. Laz and naren have already been there in the middle of the monsoon.. i don't quite remember what i was doing that weekend, though :( I couldn't have been having that much fun i guess, since i don't remember!! ) In any case, I've heard Matheran is at its best in the winter, and that isn't too far awa, yaay!! So hello greenery/mules/ponies and fresh air; here I come!! :D

So much for now, the eyelids are begining to stick to each other as if they've seen the fevicol ad, and are making a strong statement to me about hitting the sack for a few hours of (hopefully) dreamless bliss! Am slowly building myself up to come up with a ranting post about traffic in pune, with stuff hinting at what i think of most of these blighters on the streets these days! hehe..

Watch this space (if you have the patience!! )

MVX 9027

2008-05-13T19:09:00.000+05:30

About a couple of years ago, there was this phase of around four to five months when I had to suffer this blasted back problem... brought about my myself, thanks to an hour and a half of head banging :P

Once I realized that this niggle wasn't going to go away by itself I decided to get help, and consulted this doc, whose clinic was some 25 kms away! Quite crazy, but then I was new in town, and lived way out of the city, etc etc...
My usual mode of transport to bajirao road (doc's clinic) consisted of one six seater from nigdi naaka to nigdi flyover, then a grinding wait for PCMT bus to the city corporation, and then an auto to the clinic doorstep.. used to take a bally hour and half on most days to get there... Well, got to learn a few routes in the heart of the city (was difficult to do that much, back then since I lived that far away from the city heh...)

On one such day, the going got tough while going to the clinic. This is to say an endless wait for a bus! So I decided to get myself to Chinchwad, which is a major square on the way to the city, and hope for better luck from there. Well, I got myself to C, and presently this really old private autorikshaw came coughing along, with a middle aged bloke in the passenger seat, holding together a large heap of vessels(!), and an elderly chap driving the coughing tin can contraption, and hollering
'Caarporation Caarporation!!'. The rick then coughed away again, with me on the other side of the vessel heap, doing a little holding together too!

A nice old man the driver was, kept chatting about this and that, almost all of which I don't remember now though.. By the time we reached Khadki(roughly halfway to 'Caarporation') the old rick began to splutter like someone choking on a glass of cola, and the cola going up the nose. The middle aged blighter stepped out and peered into the rear engine, and hollered something about something loose in the works. I figured this was going to be a while, and so stepped out to peer in as well. That's when the old man stepped out to have a look too, and that's when I noticed the crutches.

The man driving the auto ('kaka', he was called) didn't have a leg! I couldn't help feeling taken aback, I didn't realize this until then. Well, not that the old man seemed to need them much; he hopped out on his one leg, and hopped back to the rear, and promptly announced that the cable connecting the accelerator to the throttle had snapped! Holy hell, went the cerebrum. How the devil would these people get back now, or at least get to some mechanic who could fix it? And how would I get myself to yonder bajirao road in time for my appointment?! But 'kaka' seemed to realize that my mind was ticking over, and told me to have no fear! He calmly reached into the hot engine box and pulled out the entire length of the throttle cable, and carried the free end round the side and into the cockpit. And my mind was ticking over even more, and then I saw light. He handed the free end to the man with the vessels.

"Main jab bolun 'KHAINCH', to khainchne ka, aur main jab bolun kamm karne ko to kamm kar!". The man with the vessels uttered a few startled exclamations, but seemed to be reassured by the calm confidence exuded by 'kaka'.

"KHAINCH!!!"

The vessel man pulled the thin cable for all he was worth, kaka clacked the rick into gear, released the clutch and lo! the rick began to cough forwards, as good as it had been! :D

"KAMM KAR!!"

Vessel man released the cable a bit, and kaka clacked the rick into second gear, and so on to top gear! And I, back in my place was filled with a sort of wonder. Here was this chap, obviously handicapped, faced with a situation and hopped out of it, beaming all over the face! While I sat admiring these two and wondering about the sudden turn of events, we reached shivajinagar and continued moving forward. The poor blighter, the vessel man, the one with the thin sharp cable kept pulling with enthusiasm.

"KHAINCHH!!"

'Vroooommmmm..splutter...vroooommmmm!!'

"KAMM KARR!!"

splutter splutter.. vroommm.. VROOOMMMMMM!!!!

"ABBE KAMM KAR KAMM KAR!!!!"

"Oye khainchte khaichte haat ki m* **** gayi!!"

Both kaka and throttle man burst into laughter, and the laughter was infectious.. I began to guffaw away too.. By and by the corporation bridge loomed up in the distance, and it was time for me to get off. Kaka then asked me where I had to go, and gave me explicit directions and where to take another rick from etc. "Idhar se riksha nahin lene ka, idhar sab haraaami hain.. Pul par karke riksha lena!".. and then they went on their way, and I walked the way pointed out by kaka, and I suddenly began feeling really great. Well, I had thought the going was tough while waiting for a bus. But, I had a first hand experience of how the really tough get going. I suddenly forgot that I was tired, a spring appeared out of nowhere in my step, as I reached the clinic in good time.

Some small experiences do bring a whiff of fresh air into the mind; they make you feel wonderful, even if it's for a little bit. Experiences like this tend to come and bite you in the ass :) and it's wonderful when they do... A tiny lesson perhaps, to not let turns of events bog you down; there's a way out, if you'll just look.

arthurford

2007-09-07T16:47:00.000+05:30

What a lovely friday, not only does the weekend beckon with smiling face and outstretched arm, ford and dent have finally realized their life's aim!!!

A new blog which, dear reader is linked to the beside of this blog...is what i refer to. A collections of ramblings of Mj and Self, which is one of the new things happening these days...

Some repeats, and hopefully the writing skills shall be excercised till our trained senses tell us that we have excercised enough!

Here goes - http://www.deathlyhellos.blogspot.com

And that, is how the chocolate melts!

*Clink!*

Bridging the generation gap... ho ho!

