Brewing Potions

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2011-01-09T20:08:00.000-08:00

Dear Man or Woman who lives above the clouds

31st December 2010. 11.30 pm.

Like you know, Mom (say hello to her for me, will you?) instilled this culture in our home of ringing in the new year with a collective prayer session in the God's room at midnight. So while all my friends partied and did the countdown to 12 midnight, we would start our celebrations with sweets and ice cream only after 12.30 am when the prayers were over. Now, since I barely remember the meanings, or maybe do not understand most of the prayers that will happen in about twenty minutes, I thought I'll try and write my own version of the annual hello to you.

Somehow I never believed in making new year resolutions. They are almost always broken, necessitating further resolutions stemming from regret and disappointment. However, since more than one person-to-be-taken-seriously has predicted a calamity to end the world in 2012, maybe this is my last chance to buck the trend.

Twenty ten was, for want of a better word, an extremely volatile year. There were enough and more painful moments that will never be forgotten, with just enough of the spice thrown in to keep me going. More importantly, there were enough and more occasions that I grabbed with minimum hesitation to anger people, estrange them from me, and perhaps create enemies for life. But there were enough and more happy moments, blessings if you will, that involved the making of new friends, strengthening of a few friendships, and rediscovery of a few more.

Ten minutes to go. I have never believed too much in apologies. Like someone very close to me once said, sorry doesn't make a dead man alive. But maybe it'll give me a little peace of mind, so I'll admit my mistakes, and try not to make them again next year. In return, maybe you'll be a little kind and give me some of those "happy moments", in a different form, so I can savor something for 2012 as well.

This year, I won't clamor for anything from you. You have your own style of dishing it out, and I respect that. It's not going to be the same if you removed the roller coaster from life. Bring it on - you know what's best for me, I'm sure.

Sigh. That's about it. Thanks for all the spice. Thank you for Sheila, Munni and all the entertainment. Thank you for Deutsche. Thank you for the lovely days in London - and all the shopping. Thanks for Mumbai - and the endless materialistic entertainment it brings. Thank you....for everything.

Cheers

Still hoping you're up there

Oh yeah, for everyone who's reading, happy new year.

What goes around, comes around!

2010-10-10T16:26:00.000-07:00

The year is 4050 AD, 1043 years after the Cosmic Bang to be precise. Jack looked out the window of the neutrino driven space-cab that ran on the energy of black holes. It was remarkable how scientists had discovered that all the waste and dead bodies of the world could be dumped into the trash can that was the black hole and it would provide cosmic energy for years to come through a parallel universe. Legend had it that ancient American civilization had predicted this around the year 1905, but not until over a thousand years later did the tall man with a handlebar moustache and no hair sitting in a lab on the magnetic South Pole create the cosmic bang that was the one stop solution to depleting so-called renewable sources of energy.

I was walking along the soils of Scotland, feeling the pain in my knees that my overweight tummy was exerting on my knobbly knees, worsened only by the gravel on the ground creating an uneven surface. Stirling castle lay ahead, with a sign imploring me to understand that archaeological works were going on to determine the exact nature of the death of King Henry VIII in1594, over four hundred years ago. His step mom had married his dad because he had been sexy, while James the Vth, his father, didn't exactly believe in the equality of men and women. While his 3 year long kitchen imprisonment of the wife ended in her execution, the son was no holy saint either. He killed his father, took the throne for himself and spent the rest of his days in the Great Hall his father had commissioned.

As Jack dragged his Widget for In-situ Foetus Enhancement, the W.I.F.E. behind him, he entered a few complaints on the Telepath, the inter-planetary network of thoughts that streamed thoughts from around the world to respective administrators. The W.I.F.E. was not being a sufficient source of adoration, ego-boost and biological enhancement. Little did it have to do with the fact that AI forces that handled 99% of the world's administration since the Cosmic Bang had since reconfigured the human being to maximize probability of harmony and reproduction. It had resulted in the W.I.F.E. being encapsulated in an air bubble created especially to protect the owner, or caretaker as he was called from any outbursts. Jack's attention was drawn back to the humanoid droning away in front of him. Apparently the land he had flown his W.I.F.E. to, was an ancient civilization, that thrived on a system where the inhabitants took their own decisions. It was called a democracy, the guide explained. It sounded totally unbelievable to Jack.

Actually his great grandfather had commissioned it, and his grandfather who was the monarch after him was responsible for decommissioning it. Then his dad had come along and restarted the project and blown up the winnings of a war at least 10000 people had lost their lives in. How naive and inhuman, I thought. Confining women to four walls of a kitchen! And these are the guys who teach us etiquette, with all their bloody history? For a moment, I was grateful for having been born in an age where people's rights were respected, and those who respected people's rights were considered people to learn from. It meant that I could sit in college and do what I wanted with my breadboard and wires. It meant that I could be an active part of the system, make myself heard and be part of a vibrant system our textbooks called democracy. No wonder these ages were called the dark ages until they stumbled upon democracy. What took them so long?

It sounded lke a W.I.F.E.-foetus problem to Jack - did the system work for the people or the people work for the system? The guide explained that while imperfections of the system often resulted in physical damage to the exoskeleton of the inhabitants of the country, it generally ensured that most issues of the nation were discussed at length in the public. On asking, Jack was told that a particularly flat sandstone, was erstwhile called a television and was attached to the walls of most houses. It was akin to the projection that the telepath made between the brain and the inside of the forehead, something scientists call the mind's eye. Jack found it hard to even imagine. He closed his eyes and thought about "television", resulting in a video demo of the television on the inside of his forehead. Fascinating, he thought. It was so relieving that he left all these matters of public dispute, government, resource allocation, to the central AI server of the planet that allocated resources according to each one's need. What sense did it make that one billion people discussed about how to feed one billion people. Democracy seemed like the most inefficient solution to man's problems, it should have been far more easy to pick a guy and dump all your worries onto his head with truckloads of money. Still, the Indians seemed to have found a way to make the system work!

As I walked out of Stirling castle towards Loch Lomond, I wondered about how we tend to stereotype people, nations, systems as bad or good because it is the easy option, the lazy option. We think the systems and cultures we are born into are ideal only because we are most comfortable with them. If you keep asking yourself the question 'why' to any of your quirky preferences, you will ultimately come to a point where you shrug your shoulders and say, well, that's how we do it. What if we got snowed under and a new civilization built itself on top of us. Would they still think our systems were cool? Would they still think of our computers as efficient for our time? Our cultures, our habits, our quirky ways of life that hold immense meaning for us and hardly any meaning for others - would they just scoff at this? For that matter, would they even care?

Casino weekend

2010-09-26T14:52:00.000-07:00

Sometimes a leap of faith can take you farther than a spreadsheet of logic. - Adithya M.R.

An occupational hazard of my occupation is the fact that you become a devotee of the phenomenon some people call chance, college boys call probability and cynics call fluke. It's funny how the law of averages lends itself to such apparent engineering, when you allow it to spread across people, nations and companies. There is no better place to observe this cosmic law in action than in a temple of Mother Chance - the casino.

Probability theory assigns an expected value to the outcome of any game in a casino. For example, let's say we were to toss a coin and if heads fell out, you would pay me a rupee, and if tails fell out, I would pay you the same amount. Since both outcomes are equally probable, my expected profit, like your expected profit, is zero. In a casino, they bias the odds towards themselves in some way so its never 50-50, but say 49-49, so that 2% of the time everyone loses. Now if there was some way to bend this expected profit towards the positive side, you're in green.

As it turns out, getting an expected value of more than zero is like making water from thin air - requires rocket science or maybe not even then. But what is possible, is to plan your moves such that 99 out of 100 times you'd make 1 dollar, but on that one bad chance, you would lose 99 dollars. The expected value is still 0, but if you just looked at "winning" or "losing" regardless of "how much", the odds would be stacked in your favor.

I invested about 6-7 hours flicking various things from the internet, with minimal contribution of my own, and found a bunch of rules that did this. Basically I had to bet on both odd and even outcomes on a roulette wheel, and keep putting a fraction of my money onto the "0" square, and it should start puking gold coins. If I won on a bet, I'd retain the same bet again, but I would double my bet should I lose (this is a common strategy in the world of gambling - so there's no genius to it). If I kept winning, I'd keep betting 1 pound every time, but if I lost, I'd bet 1 pound, then 2 pounds, then 4 pounds, and so on, until I had no money left.The "zero" outcome is managed by using a fractional bet, say 10p every time on the zero square. Most of the time this bet would lose, but when the white ball did fall on zero, I'd make enough money to cover up. Feeling super proud of myself, I walked into a casino later that day, with 20 quid tucked up into the pocket of my blue jeans and wearing a brown corduroy blazer with elbow patches partly to hide my burgeoning belly and partly to hide the fact that I was an RCB fan (they had just dropped out of the CLT20 tournament).