2007-09-04T19:12:00.000+05:30

The G gap. Its the chasm, amorphously situated in time and space that separates those who have grown and those who will one day fill their shoes (or at least their socks, as the former may hope). I have heard, and spoken of this chasm whenever I have run out of words during some sort of debate between me and the pater and mater, or a debate which concerned paters and maters from the world over. On most occasions these minor 'chirkut' debates go in the directions of how the generation gap has expanded and expanded, with no effort being made from either side to bridge it in any way. But heck, I'm now looking back at whatever little past I have to look back on, and I realize that my dad is one of the sweetest and most sporting men of his kind alive on the planet today... :) Of course, he isn't one of those dads who has 'never ever let the generation gap bother his relationship with his children' or the type of dad Fardeen Khan's is. (Who went on air and told everyone that he even talks sex with him.. (really, why would anyone want to know that?))

Till a few years back, one of my major disappointments in life was that dad hardly ever spoke to me about anything, apart from how my studies were going. "Koto duur egolo oi onko ta?" or "porikkha kemon holo?" and other such similar hair raising questions used to be the order of the day. Mom and I, on the other hand would talk about perhaps sixty percent of all things under the sun. Among this sixty percent, was the issue I refer to above. And apparently, the news reached the good ears of Dasgupta Senior. That, precisely forms the basic reason why I ever got the chance to sit and write this piece of blog.

Now, put yourself in the shoes of a good man like my dad. Being full of love and concern for the way you bring up your two brats, you don't want to be too forthcoming... but lay in front of him the evidence of these same brats not being too happy about choice of conversation topics, and the hour will come!!

Which is to say, cometh the hour, cometh the man!

The particular day I refer to is a day on which both ma and I had the day off from school and college respectively, and the dad was across the table finishing his breakfast, and behind his glasses was the slight twinkle which said that there was something twinkling in his mind and was about to shine forth in all brightness...

"Let me tell you about an experience I had when I was in Canada in the seventies", he started. I started too, but that was because I was enganed in chewing a pensive idli, and generally concentrating on nothing at all.

"Eh? Oh, sure.."

"We had a group of Indian friends while I was in Canada. I was supposed to visit a friend's family for christmas and we had hired a cab to go the distance. There naturally was a fair bit of luggage, and we were wondering how to manage the whole lot in the car. Thats when one of my friends said 'Lets carry a few bags with us inside the car, the rest can go in the dicky!'. This seemed to be a fair enough idea to us.

"But not to our driver. The blessed man clutched his sides and started laughing like a madman! He kept pointing at the guy who offered the suggestion and kept laughing his head off. Can you guess why?"

"Why?" (By this time the mater was in audience too, listening with rapt attention; apparently she hadn't heard this before either)

"In US slang, dicky is the word they use for penis".

It is a known fact that people respond differently to same stimuli, and though the audience was restricted to the wife and son, there was some variety in response.

"Cheee!", went the mater and sailed off into the kitchen.

I started again. My eyes probably started from their spheres too, but it didn't matter, thanks to my sturdy spectacles.

I looked carefully at the man sitting in front of me. This couldn't be dad. No, he couldn't bring himself to say something like that in the house, at least not in front of me.

"Heh?", I grinned inqiusitively.

There followed what Shakespeare would have called a *pregnant silence*. What this pregnancy would cause, I didn't know. I could sense a little red about to enter the face from all sides... :) Finally the labour was over. We both burst out into the loudest guffaws I have ever heard in the house! More so because my dad realized by now that I always know what the slang for the word in question was!

"You knew?" he asked, wiping a tear from below his specs.

"Of course I knew!" I announced.

"But still".

"You bet!!"

And there we went guffawing again...

Then in his face I saw, that this wasn't just a random conversation. You could say taht I realized that my old mand didn't have tomato juice in his veins! He probably knew that I already knew what 'dicky' meant, but all the same the laugh we shared sure broke a few slabs of ice :)

This wasn't the only time the generation bridge appeared in the haze. Here, I recount another incident. About a three years ago we had an aunt visiting us for a couple of weeks. The normal drill with visitors is to take them around to the places Kerala is most famous for. The beaches, the backwaters the greenery and other such and of course, the much famed cape(though not quite in Kerala heh).

This time, an inspiration dawned on dad, and he announced 'Ernakulam!'.

"What? Why?"

"Its a beautiful place. We're going there tomororw. I'm going to arrange a taxi."

"But how come we've never gone there before?"

"But we're going now!", he answered, with the air of one who has set all doubts to rest.

That was my dad. A goner for sudden inspirations :) Morning came, and the taxi arrived on the dot. It was a spotless white ambassador. The kind Kerala is famous for! The driver looked a little sour though, perhaps not unlike a pissed off slab of gorgonzola. It didn't matter, though. We all stuffed ourselves in the car. Mom, Aunt and Gran in the spacious back seat, dad and I on the driver's sofa up front.

We're bongs, by the way. And one thing bongs are famous for, besides the craving for fish and baying for Sourav Ganguly, is loud laughter. That too at shield shattering levels! We proudly observed that characteristic, the gorgonzola was probably getting pissed off even more. My guess is he never ever saw or heard women laughing their hearts out at something which sounded greek to him anyway!

Ernakulam is about 5 hours north of Tvm, and about three hours into the journey, my dad answered a call on his cellphone, and replaced it in his shirt pocket.
I am a jet age kid. At least jet age enough to have read all sorts of emails that tell you what cellphone radiation can do to the human body, and hence I said instantly.

"Dad!"

"Hmm?"

"You should't put your phone in your shirt pocket"

"Why not?"

"It affects the heart and all"

"Oh I see", said he, without argument and proceeded to take it out of shirt and place it in his trouser pocket.

The moment of reckoning came.

"Err... Dad! "

"Hmmm?"

"You shouldn't keep it there either."

"Eh?"

"You shouldn't. "

"Why so?"

"It reduces... errr ah... "(How the dickens could I explain, with all the ladies sitting right behind?! Complete with Gran and Aunt and all!!! )

I waited tactfully for the next peal of laughter to ring out from the back, carpe'd the opportune, and muttered in his ear, "They say it recudes sperm count if you keep your phone in your trousers!"