Given that I was in London, I thought I'd figure out all the machines and tables in a flash, ( my last, and first ever casino experience was Macau where half the stuff was in Chinese and I had a hard time figuring out what button to press). Unfortunately, luck didn't favor me there - I went around asking innocent questions to old, experienced people with wrinkled foreheads holding a glass of wine in one hand and frowning on their night's losses. What is this button? How to put money into this machine? How to lay my bet? I was looked at with the utmost scorn, telling me the meaning of the phrase "new kid on the block".

Anyway, I sat on my roulette table and discovered pretty soon, that my odd/even masterstroke plan would need to put in at least 5 pounds on each box to start with. And then if I lost, 10 pounds. And then, 20. I was going to be "gambled out" before my genius plan started working. What the hell, I thought. I put a fiver on each box. As luck would have it, the ball fell on zero. My bankroll was thinner by 5 pounds. (Adding to the trouble was that I always have this tendency to convert to rupees - 5 pounds was Rs 350!) Angered, I aggressively jabbed my finger for a naked bet on the odd button, hoping that I'd at least break even. Mother Chance was angry with me.

I looked around, there were a few slot machines that I could blow up my remaining 10 pounds on, rather than waste it on this dumb roulette machine. Feeding in the cash, I started spinning. An hour later, my position was still on 9.8 pounds, I was betting 20-30 pence every time, and winning or losing small change - nothing great. I wasn't getting anywhere. My spinning worked like this - there were 5 columns with 4 boxes each that ended up with a different picture on each spin and 40 lines that I'd bet on every time. If any of those 40 lines connected certain identical pictures (every spin makes sure there are some identical pictures - only they may not be connected), then I'd win some change. Roughly I'd win 40 out of 1000 times.

I looked around. The old Chinese smoker I had disturbed earlier had also moved to the slot machine, perhaps to take a break from his hard core roulette. Next to him was an empty machine, much smaller. It even had about 5 pence credit in it already - perhaps because the previous player was too frustrated losing his money to go collect 5 pence from the cash desk. I had chosen my machine because it needed only 20 pence per spin - it would let me make at least 50 spins before I finally got gambled out. This small machine needed you to play at least 75 pence every time. I wondered why. Then I saw it.

The small machine had only 4 columns with 3 squares each, and I could bet on 15 lines each time, which meant that my odds were roughly around 15 out of 81, a little over one sixth. Compare that with the 4% win chance in my machine - it was over 4 times better! And all it needed was you to bet 75p, which was less than 4 times the 20p bet I was being forced to make now. I was breaking even on my current machine - I should just about make more money on this small new machine. Was Mother Chance playing another trick on me? Could it really be that simple? I switched machines.

The boat ride back home was amazing - not least because of the thick wad of a hundred and sixty pounds stuffed into my pocket.

Tantrums from my desk drawer

2010-09-11T16:09:00.000-07:00

I saw Udaan a few days back and figured there might just be more to it than just the psychotic dad and the beaten up poet who was forced to do engineering. These things are so age sensitive - two letters at different times and different places, and yet written by the same person...

[DISCLAIMER : All characters and personalities portrayed in this work of literature are fictional and any resemblance to any character, living or dead, is unintentional]

Tantrum letter #1

August 11th, 2000

Dear Mom and Dad

I don't know if I can tell you this in the hall, while you are on the couch watching TV and I'm standing near the door, so I'm just going to write down some stuff and hide it in the drawer here. Maybe some day when you move house once I go off to college, you'll find it and read it. I don't think it will matter because it will be part of the past by then.

Thank you so much for the Parker pen you gave me last Saturday on my birthday. I mean, my classmates aren't jealous of me or anything, but hell, it's ok - they hate me anyway for coming second in class.(If you haven't noticed, I am being sarcastic here.) I know you did not bring me up to complain against someone for giving me boring gifts, so please don't feel that way. I mention it because it'll help you see what I am talking about.

Why does everything I do have to be related to my books or to my marks? Worse, why do even the "side" activities, like you call them, such as music need to be judged like they are some sort of exams? Why can't you understand that I'm older now (come on, I'm 14 now, I'm no longer 8!) and there are so many other things that matter to me? My friends in class - I'm not even sure they are friends - think I am some sort of loser to be stuck up with my marks all the time. They call me a psychotic bookworm when I peer at how much marks they got in physics and chemistry, because I know you'll ask me ...I got only 61/70 (I came second in that test, FYI).

I won't tell you that I am "old" or "mature", because you can add an "-er" to the word I write and silence me then and there. Some of my friends keep saying they want to be a pilot or a scientist or a doctor. Paul for instance says he doesn't like maths and his parents don't care if he does well or not in that subject - because he wants to be a botanist anyway. I don't even know what I want to do - because you simply want to see good numbers everywhere! And I can't do any of the cool things my friends do...like partying, or even bowling, if you're so paranoid about my relationship with alcohol.

Please don't get me wrong. I love you for being my parents and for all the shouting I get, I still owe my identity to you. What I don't get is WHY I need to have this identity. Maybe when we're older I'll understand, or you can explain...

Your truly obedient son
*******

Tantrum letter #2

August 11th, 2010

Dear Mom and Dad

I don't know if you ever found that letter I wrote to you when I was in class X, but I can imagine how you would have felt when you read it. I just want to say I apologize for all the nonsense I wrote in there, I'm guessing you overlooked it as a teenager's tantrum. I owe you everything I have today in life. I graduated from some of the best schools in the country, met some amazing people and learnt some amazing things, and none of this would have been possible if you hadn't whipped and driven me like some traders on my desk in office bid up their bonds in the market.

True, I owe you everything, but today I want to complain against something else. You protected me from the world's evil till I was sixteen. You didn't let me go partying, touch alcohol (I know you don't believe me but I still don't drink), and more importantly you held my nose closer than a millimeter to my books. Which is why I am what I am today - grateful. But where did all that go away?

Yes, you continued to ask me what my grades were throughout college. Didn't really matter, because the inertia of your push for the first sixteen years of my life is enough for my next birth as well. But where were you when I had my first identity crisis - when I was so confused whether to be the bookworm or the "cool guy" in college? Why didn't you teach me how to deal with the priorities in my life? I felt so naive when I saw people being so sure about what jobs they wanted, what kind of women they wanted to marry and I found myself this naive, stupid bookworm who could only play with numbers and formulae at best.

I think you drove me like a racehorse for the first sixteen years of my life and then let me loose like a pony in the woods. At least you could have shown the pony what grass was tasty, how to tell the difference between a mare and a jenny, etc. I'm not saying you should've made the horse drink water, but maybe you should have at least led me to water. Instead all I knew was to dash when the gates opened and run like the tigers were behind me.

I'm quite certain that in ten years' time, I'll be trashing this letter, apologizing for this, and writing another long tantrum. So just in case I don't mention it enough, you're my favorite people in the whole world and I love you both very very much. And instead of hiding this one in my drawer, I think I'll just post it on facebook.

Lovingly yours
*******

My name (sic) Baljit Singh...Wise person...

2010-02-07T10:02:00.000-08:00

So for a number of circumstances uninfluenced at all during my short (so far) tenure in the organization, I found myself in Chandigarh over the last couple of days. Apparently, Citi has decided to move to new systems and I was supposed to man the front end for any emergencies. Of course I am just eight months into the business - what would a lowly geek know about a 2 year project, after all?

Anyway, that is beside the point. Here I was, done with two nights and two mornings at a call center (and you all thought CB was cool for doing a conversation with God and screwing with great average American minds in the space of One Night at a Call Center) and thanking my stars that one screwed weekend was all it took away from my life. The office is quite some distance from my hotel and I did not have the luxury of a cab at my disposal.

No, that doesn't mean that my employers were parsimonious. In fact, with the accomodation I was given, I should say it was quite the opposite. The simple reason why there was no cab, was because the Shatabdi from Delhi was delayed, and the cab company had all its taxis deployed there. Which is why I approached a bunch of green autos, with the drivers squatting on the ground on an unclean, chequered tablecloth, with cards and a few glasses in front of them.

Sector 17 jaaNa hai jee. Le chaloge? I ask.
Chalo jee, bas do minute de do. Wahee gaddi mein baith jaao. He dunks the alcohol down his throat.
Inke paas chutta nahin hoga. Mere sou rupaye tod ke do be. He yells at one of his cronies.
I sit tensely in the auto. Was it worth taking this risk? For just a saving of about 80 INR? I could go into the mall next to the office and bide my time till the train from Delhi chugged in. My heartbeat rises as I see this guy throw the bottle of what's-its-name across the pavement. It hits a bike tyre and shatters into pieces.

Finally our hero rises, and yells out. Matka chowk mein jaake aata hoo. Daaru ready rakhiyo. How much more daaru, I wonder. As he opened up the engine under his seat, cigarette in hand, I half conjured images of spark hitting gas cylinder and me dying an unsung hero who tried to take too much risk. Anyway, with his oil soaked rag wound around the engine starter, he pulled something (in normal auto rickshaws this is a lever that boots up the engine - this was a dilaidated blue auto which did not have the said lever) and the engine roared to a loud and noisy life. As the vehicle swayed left to right on the empty road - it was 10 pm in the night - I somehow convinced myself that this couldn't be the worst risk I had taken.

About five to ten minutes later, when I had proudly smsed a few concerned friends about the state of affairs, our man burst into the latest Punjabi hit songs. Full volume on, he was hell bent on entertaining most of Chandigarh. My face must have resembled Madhavan's in that scene in 3 idiots, where Kareena talks about Bush dropping Dhoklas on Iraq. We were going on the road housing the governors of Haryana and Punjab, heavily manned with men of the law, and our man had scant regard for them. As he stopped at the signal at Matka chowk (my hotel was very close to this place), I said a few prayers seeing him thump his head multiple times. He was getting more and more hammered and I suspected a part of him (the part that did not think Bhangra at 10 pm in a running auto was cool) was realizing this as well.

As he revved up outside the Taj Chandigarh, I got down and messaged my worried friends as the guy gave me my change. He was struggling to even put his purse back where it was. Thoda khyaal rakhiyo, paaji, I said in genuine Punjabi concern. Funny how a place can get to your tongue. He nodded his head, shook my hand and said - My name (sic) Baljit Singh....wise person. Aapko theek se le aaya - apne aap ko dekh loonga.

I only wish I had taken photographs of the dude or his auto. It was the ride of a lifetime.

Life calling

2010-01-30T11:08:00.000-08:00

After all the applause surrounding Mr. Hirani and the rest of the idiots has died down, I want to raise a hopefully pertinent question that has plagued me since my purse got lighter by a cool four hundred bucks. I've always wanted to ask this to the numerous supporters of the "live life on your own terms" brigade - what do you mean?

For one, life is an experiment, really. You do not go through life calculating every step of the way. What was that poem on the school notice board that told us many things that life was and what needed to be done with it? Knowing your calling and being able to execute it in a planned and rhythmic fashion is not just improbable, it is plain boring. People walk through life - sometimes things go right, sometimes they don't. That should not mean that it's a crime to make mistakes, screw up, feel the heat. Taking the wrong turn is also quite a big part of life.

When Mr. Jobs talked about the dots connecting backward, what we probably need to remember is that there need to be dots to connect. That brings me to fallacy number two - if I sat all day thinking about the philosophical question - "What should I be doing in life?" I'd remain where I was - I wouldn't change at all. Worse, I'm losing valuable time when I could have tried out things inspired by my tendencies. At least I would know if I sucked at something even though I had a fantasy for it.

Three, a man's got to be practical. Sometimes, doing what interests you is not what is in the best interest of the people surrounding you. That need not mean just one's family. Following a dream many times means taking a risk - it is defined by the thin line between a hobby and a career. I also believe this gets complicated by the fact that most people aren't interested in what they are good at and vice versa. While it's what you are good at that gets you two square meals a day.

That said, losing oneself in one's limited world of practicality is probably uncalled for. Dreams are to be pursued, passions are to be stoked. No question about that. Only you can't start pursuing your calling at the press of a button.

PS: I wrote this because I talked to a lot of people about what's important for them and why they aren't doing what they claim interests them most. Most people, including myself, gave answers that were attributable to one of the above. It sounded very confusing because when I was studying, I came across a number of people who criticized being very conventional, "taking pressure", not living life to the fullest, etc. But when it comes to the real game, apparently life takes a U-turn. Do let me know what you think.

Thought jam

2009-03-11T13:10:00.000-07:00

It is times like these that finally make me realise why the concept of work as opposed to the concept of "sitting idle" had to be invented. Beyond, of course, the whole I-need-to-fill-my-stomach-so-I will-work-for-it. I don't think I can just sit idle and not do anything at all - even if I totally intend to. The millions of thoughts and opinions and judgments that pass through my head even as I try to take in the world around me and digest information flowing in from everywhere without someone or something to vent it out on...

...like the time I read the email on party celebrations after everyone at my college had found a job despite the gloomy cloud of discontent engulfing most of our minds.

...like the time I sat at said party sipping a Mirinda watching everyone get drunk and dancing away to glory; and wondering how alcohol makes people forget pretty much everything.

...like the time I watched one ex-consultant advising another to-be-consultant on God-knows-what; and wondering how they could even confer given their fundamentally different persuasions.

...like the time I traveled home after said party in an auto and wondered what the deaf, dumb and handicapped old man selling coconut water outside our campus would have to say about my job, the recession and the whole why-can't-India-grow-at-8% worry.

...like the time I watched the Rasna kid energetically shout "Papa! Swimming!" on television and then a teleshopping ad on Vibrating Sauna Belts; and worrying that my interest was gradually shifting from one to the other.

...like the time I watched Charu Sharma simply tear apart the Indian bowling attack for its lack of consistency and dedication and its total sloppy fielding; and wondering what the fuss was all about after we beat New Zealand by over 84 runs without losing a wicket.

...like the time I switched off television after said match and pondered on whether I should write my research paper on how Duckworth-Lewis is the CAPM of cricket.

...like the time I simply stood all clean, doing nothing for ten minutes, in the midst of half naked colorful bodies and listened to a remark from someone: "Yaar, aaj kisi ne holi khelaa hai toh tumne ! "

...like the time I did ten rounds of cleansing over and over again with detergent, shampoo, toothpaste and soap to get the color off me; and wondering if the whole purpose of Holi was to reiterate the importance of bathing, and whether the British would've called it Shower Day if they had gone on to adopt it.

...like the time I put up a totally colored picture of myself on the Gtalk client, and received at least ten remarks saying "amazing pic" or "superb pic", when none of my formal or cool-looking profile photos ever earned that remark.

Thought jam. All in a day's work.

Used to winning

2009-03-06T10:59:00.000-08:00

Black circles on a white sheet

No room for the sleepless cheat

Soft scribbles of graphite racing against time

Tom, Dick and Harry want to be in an IIM

Done with all the apti-tests

Wowed the profs with gyaan and jests

All three were living the great Indian dream

Just when it looked life could get no more gleam

They say free lunches don’t exist

The lavish dinners had to have a twist

Tom liked neither the consult jargon nor bankers’ show off

Harry had no clue anyway; At Dick they did all short of scoff

Dick wanted nought but grades

While Tom was a jack of all trades

Child in a toy shop, put fight, the mentors told Harry

Markets are freezing, they expounded, be wary

‘Twas time to buy jacket and sweatshirt

TDH wanted to, with fachchis, flirt

Pre placement offers were cause for celebration

In times of sinking banks, frauds and inflation

Alas, fate had different plans

Tom threw out the beer cans

It was September; Dick Fuld had spoiled his party

Sans grades, would they still think him a smarty?

Dick did all the studying

Projects, contacts, string pulling

Luck seemed evasive, but he said he’ll defy providence

We’re used to winning, we’ll make some sense

And Harry, he had some clues now

For banks and advisors he had no respect

The Duke song told him to be a brander

Unilever, P&G, There were none any grander

Recessions are bad; firms don’t hire

People speak of joblessness; Placecom is on fire

Harry is a consultant; Dick’s back to a bank

Tom’s dreaming of getting killed driving an army tank

Dark circles no longer on a sheet

They’re on our faces, having been browbeat

Losses hard to digest, all the purses thinning

Hoping against hope we’ll be okay, ‘coz we’re used to winning.

Commandments...

2009-03-03T07:13:00.000-08:00

...that twenty two years of protoplasmic existence and nineteen years of formal education would have sidestepped if it was a different place, or a different time...

...that is there is no substitute for good friendship. Real dosti is when you have filled in a bucket of water from the last running tap in the block, your friends choose that time to wake up, and you split it four ways between the shaver, the loo-goer, the face-washing attentive front bench sitter and yourself.

...that being kiddish is fun as long as it is endearing and people appreciate that. There are of course, places where you can’t afford to be thus; you can identify these places by lack of endearment.

...that there is joy in disorder. Be it in the two week long unshaven face, the room that hasn’t been cleaned for a month or the pile of clothes and shoes that are mingled with one another all over the room floor. Of course, there is joy in the rearrangement of things so that one can start messing up all over again.

...that fighting with a friend is a dream, but stepping in between two fighting friends is a nightmare. Because it reminds you how much you care about that person and you stop yourself from saying so many things that come to mind.

...that there is value in setting store by values. Even if you sound like your principal or headmaster from high school. It helps in avoiding identity crises.

...that there is merit in being a Jack of All Trades. Or trying to be one, at least. You must always play musical instruments, write poetry, convert poetry to song, study for 10 hours a day, take a break by playing badminton, teach math to juniors, play music again and end the day with studying for the end term on the next day.

...that Murphy was a genius and one who does not bow to him ends up at the wrong end of His laws. Then again, maybe every end is a wrong end.