Then erupted the loudest spate of laughter I have ever heard dad emit. "Ho ho ho!!", he went; and that was loud enough to make the ladies at the back sit up and take notice.

"Why would I need any more of them?! I don't need any more of them!!", he laughed helplessly. "Two.. ho! ho! ... two are more than what I can handle!!!". I saw the funny side now, and joined in with him!

"What? What happened? Why are you two laughing?" said the back seat.

"Nothing. Nothing at all", dad grinned at them. (He's rather cool, heh)
To this day, my mom wonders why we broke into such helpless laughter, and why we kept chuckling the rest of the two hours of car ride to Ernakulam! *guffaw*..

Ah well, it was nothing, really!! :D

When in Rome...

2007-09-03T16:37:00.000+05:30

Punning is a good disease to have. What ho, its an addiction you wouldn't put someone in rehab for!! Its the sort of thing that can keep you laughing the whole day, if you aren't careful!
Mj and I were at it again, the whole of saturday went in outshining the other at every opportinuty that placed itself in the way :) Here's an excerpt of an epic roman saga that was brought to sms!

The context would be more complete in formation of this particular blog, if we included some of our earlier freak inspirations... such as 'When in Rome, do the Romans', or 'To do a Roman, you'll need to do a little roman around before you get one!' and things like that... The following occured after they were doing Rome on the Travel and Living channel :) you know, the colloseum and all the throwing to the lions and all that...

Mj - Just for this, I want to make a bee-lion to the colloseum some day!

Kz - You know, the boyfriends in the ancient Roman empire probably said to their
respective grilfriends:
"I'd walk the lion for you"

Mj - Hmm, if the girlfriends were imperious enough, they'd probably make the young roman
scallwags toe the lion, not withstand the veni-vici'ing!

Kz - *wipes off a tear of laughter* Whoopie! and the Roman singer would go:

"I drew a lion,
I drew a lion for you,
oh what a thing to do;
and it was all yellow! "

Mj - And she said -
"For yellow lion drawings I do not care
Show me some real gladiator fare! "

Kz - To which the singer cried -
"What is this life
So full of this fare,
You have no time
To stand and pair? "

Mj - To which she shot back -

"Julius, to win with me a date,
Prove to me you're truly great"

and that my friend is the tale of how Julius decided to become the emperor :)

Kz - Julius' repartee -

"Fight my Roman ass off to win a date!
Roam through countries, is that my fate?
Not on your life! ", say he to her,
Living up to his name, he sieze her!
"Prove yourself Julius! ", when impore she,
Utter he, 'Veni, Vidi, Vici!! "

We hit the ceiling then, i guess... neither was able to continue the roman
exchange... Well, more communciation, more posts! more come up shortly hopefully... :) Happy reading!

the deathly hellos...

2007-08-25T15:28:00.000+05:30

Reader!! I return! and how...

Not just with any bindaas one liners this time, but with real life online communicative experiences.. these are the experiences which make u realize that no one is really alone in this wide world... I use my favourite pgw-ism here, you try and get a birds' eye view of the proceeding, even though, by no stretch of imagnation are you, a bird. But let me not get carried away with the joy of returning to the blogboard...

A few years back, just new to orkut, you could find me sitting quite jobless at home, during the days of my educated unemployment, waiting for a call from the consulting company which had selected me on campus. Those were the days when the sole purpose in a man's life was to start adding as many 'friends' as he could, the higher the small number in brackets
below your name, the more fruitful your day was... Well, by some sleight of mouse or twist of key, I came across this bird, who I shall name Mj.

It has been a good three years now since those times, sole purposes in life have changed in priority, however, a revival of old contact have given occasion for self to roll over in peals of laughter, somewhat like christmas occurring across the world, every second merrily ringing in Xmas in a new time zone... basically the peals go on and on; and thus did I laugh... for a whole bally day, until it was time to pack up and go home...

Mj is an ace at playing on words, and I cannot explain how happy I was to find a character as passionate about punning as I am, or as I have yearned to be in recent times...Let me recount the experiences...

self: halloa! And the hi's begin to flow again!

Mj: oye!!! There you are!! I was actually going to ping you, esp considering we're in Potter season :-D. How've you been? Watched The Order of the Phoenix? :-)

self: arre not yet... i was supposed to catch it on saturday, but something happened :) i want to see this so badlee! what with it being the best potter movie so far and all that... :)

Mj: "badlee" - is that like the Nasal Man's "Moviee" ??? :-D. I'm waiting impatiently for the book - I pre-booked it, so it's supposed to be delivered today.. it still hasn't turned up!

-------------------note the being gentle on that one there :)

Mj : Hey I finished reading Deathly Hallows last night.. but I guess Goblet still remains my favourite!

self: whola the goblet! my favourite remains the arizona of prizkaban.. i mean... the azkaban thingie.. the third book... that was the most interesting one... :)
In the course of book 7 i somehow got the feeling that rowling was getting a little old and rambling on and on, making incoherent sentences... or i guess i was falling asleep over tha book... heh..
finished it last night too... but seriously.. Albus Severus Potter??!? that was a laugh~~!!!

Mj: heheh seriously, she went too far with that epilogue stuff.. .she should've quit while she was ahead... altogether it was too soppy and movie-ish and I'm really rather sick of the Weasleys, esp! :-p.

------- fun resumes...
Mj: Hallow, Hallow!!! ;o) How go things??? :-)

self: things go well... i was just wondering.. if voldemort called harry up on the phone and threatened to kill him, the book would have been called 'Harry Potter and the deathly hellos' no?

Mj: heh abs!! That is, if The Noseless One knew how to use the felly-tone :-).

self: indeed... 'the noseless one always knows; irrespective of whether he knows less or nose more' :)

Mj: har har har!! (or harry harry harry -whatever :-p) Brilliant!! :-).

self: one needs to harry up with the scraps these days eh?
oh, guess what happened to voldemort when all his horcruxes were gone? he was a little harried.. sorry, can't help it :)

Mj: Heh, come on now, be sirius, will ya?!! :-D

self: This black family... do you think they were into family planning? I mean they were all happy and gay then suddenly with the birth of their second son, they got serious...

Mj: Oh well, I don't give a Figg about the Blacks.. :-p

self: hehehe... your puns are giving me an inferi-ority complex...

Mj: :-))) now, now, no need to get crabbe-y over this..

self: Don't snap(e) at me like that...

Mj: No No, I'm not... we're good Firenze after all, how could *I* snap(e) at you? :-D

self: LOL!!! I see orkut is err.. umm-bridging the gap between us...

Mj: Brilliant!!!! :)) This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship, to paraphrase the Boggart ;o) (in Casablanca!)

self: yesh yesh!! and if we should ever face hiccups, we could always gargoyle... (couldn't help)

---------Then orkut did its bad bad server donut thingie, and we carried on using other means:

Mj:
Hmmm, can't access Orkut suddenly.. the proxy I'm using at office is acting up..

Cheers,

M.
PS : Why the sobriquet "apache'ed blak and silver"???

self:

Hi M,

Thats because i bought the bike.. apache, and am quietly kicked about the purchase :)

By the w. i am scheduled to visit your current hometown this weekend... visiting blood relatives... **grin**

Clink!

K.

Mj:
Really???
That's cool... we ought to try and meet up... but if you're only down
for the weekend, you'll probably be busy with ze b. rel.s :-)
Anyway, ping me if poss!
pip-pip!
M(-press of Blandings ;-p )

self:

Ar.. we certainly ought to. Will try and ping...

must mention that the scrapping today has been quite capital, yes indeed...

so long!

Mj:

Yes indeed! A total fleur-y of scraps!
One of us ought to collect the whole set and put it up on a blog or
something :-)
So long!

M.

self:
indeed! i understand the feeling of just having to say it, for that there is no cure :) I sincerely hope there is nothing that can severus from punning at each other :-/

Mj:

*grin grin* abso-blooming-lutely...we shall percy-vere, and continue punning till the

Kaus come home :-))) ;o)
-----** for the reader: I'm Kauz, by the way :)

self:

of kauz we shall... upun my word..

let it flow!! :o)))

** ze lack of zis punning scrappa vill eventuvally get on mi-nerva and driev me krazee, and my sanity will soon krum-ble... **

__________________________________________________

well, one has to draw a line somewhere, and i just did, just above this sentence here :) The puns still continue... may the tenacity never slackenn... !!

Hey Mj, your turn now!! :P

of pustules, itches and short temper...

2007-02-08T23:59:00.000+05:30

Pustules; you'd think I have gone crazy from chicken pox, but its such a cute word!

Such want-wit madness this disease had made of me, that I don't want to go anywhere... but once the health is back, the rest of my body must go back to writing documents in Kanbay.

I'm running the danger of irritating myself with typing blasphemies, hence i shall continue this piece later when I am at peace and not when I am so unnecessarily tired...

inr blues...

2006-04-24T11:06:00.000+05:30

don't borrow money from me now...for anyone who might be interested.. me bank balance has hit an all time low of INR 124.05... :(!!!!

test life?? %%??

2006-01-08T20:31:00.000+05:30

i am kind of confused...was it a test, did i pass? what on earth..

i just had an awesome day with mic on the telephone, feeling incredibly awesome..and was on my way to the temple later in the evening after sunset..I was walking along, my roommates a little ahead, and was text messaging mic when i came across a family on the street, the man requested me to stop.. I instantly thought he wanted money and i moved away. "I don't want any money sir", he said. " We've lost everything and my kids are very hungry, can you please help us get something to eat?" I was stunned for a second. I couldn't help but stop. I turned and observed this time. His wife, looking exhausted was holding on to a toddler, the second toddler was on the tar, next to her. I didn't know what to do for a split second. One part of my mind was telling me to move on, he would find his way... the other part of my mind just wouldn't let me move on. I looked towards the numerous stalls parked beside the road. But they sold only snacks.. what good would bhek puri, or a plate of paani puri do for two little kids who possibly haven't eaten the whole day?

I asked him whether that would be alright. But as soon as i asked i felt it was a pointless question. I remembered there was this Aiyyappa ashram i sometimes went to for some home-cooked food. I gave him some money, and told him how to get to the ashram. But i could see the man either wasn't convinced or he didn't trust me. It seemed to me that he and his family were victims of some kind of fraud, or were cheated in some way not long ago.. But i didn't want to go into his troubles. My friends had gone ahead, and me standing with a troubled man at a busy crossing. I told him the place i was talking about was an ashram, and that he would find help there. I walked away, without looking back, and sent the sms to mic which i had finished composing before i met the family..

I couldn't stop thinking about it. My mind wandered in several directions. Who was this man? How did he get here? He didn't seem like he wanted charity, and he genuinely seemed to be in trouble.. Should i have helped him more? At the end of it, i felt i hadn't done anything much..
My mind wandered again..I was on my way to the temple..where people go to pray..I met him on the way..Was it a test now? It felt a little scary at first.. Had i passed? I'd have failed i guess.. I crossed the gates and went into the temple.. I wanted to pray for a lot of things. But all i could think and pray about was the family i met there. Did i do enough? I could have walked with them to the ashram and helped them till there..but then i didn't know the ashram people personally.. except by sight..
Well, it was not like i didn't help them, but what did i end up doing? He said he didn't want money, but thats finally what i ended up doing..I didn't give him the help he asked for. I thought back.. The stalls there didn't seel bread, I could have bought a loaf or two, but well, there was none.. the pav stall was at the next junction.. I thought on.. could have found a banana stall.. but then the nearest one was about 20 mins away..
After i came out of the temple i walked back to the place i had met the man.. There was no one there. I couldn't stop thinking about the evening. I hope he found help at the ashram, that is if he went there in the first place..