...that when unfair play happens, it is always paid for. When the bad man pays for it is not under your control. But you can rest assured that he is always charged net present value.

...that because of the above, there will always be disappointments. It gets scary when you don’t screw up once in a while as there’s some huge impending disaster that is the sum total of all your experienced joys.

...that no matter what happens, there is hope for all of us at the end of it all.

Twenty Five Things

2009-03-03T07:03:00.000-08:00

This is the result of a "I-am-jobless-so-I-should-do-something" disease that Facebook has been spreading round friends' circles. In a desperate bid to kickstart my blog, yours truly plagiarises his own writings from the past, and experiments with the different channels to reach the readership market. Here, as they say, goes.

1. The first alphabet I could read was B and not A.

2. I always loved watching mythological serials made by Ramanand Sagar. Especially the part where two arrows with different colors meet in the air and one blows away the other. Someday I'll join the Indian Army and retrofit my regiment with longbows and super range arrows.

3. When in Class 2, I was hauled up for indiscipline. My crime was that I tucked a wooden scale halfway down my schoolbag and ran up and down the corridor pretending to be a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. (I always liked playing Leonardo. Unfortunately Michelangelo, Raphael and Donatello did not get caught and they have no memory of the incident whatsoever.)

4. Ever since I read the word "cynic" I have wanted to call myself one. It sounds so much more cooler than "erring on the safe side".

5. I love ice cream, chocolates, Kinder eggs, cold fruit yogurt, Indian liquid sweets and Indian solid sweets in that order. I despise anything spicy or hot unless there is something sweet or cool to follow it up.

6. My closest friends will tell you I am very religious, God-fearing, and essentially believe in miracles.

7. I am emotionally attached to dramatic and unrealistic movies like Harry Potter, LOTR, Kung Fu Panda and the whole host of superheroes. I anyway get to see so much of realism around me - why bother looking at it on a screen.

8. I think social inefficiency and inequality is an absolute necessity. Otherwise there wouldn't be any rags-to-riches tales (Which, I must say after today, can be made into movies and be the substance of other rags-to-riches tales.)

9. My mom tells me I used to amuse myself at the age of 2 by creating a ruckus and tapping everything around with a spoon . Including the gas cylinder, the floor, the tava, the window sill, the wall and also my own head. My grandmom likes to think it was hidden signs of my aptitude for music; how I wish she recruited at IIMB.

10. Having grown up in the Gulf, I always like to pronounce it GeLf, and love to make fun of all of them MeLLu GayrLs. (The capital L is to denote the different pronunciation in most south Indian vernacular languages. MeLLus will be understanding. )

11. I have this crazy fetish to do well and be top-of-the-class all the time. After they started despising that attitude as "RG", I pretty much gave up.

12. I have watched F.R.I.E.N.D.S. over 20 times and I could watch it forever. While I'd love to be Chandler Bing, the Facebook app "Which F.R.I.E.N.D.S. character are you?" thinks I am a Ross Geller. (How many times will I assert that I am not R.G.????)

13. I am a sacrosanct vegetarian who loved dissecting frog and cockroach thigh muscles and observing them under the microscope. It is the only part of biology that I truly miss.

14. Through school and college I have always been branded as the numbers guy. I tried to get rid of that by writing long, painful blogs. Hasn't helped one bit. I still screw up all the "globish" courses.

15. I simply adore C language. My favorite dream in 2nd year was to wake up and start speaking C with everyone.

16. I am the only cricket lover in my family who adored Rahul Dravid when everyone was mad after Sachin. I practically jumped for joy when Rahul scored his amazing innings at Adelaide, and it almost broke my heart when they said all those mean things about him after WC 2007.

17. Much as I hate to admit it, I love to make fun of my friends. I don't like people who can't take jokes. I also don't like people who are all "khadoos types" and "always sad sad".

18. I'm practically the worst cribber you will find on earth. When friend A goes to friend B to crib about life in general, friend B in general will console, etc. If friend A comes to me to crib about life, I crib a hundred times more so he suddenly starts feeling blessed, fortunate and happy.

19. I love legacy and heritage and all those age-related emotions. I am the kind of person who adores memorabilia, can get very nostalgic and would rather be in a company that lasted 200 years than in one that lasted 2.

20. I like to say friends are one of the most important things in my life. But somehow I always find enough excuses to escape dinner and lunch - so I really don't think I'm justified in making that statement.

21. I am a very big self marketer (Is that MBA-jargon for show off?). For instance, I spend more time publicizing my blog and making all my friends read it than I spend actually writing it.

22. Very few people know that I love dancing despite the fact that I can't dance for nuts. Same holds true for singing, bowling (as in red ball), computer-gaming and so many other things.

23. Because of what I said in 22, one of my best pastimes has been playing cricket with an imaginary ball in front of a mirror, and replicating Dravid's strokes. I'm surprised I haven't broken my window or my TV screen or any such stuff.

24. My ambition in life is to create something like the Matrix, only with Nazgul in it instead of agents, to invent the magic wand and incarnate myself into this make-believe world as Harry Potter, the saviour. At the end of that incarnation, evil will have reached an all time high and therefore I will be sent back with greater powers (even as Gandalf in LOTR was) and this time I will truly save the world.

25. I have spent over an hour writing these 25 things and people who don't comment are going to face my cribbing. (Refer #18).

It all started with a lollipop

2008-11-01T22:09:00.000-07:00

The earliest memory I have of life is one of sucking a lollipop in the back of my dad's car and staring at a high rise tower on the roadside. I went to this school sixteen kilometers away from my house in a bus which made a funny noise when the doors opened that made all of us kids laugh. The school had tall buildings, but somehow I could never go higher than the second floor because after that there was a door that was blocked by mops, buckets and everything else that Ryaaju used to keep there. Now that made me very angry, because I wanted to go places, and I tried to make up for it by tucking a wooden scale halfway down my bag, so that I looked like a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. None of my teachers ever understood this, and they sent me home with notes in my diary saying restless, naughty and a million other synonyms. We had parent-teacher meetings, where I would sit with my most guilty face ever, and yet many times my teachers didn't melt. Maybe the one thing I am very grateful to my mother for is that she never let me screw up in acads, because of which I always did well in exams. Anyway, school was a lot of fun, because I got to see people who were different from me, and who did different things that made me want to do all those things as well. I had a Tabla teacher who liked me so much that he gave me a chance to play on stage at the age of 13, somehow I never thought of it as being a celebrity back then. I still remember that it was in class 8 that I saw two of my friends, a guy and a girl sit next to each other eating the same Choki Chokiand it made me sick because it was like tasting someone else's saliva. It took me long enough to realize that they were more than just friends. Five years later that friend of mine died in an accident, and the girl moved on. That was when I started really praying. I always feel real prayer is when your prayers go up in the same language as you think in.

Anyway, by then I had finished my class twelve and as I said earlier, I wanted to see places and I came to India excited at the idea of studying without two pairs of eyes boring into the back of my head - the proverbial independence that every teenager wants in his life. I had my first big fight at the end of my first year of engineering, and I ended up at the wrong end of many shoes. I realized in college that there were people who thought acads wasn't important and I kept thinking they were real cool. I remember trying to be like them, and playing a lot of computer games just to show that I could be as cool as them. As I soon discovered, this never got me anywhere and the guys who studied hard and did nothing else got far ahead of me. I never made my peace with that, and so my graduation looks like the struggle of a country for its place in the Security Council when it can't feed almost half its population. I cribbed most of the time, and rejoiced like anything when I made little victories. I burst my first Diwali crackers at the age of sixteen (since they were banned in Bahrain) and I went berserk dancing in my first Sherwani at my college fest. I had my share of ups and down in engineering, and somehow I'm very grateful to God for giving me an exit option when it mattered most. The good part was that the option looked so good that even when I didn't know what I was getting into, I was so proud of what I did in CAT that the rest of my life waned in comparison and it just didn't make any sense doing anything else.

One year and five months later, I am still lingering at the business school I joined. I am still restless and naughty and all those things. I still want to go places, and I love being amidst people and watching how they behave and think and how their minds work.I still burst crackers and love getting dressed up in a Sherwani on Dandiya and Diwali nights. But there are other things too. I fight with people a lot less, because in my head, people have become black boxes and you can predict what they will do when you tell them something. So I'm just careful with my words. I do a lot worse in exams than I used to in school, but I'm sure that's only because my mom's eyes aren't boring into the back of my head. I feel great when I can help someone...being here has given me my first chance to see underprivileged people and do something for them. It feels awesome when you yell irrationally at a bunch of seventy people and they actually listen to you; my tutorials have given me a chance to experience that. An investment bank heading for the abyss offered me a job, only to drop down the abyss faster.