I'm still thinking. I didn't trust the man at first when he stopped me. He was probably cheated sometime back. He wouldn't trust anyone, but he wouldn't have had a choice would he? He didn't seem to believe me when i told him he could get help at the ashram. I couldn't believe myself. I'm new to helping people like this.. just the one time i let an old couple use my phone.. And i guess i didn't think anything much on this situation, i just did something and left. It might or might not have helped him at all. Why can't people trust each other? How cut-throatish can the world get? To what extent can people go, to mislead, cheat.. and why don't people care ? myself included? What has city life made me? Am i also one of the crowd? The crowd which has a blind eye to certain things like reality.. and an eye open to everything enjoyable.. and I think i have become one of the "don't trust anyone" types.. is this what life teaches one and all in the long run? Then whats the point in life?
Or perhaps people have always mistrusted each other. Its in everyon'e blood i guess. Ever since Cain struck Abel down.. Its a part of life, i guess..

Something seems unreal, somehow..i'm sitting in the comfort of reliance webworld, and typing away, listening to some soothing music..and the dude behind me playing some commandos game.. shooting away at imaginary enemies.. No one trusts anyone in the virtual game too.. Which is the life thats meant to be lived?
I still can't stop thinking about the evening..
How much truth is there in this life i lead? Where do i look for the answers? I haven't found them in me, yet..

bindaas one liners...

2005-10-26T22:43:00.000+05:30

Don't feel bad. A lot of people have no talent

Don't marry the person you want to live with, marry the one you cannot live without,,, but whatever you do, you'll regret it later.

Bad officials are elected by good citizens who do not vote.

You can't buy love . . . but you pay heavily for it

Those who can't laugh at themselves leave the job to others.

You're getting old when you enjoy remembering things more than doing them.

Wise men talk because they have something to say; fools talk because they have to say something

enjoy!

fading four years..

2005-10-18T12:04:00.000+05:30

3 freaking months into my blogging deficit! gawsh need to do something about this.. life has gallopped on, and my blog has been sitting and watching all the gallopping and cantering while sitting back in an easy chair and sipping lemonade it seems. If that didn't make sense, all i meant to say was that i haven't been blogging. entirely my fault. not my poor blog's, so whatever..

8th semester seems a long way back.. it was one of my most eventful spates of 6 months.. A litle dream came true, the heart beat a little harder for sometime, the heart's eye watered for more reasons than one. I gained, I lost, and i now cherish..
Sank and I had gotten rather close by the start of the year, and she was the main reason for the rapid beating of the cardiacs for a few months. Things were all happy just for the geography bit which i never really liked anyway.. :)

The beat remained rapid thru most of the 8th. The arts fest popped up like a scenery on a landscape of blots. Took a wee little bit of persuation to get shon on track with his riffs, buji on the keys and sheen on the dilapidated skins. The wet blankets did pop up too the exploit our initiative, but it didn't do much harm.. except a bit of 'moral' nonsense. but wha the heck..
My first proper gig in college, the arts rock show, an experience i'll never forget, not just for the music, but also some of the excess baggage that comes along with it. Moral of story, one can count on one's fingers only, not on anothers..but make sure it counts right!! (blah)
apart from the rocks and the stones, went in for anything and everything we could find, and the before we knew it, our days at tkmce were numbering themselves the wrong way.

Farewell time wasn't easy. Crappy as though most of it was, my 4 years was coming to an end. Farewell after farewell after farewell.. (3 actually) one of which went rather outa control when hkgk went outa control and stuck in his middle finger into the door and went "pain! pain!!"

kollam faded into the sunset, but the memories remain, as fresh as ever..

my seventh..

2005-07-27T23:58:00.000+05:30

We were the baap of all students now.. final years..seventh sem..no uno joke!.. no seniors to look up to and no more being looked down at.. the juniors were all ours.. heh..

Firstly, to anyone who might not follow the system of fresher welcoming in the hostels of tkm.. must tell you that hostellers got 'welcomed' in their second year.. because they were kept in the warmth and comfort of the warden's rules for the first 10 months or so.. well, so it is, where every other second year elsewhere is ragging the balls of at some junior, these poor souls.. ah well... never mind the poor souls..

Final year started with a frenzy of activity.. the famed accreditation team frm ND was finally coming.. We'd been heaing about these characters since time immemmorial.. Our classrooms and hostels were repainted God alone knows how many times for their benefit, labs were spruced up, campus was beautified, the dogs were shooed away, the computers in the labs finally started working.. life was good! And given the 'encouraging' history of the royal mech way of common behaviour, it was no surprise when we were asked to be on our best behaviour for a few weks and perhaps months.. Roshan sir gave us a brief talk on general accreditation funda.. "don't wear T shirts", said he" especially ones which say 'kiss me here; lick me there' " I don't know why, but everyone was staring at me as he said those words. Now i swear i never wore any suc T shirt, and i doubt whether anyone in kollam would be found in possession of such a garment. However, i did have a rather different collection of Ts, which were uncommon in the campus.. For instance there was one which showed 4 different sexual intercourse positions, though very sublte and discreet, and i'd even worn it into the princi's office, i guess he was like garfied.. too 'busy' to notice anything.. :D (PG mathews once saw a very decent T of mine and told me to wear it to parties..and to wear shirt to college. dress codes in colleges.. which era do these people live in.. i ask u!!) Nevertheless, everyone was pretty amazed when i turned up in 'decent' shirts day after day.. (they'd probably faint if i wore them for a month on the trot)

The big day arrived. things were pretty cool.. sharma sir was running up and down the department, showing the team the labs, etc(which were in top condition.. am proud to point out) param bhai was everywhere, roshan kumar was fabulously handling it all.. until the mehra guy form iitD decides to spring a surprise on johm m george Jr's welding technology class.. He had to deviate from his usual procedure.. and things took an ugly turn when he asked us to answer some q's..since we didn't have many.. (gawk) no one seemed to know anything.. Sir at the top of the class was glistening with fresh perspiration ("he was pissing mad", to quote george alex, who always found something to laugh about in everything) . However, the day wouldn't be one that wasn't saved eventually..
He was the most irregular student of the college in terms of attendance and exams. He had enterd class probably thrice or so in the last couple of months. But that didn't deter renji from shooting admirable replies to the dude from delhi, who was not unimpressed.. john m george, who probably was seeing renji for the first time, beamed like a baby.. and i believe renji never had a problem with duty leaves after that!