And here I am, trying to figure out what I want to do in life, because as Richard Harris says in the Chamber of Secrets, it's our choices and actions that define us, and not our abilities. Sometimes I think I should just get myself to some sort of a school and teach there, as I so like blabbering. Sometimes I think doing a nonprofit job is really cool, as you're being selfless and all that. Sometimes I just want to get rich and richer, so that I can cool my heels at the end of the day and watch a movie of my choice in my home theater. Most of the time, I just wish time would stop so that I wouldn't have to think about what'll happen in four months' time...

Ten excuses not to brew potions

2008-06-20T13:05:00.000-07:00

#10 - The iPod, the Airport Express and Homecoming

Recovering from credit risk since comrade IIMB-ian on the trading desk refunded Macau loan. Thinking about how to spend the inflow of Mandarin money in the light of country exit in the offing. Impulse buy of the Apple iTouch. Ripping the setup for iTunes out of the air on the way to airport while listening to Mandarin expletives from the taxi driver about Hong Kong traffic and expatriate travellers in general. The great download of Shrek 1,2,3 from the airport net, the conversion to MP4 and burning the iPod. Watching animated movies on flight and getting Mandarin expletives from the airhostess on refusing to respond to her calls for grub. Landing at Dubai airport and sending first emails from inside an aircraft. Laughing at my own kiddishness. Arriving home. Glad it's all over.

#9 - Thrifty or Spendthrift?

Waking up to the scary sound of the new alarm clock in my room. Looking around for people to go shopping for gifts with. Experiencing the all-time lowest of convincing skills. Breaking suitcase in frustration. Travelling to SOGO looking like the kid in Baby's Day Out. Nearly escaping death as the doors closed on the metro. Entering huge hypermarkets stacked one over the other with immense number of branded items all over the place. Hunting from top floor to base floor looking for a map of the place. Paying $1600 for a $2500 suitcase that sold for $4800 online. Perfume shopping with glamorous sales attendants and scenting coffee beans all over the place. Splurging the equivalent of 20,000 native currency on a single day. Feeling high about it. Dragging $5000 worth of items through a tram ride which cost $2 less than the usual $4 that it took for a cab.

#8 - The Review

The beginning of all the hype of the offers. The sole ride to Citibank tower from Island Pacific, where the only sound was the nasal Chinese voice on the radio. And Nattu chewing the proverbial apple. Tensions in creating presentation among numerous assignments from DC, DD and NP. Talk about how more work meant more interest and frustration should be an optimistic sign. Search for pseude presentation templates in the bowels of the computer hard drive. Loss of all templates found to other interns to be left stranded on the island of powerpoint with nothing but a laptop to give hope. Major fight in creating first ever template - with profuse help from God's own lands. Making the presentation with 4 hours of sleep the night before. Pat-on-the-back. Distress at seeing others getting more pats-on-the-back. Realization that it's all stupidity. Post-realization peace.

# 7 - The Great Gambler

Waking up to bad moods and the wrong side of the bed earlier than 9 am on a Saturday morning. The ubiquitous and condescending call from Subbu about how I was unwelcome at Macau and all that. Forced presence, nonetheless. Boat ride to Macau with Latheman, Topper and Subbu. Gaping at snaking bridges that go up and down and whose structures belie realism. Travelling by lift to the tenth highest tower on earth and trying to jump thence. Understanding how weather derivatives make money after plans were foiled. Hesitant entry to the casino at the Venetian. Gambling 20 cents with fellow RBS intern and converting it to $300. Splurging the three hundred and two hundred more on Sic Bo. Planning strategy with expected value greater than nought. Realization that trading on technicals makes no sense. Ferry ride back poorer and wiser. And crazier.

# 6 - Payday

Getting the only spam email that is welcome - the paycheck link. Jumping with joy with comrade strategist on discovering we got a hundred and ninety dollars more in relocation allowance. Putting never-before efforts into using Bloomberg to convert HKD to INR and revelling at the rise of oil price. Speaking back home for the longest international call ever made, even as fellow interns spiritedly aviated over Lan Kwai Fong.

# 5 - Of dogs and babes

Trip with Puri and the rest of the Kolkattans to this cute little island. 50 year old expats, 25 year old local wives, kids and dogs. That sums up Discovery bay. Trekking on the mountains there. Fellow strategist rediscovering his farmer blood, and planting trees in Hong Kong. Walking back and sitting on the artificial sand on the artificial beach with artificial sea creatures floating about in real sea water.

#4 - The bull, the China, no shop

Accepting mementos all with the seal of the Merrill bull from "mother". Getting escorted out from the cool shelters of human resources by the business manager to the Strategic Solutions Group. Perusal by the Managing Director, and subsequent summing up. Discovery of the pantry, the internet and of how to use the phone. Meeting up with Kolkattan intern and fellow strategic analyst MK. Birth of the cynical banker here.

#3 - Flight to the Orient

Crashing down head first into the spacious Cathay Pacific seats, and taking in the stench of Subbu's nicotine abuse before dozing off. Waking up to find thin-eyed airhostesses pulling Subbu's neck to make the seat upright. Realizing that I had missed dinner, and breakfast, and lost everything that I had paid Rs 37000 for. Calling the airhostess for a glass of orange juice five minutes before landing. Listening to Chinese rebukes outside a martial arts movie as a consequence for the first time. Not liking it.

#2 - Mumbai Mania

Entering the Mumbai office with Subbu, Maggie and Mamta looking like a scene from Kaante. Discovering that Jayanthi Bajpai was a top guy at the company. Sleeping through his monologue. I am Prabh, and you can call me God, he said. Bending steel rods and walking on glass. Tonga-riding with five smartly suited B-schoolers from Marine Drive to the Taj. Realization that that was the wrong place to be, and the tonga ride back to the Taj President. Bargaining from Rs 500 to Rs 300, for a journey that would've taken us Rs 30 by taxi.

#1 - The beginning

Arriving an hour and a half late at the Mumbai airport. Walking out to find amazing buildings looking nothing like the dirthole we expected. Catching the worst possible taxi in vicinity. Fitting in 2 huge suitcases into the dikki. Chal jaayega, bhaai saab. Travelling at 100 kilometres an hour, and reaching the Taj in 40 minutes flat. Getting out alive.

To You, with love

2008-05-14T16:34:00.000-07:00

Dear Man-or-woman-who-lives-above-the-clouds

Everytime I write to you the letter never reaches you because the post-office uncle thinks I'm mad. So this time I will write to you through the latest thing people have come up with - the internet. This time others will read it - and you will therefore HAVE to reply.

So how's it up there? Doesn't it get lonely and cold up there? Well, yeah, you built this place, so there's nothing to say you didn't make a jacket for yourself. But still, sitting up there and looking down at us? That would make me dizzy.And maybe bored...I don't know.

Guess you're managing all those pantheons of "big" gods and "little" gods we believe in as well. You should really write to me about those sometime - are they like delimited? Oh - I haven't told you - it's a software term. What I meant to ask was whether gods are restricted to airspace and they're not allowed to violate each other's property. It'll make a lot of sense to us if you tell us how that politics across space works - because many times we think of you and your support system up there when we're abroad and we're in some trouble.

I don't know you. No, I don't mean that I have not seen you or whatever, but I don't understand how you work. That is, assuming, you're the same person who I think of when I'm stuck in a traffic jam and I'll get fired if I don't make it to the office on time. Assuming you're the same person all of us think of when we're living on the edge, and wishing we could just jump off. And assuming that you're the same person who responds time and again.

Let me ask you something. They say you know everything. They say you're the one who decides our fate. Then I don't get what joy you find in making little dolls with flesh and blood, making them suffer and then killing them to recycle and send back as people who don't suffer and therefore commit sins. Haven't you had enough seeing this for 200 decades at least?

OK. Granted that one year of yours is like a zillion years of ours. Still, do you get a kick out of making people suffer? There are so many people with broken bones, broken heads, broken legs and broken hearts. So many people who talk of successful lives - personal and professional. And so many other people who see these people and rue their unsatisfied lot. Why, God, Why? Why this insufferable passion to see us suffer and crave for mercy? Why this somnambulist existence where we can't even see you and our minds are in handcuffs?

It's just not fair. Definitely not when the things we think are beautiful, marvelous, spectacular - are just glances of your time. Just miniature events that everyone forgets. You don't even get to take souvenirs or photos like in a tourist trip. Hell, we don't even know when or where we're going next. Why this uncertainty? Does that also have a purpose like the rest of the things you do?

But whatever - I'm here because put me down - and I'm gonna do things that make me happy. Because I like to be happy. Why? Since it makes everyone around me happy too - and you like to see people similar to you. In fact is that why you made us in the first place? Do you have other Gods at your level, all of who make universes like this? And do their universes have people too, to worship them? Are all you Gods in some competition to have the best universe around or something? If yes, is there a Super-God who gives you that prize? Just some food for thought.