The dream and plan of the All india trip was slowly taking shape soon after these turn of events.. It was a dream come truish thing for me as well. We were tripping mumbai - delhi - simla - etc.. couldn't believe i'd finallly get to meet up moon, ch and sank..

FFD to mumbai..the place was crawling with great looking damsels. It was a fashion parade at every corner. the deprived tkmc mechers had theirtongues lolling at every other corresponding.. jty actually tried to follow a drunk babe and returned with an aching hole..but thats a different story..It was altogether nothing short of awesome to be in a new place like mumbai and find our ways towherever..god bless the suburban railway!
However there was nothing like the trip hg and i took.. from colaba to juhu to catch the death metal concert in full blood.. we met the guys of myndsnare, easily the tightest band that night.. after a totally devastating headbanging-few-hours (we didn't follow death metal, but that didn't stop me from getting a sore neck anyway, by Toutatis..)
Soon the touch down @delhi..I detatched myself and made my way to the moon.. met up ch and sank in sank's car..took me around the sights and hangouts of south del.. and i realised how talkitive dames can be when it matters.. quite honestly i felt like being in a basketful of puppies, but i can't deny i wasn't bored.. [:D]
Later, i met up with the VVVVVVVIP.. the kli.. the sweetest thing thats happened to the family in 26 years.. whats more it was also my 21st b'day.. what else can i say.. touche!to myself!! sudiptoda came over to 41-a, the cake got smeared all over my front.. had THE most awesome dinner, had one of my best birthdays ever.. met up tuks soon after..caught lunch with her and moon..it's been ages.. Stint in delhi also included the trip via agra, to witness the greatest erection a man had ever made for a woman.. i'm talking about the Taj Mahal..what were u thinking.. naughty!! but it did feel like something had punched the wind out of the midrif when i looked at the marble...

After another few days of travel, including arduous road trip thru mountains and narrow guage trains, we found ourselves in a totally heavennly place.. 7 in the morning..standing in my pyjamas, and feeling the falling snow from the balcony..manali had arrived..the feeling was like a new lease of life.. it perked up the mind immensely, not unlike what the fresh drop of dew would feel on a morning flower..

The trip got over finally, with all the bearded devdasae returning to ente keralam..back to the familiar coconut trees and the picturesque lungis..i was sorry the trip was over, but theres no place like home!!

contd. frm wher.am.i.how.....

2005-07-15T19:58:00.000+05:30

and so kau went to kollam....

well.. it all seems to have happened just the other day.. yet it seems such a long time ago that i got the all important transfer.. it feels very snug now, to sit at home and go over all those memories again.. with hawkmoon268 by U2 playing in my ears..

the moment i recieved the uty order abt the transfer, i called chak and gave him the news.. i guess he was a little cheesed at having got the transfer with me behind.. he was on the way back from klm when he got the call.. he jumped off the bus at skm and ran to my house.. wearing boots and all.. never mind the corns!!
he entered to find me humming 'take me down to the paradise city where the grass is green and the girls are pretty..' .. an unexpected celebration later, when the dust settled i went around clearing all them formalities for the take off..

The first few days at tkm were nightmare... it was a rapid change from the easy going govt office set up to the strict school like dicipline suffered by the 2nd years of tkm.. they expected you to have separate notebooks for each subject, and if that wasn't punishment enough, one had to turn them in for valuation as well! Boy, it was too unbelievable.. but then it was too bad to be false.. I moved in at sreebhavan, hostel for juniors, us, who were in the wings to be moved to a new hostel.. met sgp,tenny,nambiar,hg,jty,rohit,shaheer,buji,and SHON, the ace at six string! this guy was aweome,it was the first time i saw a guitar being played like a pro..live.. the excitement was brimming.. I couldn't wait to get together with this guy and jam the guts off!! Any doubts on his alleged rythm problem was soon rubbished by me.. Initiative began to creep in..All i needed to realise my college dream of rocking live was a drum guy..which turned out to give me a long wait....Anyway, having hg around was a real break.. he was one of the few peopl there with who i could speak hindi without a care in the world.. he didnt care about the mistakes i made, and it ws all ease!!

He was pretty perturbed during the hostel allotments for shajik..i soon realized why.. it was something we'd never shake off.. but it all turned out ok in the end.. well, almost..had to deal with wet blanket for greater part of college life.. something i never got used to..and don't intend to either,now that college life is over.. second year was awesome.. after the MoS training i'd given hg in sreebhavan, he never ceased to drum impossible concepts of royal engineering into my skull.. we also discovered music.. i infused the metal and rock bug into hg.. and it took the hair off the head of jty..it started with dave mustaine's latest dishouts, and moved on later to other things.i also got a first hand experience of the reason for calling the mess a mess.. the food looked inviting, but that was about the only plus i can offer about it..but yeah, the beef roast used to be great!!

Academics wasn't too smooth in the first instance either. I landed up in tkm bang at the begining of the series tests. It was pretty rough. I did have the option of skipping the thingie this time and re-appearing later, but i was brave, and took the risk.. and plummetted.. royally! It didn't do the morale much good either. I'd stay up all nihgt to complete some cursed lab record, only to wake up to a strike in the college. Or an objection from the lab supervisor who didn't know more than I did about anything in the lab. But one has to take certain things in the stride, (and crib about them later.. hhee)
Also met asha. The meeting totally surprised a lot of people. A shake hand was totally out of place in a place like this, where men and women usually maintained a good 2 feet distance between skins of different sexes..(Rakesh still takes my trip on this..heheh)