Awaiting your reply,

Yours religiously
Kid-who-lives-on-the-land

Of Crouching Tigers and Hidden Dragons

2008-04-18T22:35:00.000-07:00

Perhaps the most interesting thing about my 30-day experience on Mandarin lands is the language barrier. Having been an insufferable-crib-about-it-all co-intern, the Midget Rogue isn't really wearing all tinted glasses. Of course, notwithstanding the tinted glasses on my room - which incidentally guise the typhoon signal 3 outside, I realize the invariable reality - I cannot go out today, and hence I must blog.

Not before I give my clothes to the laundry, I decide. I force myself out of bed and pull out the laundry cover from the hotel cupboard. The pile of clothes that has been growing over the week, is quickly stuffed into the miserable excuse for a bag. I pull out the hotel key card (which of course is more importantly my sole source of a Chinese address) and walk out of the room.

The door knob has hardly turned when I realize the housekeeping staff is here.

"May uh?" She asks.

"What?" I ask back.

"May Uhhhh?" The nasal tone is irritating.

It's 5 minutes before she shows me a card that says Make Up Room.

"After lunch". I say. This is the only problem with weekends - you're there when they clean up the room. As I go down from the 16th floor, I wonder how I should really be staying at the 61st floor, given the fact that buildings seem to compete for height around here. Man, what is a Midget Rogue doing round here?

I look around for some sheltered footpath that would take me to Curry Kings. There it is. Long thin way next to the toy shop. Happily I cross the roads and scuttle along the walkway, till I begin to see the toys moving on their own. Oops...I must try to distinguish toys from meat. Amazing reptilian delicacies. And with no clue what's gonna happen to them. I stand by to see what'll happen.

Old Chinese Woman: [incomprehensible Mandarin]
Butcher : [incomprehensible Mandarin]

The butcher raises his knife. I move away to avoid the shock. It is at this point that I realize that this is so profound an experience that it deserves to be recorded in more spontaneous moments and photoblogs.

With a call to the reception, I yell.
"Can.....you......tell.....me....when ....the ........next......shuttle.......to............Tsim Sha Tsui .........is? And......whether.......it.......will........run........in........this weather?"
No, he doesn't understand. I go out and punch the elevator button.

Unmaad - the tenth emotion

2008-02-04T02:08:00.000-08:00

So why on earth, is Unmaad the tenth emotion?

As most people in IIM interviews would say, the bravado at IIM is here to innovate, and innovate they will. Nonetheless, I don't believe that there is a tenth emotion. What there is, really is a certain mix of all these emotions, and the marketing-savvy PubCommers at Culcom are really branding this as a fresh one. Sample this, for instance.

Courage - what the guys at IIMB actually gather so that they can show a "Home Team" in all events despite the terrible schedule.

Pity - of the DOSA (Dept. of Spectators and Audience) at the poor wannabe culcommers who have graciously volunteered for a resume point.

Fear - of the vols and of lesser culcommers of incurring Jiddu's wrath

Anger - When one of the vols shows absolute ignorance to one of the guys carrying walkie-talkies - and the latter is left clueless

Sorrow - I really don't know what to put here, the only place you'd see sorrow in Unmaad is when drunken guys go all senti after the L^2

Happiness - when Unmaad finally ends and Culcommers can direct their slogging energies either towards placements or mid-terms.

Wonder - that Unmaad has actually happened, despite everything the DOSA guys said.

Disgust - of yours truly at having written the first of a series of "1 posts"

Serenity - when people like yours truly are done for the day and have nothing better to do than sleep

There you go. There's your tenth emotion.

Bass! Snare! Drum Roll! Crash! PHOOTAGE!

2008-01-20T14:05:00.000-08:00

The crowds go up in cheers even as Choombuck ascends the stage and sets the guitar, as Laddoo and Venkat do their thing with the bass and lead guitars , and of course as Varun tests out the crisp Yamaha drum kit.

Oh yes, it's Phootage to the L^2 stage, and boy! is the crowd enthu? There's obviously a good lot of mike setting and volume twiddling that happens (it's what they call "setup time" in such contests). Their attire is largely misleading, especially for someone who's never seen them perform. Prasun with his uncombed hair, Sood in the shorts, and Venkat in what my grandmom would only describe as a fisherman's banian. Laddoo of course, in his glasses and sombre look, seems absolute maggu. (Yes guys, I know you're going to kick me next time I'm in the music room, and no guys, I'm not going to mind it. 'Cos you guys rock.)

The beginning is strange. Almost under par. Prasun walks up and says "Welcome to iimb. Now we'll start." And then it begins.

There you go. The medley of Choli ke peeche kyaa hai, Kali Kali and Naagin - mixed to western rock - which Phootage has kinda composed on its own and endearingly termed "Choli ke Peeche Kaali Naagin" rocks the crowd. Not just the home crowd, but the visitors as well. Everyone's going crazy dancing. A special mention must be made of our own Matthew who with his Joker hat and dance - was the treat of the evening for all fachchas.

That was followed by "Feel" and "Sex me up", both of which were done so professionally that it is only when they say "The next one is the only Cover we will be doing" that we realise it's their own composition and not just some rip off. The show ends with a lovely performance of Toxicity which sees the crescendo of Phootage in this college. Hats off to you guys - you've made Unmaad worth living for. Hope to see you guys perform at the 11th, 12th, 13th and all future emotional Unmaads [:D]

And yeah - as a budding fachcha in the Muzik Club - I must say this to go on record. These guys have been an inspiration to all of us Phootlets - if we could perform one tenth as tight as them, it'll be a day worth living.

And yeah - here's a link to the video these guys created....on youtube

http://youtube.com/watch?v=oAS54lU-8Ms

Next Unmaad post on the Easterns...coming up shortly.

Where do we go?

2007-11-26T03:41:00.001-08:00

So yeah. My blog's been down on the activity for a good amount of time now. Why, you ask? Well, large number of reasons, least of them not being the summer placements. That got over, and of course the post placement euphoria studded with trips to Mysore and Wonderla. And now life's back to normal. A life studded with minor yet significant events. A life that's a roller coaster and full of colors - all you need to do is to keep your eyes open and see the colors rush past you.

We are, at the outset, students. Why do we study? To gain the oft-quoted highly priced and respected knowledge. We work hard for entrance exams, and in our enthusiasm, do courses that claim to give us value addition. We continue to work hard,and strive for figures that exalted masters consider apt descriptions of our calibre and greatness. We sit through assignments and submissions that make us not just reflect on the subject that we study, but on how well our co-students are able to understand the same.

Where does this come from, the strange nature of this quest? Why do we always compare ourselves? Why is it that every time we run a race, we need to have people lose to us? What is victory? What is failure? Why is it that we do not satisfice even when we perform to our best, but we are exhilarated when we beat our competitors even at the cost of underperforming? Is that the reason we are here? To beat people and feel happy about it?

The road doesn't end here. It doesn't stop at scoring marks, scoring grades, securing jobs or even securing promotions for that matter. It's like an endless path, a maze, a craze. Sometimes you do well - you're in form. But sometimes, you don't. And what happens then? You cry. You fall down into the scum of the earth and wish you could bury yourself lower. A friend of mine had a quote to say that I found interesting - "I love walking in the rain because no one can see I'm crying." That's how it feels to be on the receiving end.

And so the road carries. The infection spreads from career to every other sanctified and revered walk of life we may have - friendships, relations, even our own selves. It happens all the time. You help your friends make up after a stupid fight, and suddenly now you're feeling left out and lonely as they're all over each other. You sit in a team of people with a common aim, a common goal - and the filthy head of what some of us call ego rises. Sometimes you even try to be the bigger and better person - a so called domination of the angel over the devil in you. And when that happens you feel cheated, unjustly treated - by the fact that you don't get paid for what you've fought.

We dream of success, of love, of friendship. We wish for a Utopian world where all and sundry are good and kind. And yet to achieve this end, we are ready to sacrifice all notions of fraternity and friendship - a paradox in itself. We dream, hope, pray. Who we ask, from the world of strangers we meet on the way will hold our hand, drag us out from this mire, and redeem us.

Summers in Winter

2007-10-06T19:35:00.000-07:00

I'm back. Back after a long time - I should say. And in the meantime, life hasn't exactly been a roll...Though one of the pluses I can derive from this break is that my blogging loyalties were pledged elsewhere - click here to see that. And all for a free T-shirt and some very informative and entertaining events at the B-school to be!

So what's new?

Term -I at IIM Bangalore came to a rollicking finish - perhaps what was most intriguing was the intensity of emotion while bidding our friends adieu for a miserly one week vacation home. Speaks volumes about the kind of bonding that the pressure and work here can create. Term - I results? Don't even think about it - don't know, can't say - think of it as the proverbial phi in the Karnaugh map.

Term-II at IIM Bangalore began with a bang, with the enthusiasm for summers preparation overflowing. All you here these days is "Yaar, consults ki prep kase karoon", "Chal be case karte hain", "Acads ko maaro goli, summers aur ppo maaro, phir aish karte hain", and many more similar dialogues that would have put Jai-Veeru to shame. Needless to say, similar taunts populate the information highway on the intra chatting client.