Socialising with the fairer sex took a back seat during the second year.. chak kep telling me about ajash..and he kept telling her about me, but we never met in that year.. And most importantly, our chief source of recreation: Liseux Bhavan, the girls convent hostel just a compound across the shajik balcony.. The occasional sight of the flutter of a nightdress was enough to humour our simple young souls.. and so it was, they'd sometimes appear on the terrace, somtimes in the windows, and once we saw a meagre bathroom scene.. but pshhh!!!
Fast fwd to third year.. new year.. new profs, new hostel.. Socialisation was better this year.. met and made quite a few friends and acquaintances..and most importantly, new location for the classroom.. (we could communicate more with the fairer thing this way.. things were definitely improving) The new hostel was a vast improvement over the cramped lifestylee of shajik. More room, greater dilution of blanket wetness.. lol.. We shared the floor with a gang of the mast mech seniors..

jeevan,zach,pattalam,midhun,podiyan,jaleel,vinod,sandeep,parpi,aashiq,anoopda,sumitro, shaiju,reni,iype.. too many to type.. Jeevan was a real break from the mundane part of life. His attempts at ragging were quite a grin, and so were his attempts at magic..one thing hg,jty and i wont forget for sure is the vanishing shaft trick!!
The first trip away from home came soon..the south India tour.. We rocked goa, blr, and chennai.. the trip took the toll on some of our healths, but hell, it was worth all the crap.. yeah even the gastroenteritis!!

I soon got my first chance to get on stage..got a little practise with shon..jty forced in with some emotional blackmail..but it didn't work out to much.. No one could hear us perform, not even me for gawd sakes.. i got a handful of 50ps at my feet, while there was a well directed fiver into jty's ear at full tilt!! That was my first experience of the rock lover's reaction in tkm..which is to say, i doubted seriously whether there were any at all! However, i was all but itching to get a plugged show on.. unpluggedbe damned!!
Consummacy showed up around the corner.. Got a first hand experience of the kind of work that goes behind organizing an event. The hitch here was that renji did it all, mostly single handed.. :-O I was with him on some occasions, for instance the one after the rockshow when our car broke down at 2 in the morning in the middle of nowhere!! The consummacy rock show is probably one of my most precious moments. 3 bands showed up.. great one for a start!! We couldn't have the dances that year though.. thanks to some crazy issue regarding cultural activity in the college, consummacy had to be held at Sana auditoruim. the trouble was that the people of the neighbourhood had it with the decibels from the rock show.. that brought the events to an ugly full stop..

That was second and third years for me.. It wasn't too uneventful.. But yeah, it was paving the way to a more eventful final year.. both in and out of college!! keep watching this space.. (whoever is, that is!!)

garage blues

2005-07-11T00:02:00.000+05:30

hey folks..

this is an article i'd written for durga pooja souvenier.. trivandrum bengali association.. note.. its a real life exp.. here goes..

Garage Blues

Having visitors is always interesting. I put it as interesting because one can never classify them under one adjective, hence the general term. They could be fun, they could be talkative, exciting, friendly, boring, sleepy, smart, jovial, formal, quiet, fidgety, noisy and sometimes musical. However, the other day, I realized that the above set of adjectives was kind of incomplete. It is rather trying to assign an adjective to the experience, hence I am going to narrate the events of that fine sunny Saturday morning.

Nine am found me in the garage busy wiping off the dust the car had collected over the last week or so. Baba and Didu were checking out channel DD7 Bangla, Ma was just cleaning up after breakfast. That was when the visitor turned up. I was the first to receive him, or perhaps I should say, it. It came slithering in under the garage door, with two dogs and five puppies after it, and made for my bicycle, which was also in the garage. I have remembered from childhood this basic procedure to follow in times of crisis, which is to keep one's cool and not panic at any cost. This is precisely what I did while trying to distance myself from the guest and alerting the folks. That is to say, I jumped on top of the car, and yelled at the top of my lungs, "snake, snake!" That, as you might have anticipated, was more than sufficient to get the household on their toes, rouse the neighbours, and dent the roof of the car.

I remember reading somewhere, that a good writer always gives his or her readers a bird's eye's view of the proceedings, even though majority of these readers are not birds, by any stretch of imagination. Never mind, this is what the garage looked like two minutes later:

The dogs which were chasing the reptilian visitor were now engaged in barking their heads off at it and at the same time were trying to keep the puppies away from it, possibly explaining to them in barks that snakes are dangerous. The snake had taken refuge behind the rear wheel of the bicycle and was standing its ground bravely, although confronted with seven dogs and as many humans. Baba had picked up a relatively long haata (serving spoon) and was standing outside the garage. Didu was trying to convince Baba from behind that a haata was no weapon to use against a five foot long snake and at the same time trying to explain to us how garlic can be used to keep snakes away. Passers by had stopped in their tracks and had joined the audience, which was growing in size by the minute. Ma was shouting at me from the other side of the gate, over the din of the barking dogs, asking me to come out of the garage and asking Didu to stay indoors, and I, as you already know was perched on top of the car, taking in the rare sight of a snake and seven dogs having a shouting match, the latter having the upper hand obviously.

Help soon arrived in the form of three labourers who offered their services in relieving us of the snake. They gathered long sticks (definitely more effective than a 'haata') and advanced cautiously into the garage. I could not but help thinking of the snake's predicament. What if I had been in its place?!?! Being faced with seven barking dogs, with nine people peering at you over a wall, plus three men approaching you armed with long sticks are undoubtedly signs that things are not going too well for you. Had I been the snake, I would have legged it and looked for refuge more reliable than the rear wheel of a bicycle. This is precisely what the snake did. It found an opening and deftly slid through, and into our underground water sump. The three labourers, not to be deterred found longer sticks and began fishing in the water. After a good deal of 'fishing' they managed to extract the snake from its watery asylum and disposed of it in a nearby pond. They then informed us that the snake was a harmless specimen called chera which lives largely on rats and frogs.

Then of course, it was paytime. The three labourers demanded a sum that would do justice to their efforts. Needless to say, in their eyes, not even the most impossible of sums settled by us would seem to suffice. They argued saying if we didn't pay up to their amount, they wouldn’t come to help anymore even if our house was festooned with snakes. Baba, bargaining for all he was worth reasoned with them saying the snake did not belong to us and that it was still at large! The scene got pretty amusing in the end and soon the little party was laughing heartily! The meeting eventually dispersed on cordial terms.