Of course -there's been the intermediate relief - the relieving sunshine that peeks through the clouds to smile and ask you to make hay before it rains again. Foundation day happened and was a lot of fun - with the entire music band performing impromptu - and doing a good job too. Vista, needless to say, was its usual self with tremendous footfalls and amazing talent on campus.

But back to the summer of '07, and we realize how much we've changed over the past few days. Most of us have doubled up our typing skills writing about ourselves and editing our resumes. It's been amazing the way we've learned to check out a company, see its values and traditions and do a research on it in five minutes flat. With the horde of resume submissions to do, and company presentations to attend, it would be a lie to say that life is relaxed. But it's been memorable.

So long, see ya.

PS: Incidentally, some people were curious about "that Ecstasy thingy" - :P so here are the links of the youtube videos of our music band playing for those who're interested.
FUSION
SAYONEE
KANDISA

Weekend cries !

2007-09-09T20:11:00.000-07:00

And finally Friday ended. Not the way I would have liked to, but it did end ! Friday's always a welcome day at B-school, albeit different reasons for different people. Some like to hang out with their friends, having escaped from the rigors of an 8.00 am submission the next day. Some like to study the week's portions, anticipating a test the next week. Some people are still more paranoid, studying the next week's portions ahead of schedule, so as to be prepared for a test in the next-to-next week.

And there are people like me. Who dread the next morning's exam on managerial communication, and who do not neglect its importance because, after all, it's a two - credit course.

Not because we're overly bothered about topping the class. But just because this is our last attempt to salvage pride. Pride of being in B-school, pride of clearing CAT, pride of a thousand things. So the Friday goes off, fairly unproductive, save mugging the format of a business proposal (if I remember, the text's exact words were - "Though the importance of marriage/divorce proposals cannot be undermined, the textbook shall limit its scope to academic and business proposals. ")

Saturday morning. I wake up to the sound of the paper dropping on my doorstep. And to the stifling odor of Good-night spreading through the fan-less room slaughtering a thousand mosquitoes in its wake. So much for all the malarial paranoia. In all earnestness, I wipe my whiteboard clean and write down all that's pending over the term. All submissions, tests, exams. Even the biz-fest events that I've committed to participate in, God only knows why. I sit back with a smile, not unlike the way Saif Ali Khan sits watching his dad and sis's pictures on a wall coated with Asian paints. (that's a popular Indian ad for those who are still wondering if I've gone nuts).

Then I suddenly remember that the exam's at 2.00 pm and sit down to study. Reminders of how I used to practice "Formal Letter" and "Informal letter" in class VI come flowing in. Why, oh why, is it so hard now ? It used to be so unbelievably easy back then. English was a subject that made you earn brownie marks and raise your average if you did badly in Social studies or something. Now, it's the other way round.

Amid such thoughts, and more, I manage to complete the exam. We receive our feedback at the end of the exam, and a chilling shudder goes up the spine of men who hitherto considered themselves gods. Some people did badly. Some did worse. But the chosen few, who did cross 70, jumped their way back to the hostel. And I, was not among them. Yet another "Aam aadmi" exam.

Saturday night ends on the same ambitious note as the morning began. Only this time, the list on the whiteboard gets longer, as your neighbors ungenerously remind you that you've overlooked three or four tests and the resume verification due next week.

Sunday morning finally arrives. It's probably a time for celebration, you think. But with the grim feeling that the grades dished out the previous day, you decide that the final presentation in Managerial communication that is due Tuesday, deserves more respect and effort than you envisaged it would. Especially since it's now your only chance to gain any leeway in this subject, and all your life you've claimed to have the proverbial gift of the gab. A line from "Snapshots from Hell" comes to mind - "Strangle weaknesses. Strengthen opportunities."

And then Parkinson's law takes its toll. Work expands to fill the time available to complete it. You never know how time flies. It's 2.30 pm, you've missed lunch because your friends tell you the food in the mess is pathetic, and anyway there's just too much rush with all the exchange foreigners coming in. So we order food from outside, and somehow you're never happy with the quality of the food. The grass, as they say, is always greener on the other side of the fence.

You return to your desk to find that your presentation is nowhere near completion. An exaggerated sense of urgency grips you, and your fingers tap away on the laptop till they're comfortably numb. Finally at around 10 pm, the P.P.T.'s done, and you lean back with a sense of accomplishment. "Substantial", as my neighbor would call it. You turn around, and you see the whiteboard in a position where you can rub nothing off your list. The same list that gave you pride and inspiration last morning, now gives you a sense of revulsion mixed with cynical philosophy. Stomach wildly heavy with the naans and rotis that you hogged for lunch, you just crash onto the bed, with nothing to fight for.

Monday morning arrives, and you realize you're no better off than Friday. If anything, you're probably worse off. If you've honestly been reading this putting yourself in my shoes whenever I wrote 'you' instead of 'I' or 'me', you'll understand what a weekend at B-school is.

Unenviable, says Collins, is the right word.

Humiliation

2007-09-04T09:11:00.000-07:00

So I'm sitting in my class at IIMB, feeling smug seeing my nameplate on my desk - it's actually got my name and roll number on it - and basking in the glory that is IIMB. Basking in the knowledge that this was what a 2 lakh people wrote CAT for, and this is fun...being here, doing this.

And of course, I'm totally oblivious to what the prof's saying - something about Greiner's model of organizations' birth and death. Ughh...it's irritating sitting in a class like this full of inactivity and not doing anything save listen. So I took this pic. You can't see me, of course, but you can see how most of the class is dozing off. You can also see my yellow highlighter on the table and that's there because I wasn't using it; so my neighbour decided he would play with it. Fine. So much for a regular class.

Out of the blue, the lights go out, and there's this wonderful movie that our professor plays about Aravind Eye Hospital in Madurai and how they're creating waves with the good work that they do. The video is moving and inspirational. My friend remarks, why can't such movies hit Inox instead of flicks like Chak De. Yeah, interesting, I think. Get SRK to be a doc, and 16 nurses, and bam! you have a blockbuster. Some movie, huh?

Anyway, so the movie's over, and everyone is visibly moved including the prof, and so we go on to the rest of the lecture. It's what follows that probably made this one of my most memorable lectures; I just hope I remember it for all the right reasons. (italics reflect my thoughts)

Prof: So what happens in an organization when you get a fresh set of employees or people and make them adjust to the vision of the company.

Me: Does the fresher really have a choice? Hell, he wouldn't paid if he didn't stick by the company. So he'd work, what else?

Prof: This is probably best studied in light of the IIMs themselves. Now apparently, this top level institute in India (I'm not taking names, so that SMC can't sue me for being politically incorrect) follows a process called Unfreezing, Change and Refreezing. Unfreezing is the most painful process of the three. You guys come as cool cats, with the mentality that you've done it all. And so you're hardly ready to learn anything, let alone get transformed into something greater.

Me: For the first time in an MO lecture, I'm actually attentive. Hell, this guy seems to be speaking to me!!!

Prof:And so, the first term is deliberately made so hard, with so much workload that even the best of students can humanly not cope with it. And say by the end of term, you actually start questioning your own abilities.

Precisely what we freshers were bitching about last night in the Dukh Baanto session in my room. Oh, for crying out loud!!!

Prof: And the system makes sure that even the best of students ends up with at least a couple of D's. By when the student is brought down to his knees, and he actually starts accepting that he is not the supreme master and commander of the universe. There's more to learn. The process that follows, is called change and refreezing that inculcates stuff into the kid, and makes him strong.

Somehow reminds of a documentary on Kung Fu I was watching a couple of months ago. But yeah, it feels nice to know that we're falling right down your trap.

Prof: Just remember that the harder and more painful this process is, the stronger your alumni network will be. And yeah the bottomline - do not come to me if you end up with C's or D's. Just take it in your stride.

Wow, some way of putting it, that.

What's with a little extra jammin'?

2007-08-18T19:57:00.000-07:00

It's three in the morning, and at this unearthly hour I've just gotten back from the recreation room doing perhaps what only Palash Sen or Raghu Dixit would appreciate - jamming. We have our intra Bangalore cul-extravaganza today, and our show's at 9.30 am. I'm back in my comfort zone to catch some well deserved sleep. I can't even believe I'm tapping out this blog - so tired are my fingers from playing Tabla, and my biceps - they've already given way twice.

OK - that was more of a euphemism, but yeah, the kind of dedication that these guys have out here is amazing. At like 1 in the morning we're all irritable, and frustrated because we're getting the odd beat wrong, and any suggestion for changed is met with snobbishness, not out of being stubborn, but simply because we're too pained from having to play since 5 pm and we're not there yet.

And still, we carry on. Putting fight, as the IIMB lingo goes. Here's to a successful Ecstasy!!!