Harmless or not harmless, you will agree that our visitor de reptilia certainly gave us an eventful morning! Right. So where was I? Yes! My list of adjectives for describing visitors is kind of incomplete. Whether I can find one to describe that morning or not is anybody's guess, I think...

haata - serving spoon/ladle
baba - bangla for father
didu - bangla for grandmother

wher.am.i.?.how.did.i.get.here.?

2005-07-07T00:33:00.000+05:30

This, my freinds(read whoever might be reading this) is no mean task.. On one hand there are poor souls like ourselves who are burdened with all the seemingly unneccessary and criminally challenging work/homework/other work/ work ups/ and blah! I used to crave for these moments that i am currently enjoying, or supposed to be enjoying.. but i guess the grapes weren't that sweet.. even if i managed to get there!!

here i am, after finishing with the 4 years of college life.. and all i'm doing at the moment is growing my hair and sitting on my hindquarters. And while i was in college, all we used to think was, when do i get outta here and get to sit on my a-- and do nothing... well, nostalgia doesn't exactly rock.. but hey that was my 4 years of glory.. but what of that... all i was doing all day was to ruminate on them years.. and i also want to start writing in this bloggy of mine.. ha..

All my desires of getting out of kerala were dashed the moment i got the results of my engg. entrance.. it dawned on me that i'd either have to do it all over again, or stay in this same place which i'd been in for 17 years.. and so i did..
Got admitted in gec barton hill... a surprisingly small college, considering it was a full fledged govt. college..(we were told later it was in hte process of growing and we'd be only the third batch to be passing out) My buddy from school, chak was also there with me in my new class.. (chak and i go back till our days in the primary.. ) thanks to his pushing and putting words in my small mouth, i was 'unanimously' elected class representative on my first day in college.. little did i know what i was letting myself in for.. not that i had a lot to choose from , i happened to be the only one candidate.. but then.. heh.. we loyolites do not shirk.. !! cheer loyola sonz!!
Started the college life brimming with energy.. seniors put up some kind of a drama indicating what a dreadful place this was for the freshers.. but it turned out pretty well .. excluding a few nutters we had some real swell seniors..

well, we weren't 'rayal' mechs for nothing.. and we soon made our presence felt in college.. out to make a statement.. the most outrageous batch of 58 guys and 1 girl was here to get noticed.. outrageous? u may ask.. well, we began by clearing up a bit of a jungle place by bringing gardening tools from our respective homes and hacking and cutting at a lot of bushes shrubs and 'treelings'.. (un poetic licence.. if i may) and there we were.. we announced ourselves with a swish of huge scissors and blades... and beautifying a corner of the ol' colege.. (it didn't last.. they dug it up againand made the bus shed there.. but thats another story)

enter chemistry.. (engineering chemistry, do not misunderstand) my memory fails me as to what the teacher's name was.. but man, her voice sounded like a pin dropping.. and would make disgruntled noises sometimes.. ladies and gentle men.. the most uninteresting class of the lot.. something had to give..

it happened finally... a disagreement over some kind of assignment snowballed into collective BAWL from the 58 brats and the one sweet gal.. and it was heard all over the college.. maek.. when i say all over the college, i mean all over the college.. i feel sad now.. we'd woken up the seniors who were catching a few winks in a strength of materials class.. if any of u seniors is reading this.. please accept my profoundest apologies!!

Mr. Rajat (BME lecturer) was munching thoughtfully on his home cooked lunch as i entered his staffroom.. "what the hell do you think your class was doing?" demanded he.. I was bewildered, wondering what he was having for lunch that made him erupt so.. i soon came to realize he was referring to our collective bawl.. " we had disgusted the principal and embarassed the dept of mech. engg.. in those few seconds.. and i was th class rep.." very nice..

a little chat with the mates later soon brought us to the conclusion that this was no big deal.. we are NOT the good boys of the college who go about gardening.. we had arrived.. again.. we got into the groove.. massbunks, classroom cricket/rugby, more massbunks, bikeouts, strikes.. girls, firecrackers, more bikes, strikes, another strike.. and so on and so forth.. boy.. we all had arrived..

then trouble crept.. class was begining to split in half over someones' matters of the heart.. whats more, i got into a bit of a misunderstanding wit the IT HOD over a monetary matter.. that got ugly.. .. talked about it at length with my best buddies about it,.. chak, madhu, vishnu.. etc.. something had to happen.. and it did
chak got a transfer to tkm college of engg.. kollam.. 80 ks away from this troubled land.. i'd applied too and was waiting with crossed hands legs and fingers.. two weeks later, i got my call.. chak and i were together again! whats more, i was going to taste my first dose of hostel life..

vish took over the mantle of the class rep thing.. man i'd really miss some of the guys out there
.. madhu and vish, who'd stay up in their respective homes till god knows whn to clear my darn doubts on the eve of the exams.. wdn't have passed em if these people weren't around.. :Dtime to move on.. i hung around in BH for a few days.. trying to ge the transfer cert. done as fast as possible.. its a govt. office for gawd sakes.. patience is of the essence.. and it was done.. i moved to the sleepy town of quilon..

That was my stint with gec bh.. some great experiences.. some great friends, some not so great experiences.. and later realised i'd broken a heart when i left.. but one had to move on..
thus.. kau goes to kollam...

veni, vidi,.. errrrr

2005-07-06T00:26:00.000+05:30

first time blogging.. checking out the bloggarts from all over the place..
pretty good time to start bloging i guess.. just back fresh from a trekking stint in the lower himalayas, and a minor heartache.. and raring to go.. anywhere...

right now the mind is elated because my company decided not to forget about me.. and called to tell me to get my 'self' there by 5th of august.. so i'm shifting base from trivandrum to pune in a month.. thats about it.. i've been dying to get outta this place or years, and now it seems that is exactly whats happening!!
heavens be praised!!