Lament of an open book exam

2007-08-13T05:07:00.000-07:00

I was born in America. Some say I was created by the magnanimous professors of American universities to cater to the great average American mind. Yet others say I was a need based invention. Whatever it be, I still remain the same old white sheet of paper with black ink, cyclostyled or xeroxed. The beauty of an open book exam lies in the fact that I can make the examinees fall to their knees in humiliation. That in fact, they could bring all they wanted to the fight, and I would render them ineffectual. Some would say an open book exam is logical in a post graduate environment, given that you would anyway not need to memorize stuff in real life.

But alas! The loopholes of exam law render me ineffectual. I, as any other creation in this universe, have ancestors. Evil as they are, the people who come to crack me shamelessly resurrect the dead bodies of my esteemed ancestors from their graves and make copies too. They bring them to the sanctum sanctorum of the exam and use them against me !!! My unfortunate creators lack in sufficient creativity to make me independent of my forefathers. Bad students bless me, and good ones curse me before I am born. After my life cycle, everyone curses me for the equity that I bring about. Some pathetic existence I have, huh?

PS: Anyway for those of you who're wondering if this post is out of place, yours truly is down with a bout of mid term result fever at B- school, and will promptly return next week. So long!

School after college

2007-07-01T05:28:00.000-07:00

Doesn't that title sound a bit crazy? Well, it sounds philosophical to me. Metaphysical, rather. Like life after death. But it's a fact that I along with 248 other great children of this country (hmmmm....) are now experiencing.

B- school.

Yeah. That's what I'm talking about. I'm finally in a place surrounded by stones and rocks - IIM Bangalore. It's where I want to be. It's almost like living in a castle. Specially the hostels. You walk out of the room and you're in a quadrangle of stone. The place is almost like heaven. Especially after staying in a dilapidated hostel on the beach for four years.

Almost like heaven.

That agonisingly painful step away, IIM Bangalore is not heaven. It's a workhouse, where the comfort of your room is just a comfort zone that you return to, to lick your wounds. Where you sit down to rewrite your one-pager resume after it has been taken apart by your mentors. Where you sit and cram ways of Managing Organisations in the hope that you'll remember at least 4 out of 8 in the test tomorrow. And where you set your alarm clock at 7 am in a swing of inspiration, only to wake up at 7.05 am and switch off the snooze button.

But yet, it's enjoyable, and I even have the time to conjure up this bunch of seemingly useless nonsense.(or should I say Globe?)

That's what I call hectic fun.

Widescreen

2007-06-02T01:57:00.000-07:00

That does seem bit weird a title for the next post of a person who is neither a photography enthusiast nor a cinema critic. However yeah, the term did come to mind when I was browsing the latest cameras @ Panasonic. The latest in thing is the widescreen 28 inch lens which gives one a larger screen effectively with the same camera size. And I was hit by this astoundingly obvious metaphor to life....

We are born as babies with none, absolutely none of our knowledge of the world around us. Slowly we move from the cradle to the bed and from the bed to the school bus, questioning the things around us and the way they work. The school bus is a standing witness to our transformation from germinating saplings to scheming bratty teenagers who channelize their intellectual energy down all sorts of devilish alleys to fool all they know. With this kind of self esteem, and with a mentality that they are the supreme masters of the world and commanders of the universe, we enter the mystical world of college. Four years of roughing up by seniors, lecturers, professors and project guides in that order transform us into machines, subservient individuals who I fondly call the youth brigade and who constitute a force stronger than this world has ever seen. So much for what the world, and the rest of its inhabitants see in this generation. My astonishment pertains to what the generation has kept seeing as they've been growing and how their viewpoint has become more and more wider and mature as the most important number in their lives - their age - increases.

Serious as this post may sound, I thought I'll lighten it up by writing it in the form of dialogues between myself and the people concerned, that'll get the point across. Of course, wherever it makes sense though. It's a new style of writing I picked up when I was reading my friend's blog the other day, and it makes reading a lot more fun.

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1-2-1987. 6.15 pm
APPA: (pointing to me)Avanige hasivu aagutthide. (Kannada, translates into "He is hungry")
AMMA: (takes me to the dinner table)

1-2-1987. 9.15 pm
ME: (pointing to my stomach)Avanige hasivu aagutthide. (Kannada, translates into "He is hungry")
AMMA: (laughs)

For the uninitiated what this shows is how much a child picks up when he's a kid. Though he's got absolutely no knowledge of the language(obvious from the "He" used in both sentences), he just replicates what his father has said, thinking that since he got fed when his father said it, he would get fed again if he said it ! When my mom tells me this story for the 15th time today, I still don't fail to get amazed.
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Class II. A scene from class. The teacher has just finished hurling a tirade of instructions and threats at the bunch of brats sitting in front of her. They're all quiet. Pin-drop silence, as she said. Everyone. Except, of course, me.

ME: Teacher is stupid.
GUY NEXT TO ME: (Snickers)
GOODY GOODY GIRL SITTING IN FRONT OF ME: I will tell teacher (promptly complains)
ME: Oh shit. (as the wooden scale in the hands of Mrs. Mary Francis lands on my palm. Thank heavens it was not steel.)

Later that night....
MOM: (having spoken to Mrs. Mary Francis) What nonsense did you do in class today?
ME: (totally unaware of the fact)Nothing.
Mom gives me two slaps. One for calling my teacher stupid, and one for lying.
Lesson not learnt.

PS: For the record, Mrs Mary Francis was a teacher I adore and respect to this day. I owe a lot of what I've achieved to her, and today I sincerely regret whatever I said on that day, out of innocent ignorance.

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Class VIII. Scene: Student's Council. Me the head boy. We have the job of making sure everyone gets into the school bus, and no unauthorized person gets in. Our PE Sir is in charge and he has just finished briefing us on the issue. We turn round and get started. The bookworm I was at the moment wanted to run away. No real dialogues took place, but the moment his back was turned, I ran. Shamelessly. A moment of cowardice and shirking of duty. The consequences of which still keep haunting me. A sad page in the book that is my life.
Lesson learnt, but late. Better late though, than never.
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Class XII. My last year in school. It's Bio class. And I'm laughing away to glory at pathetic jokes that my friend and I share to pass time that's honestly boring.

Prof. : So this is a process called mitosis, where by the cell undergoes asexual division and splits into two cells. So you see, within 6 divisions the cell splits into sixty fou...........keep quiet!

We continue to snicker.

Prof. : (Two minutes later, slaps both of us really really hard) How many times should I tell you this? Do NOT disturb my class. Nonsense.

A day that i can't wipe out from my memories of school...A day that taught me no matter how many exams I top or how many times I come in the Honors' List, it makes no sense to disrespect your teacher. Weird, considering you'd expect that to have entered my head sometime early in life. But ya...the screen did become a couple of inches more wide.

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1st year of engineering. Scene near my classmate's hostel room. In fact my CR. Was pretty much frustrated on the day 'cos I hadn't done well in some test or something....I walk into the room and generally rant about. Having signed for something I don't remember now, I generally fiddle around with his mobile phone. At the time, mobile phones were new and exciting to me, (you can imagine first year of hostel life) and considering a friend a friend, I send a ringtone from his phone to mine since I took a fancy to it. I forgot just one thing. To ask.

The next thing I know is that I'm taken up on all fours and kicked...I'll spare the gory details but in NITK lingo, I got what was the biggest GPL of my life.

Lesson learnt: Never take anyone for granted, even friends. To cultivate friends, always give more than what you take.
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Final year in college. This is my IE trip. And we're going to Kerala.
Junior: Hey sir you've cleared in CAT....how'd you do it?
ME: Yeah....just stick to the fundamentals....(and off i go bragging about what I did)
JUNIOR: Sir but isn't doing MS a better idea. Especially when...(he tells me what he's done in college. I'm honestly shocked. The guy's a virtual genius in electronics. He just asked me a lot of questions on how I prepared for MBA....I feel so used!!!)

Lesson learnt: Never, never brag. Even to your juniors. It's always pleasantly surprising when they find out about you on their own and then chide you for not telling them. At least you don't make a fool of yourself.
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Final Scene. My IIM Ahmedabad interview. Unforgettable. The interviewer was seeing my certificates and I had done a course in math called concrete maths, which I topped and am very proud of.

Interviewer: OK so what is this Concrete Mathematics you've done? Do you make concrete in it ?

ME: No sir, I'll quote Donald Knuth the author of our text, who defines it as a FOUNDATION FOR COMPUTER SCIENCE.Basically it starts by trying to find a method to the madness of recursions, closed forms, sequences and series , floors and ceilings and finally generating functions.

Interviewer: So can you define Limit of a function?

(kept trying..think what i wrote is correct, but he never agreed)

Interviewer: And you say you've read Knuth? (mocking me)

(Apologetic smile, but I still haven't gotten over that urge to kick myself)

Lesson learnt: Dude even though you're an expert in a field, the very thought of the fact is a crime. It can cause great downfalls in life.
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So thus we reach the present position of life. Even though I've made it through college, and gotten into the college I've pretty much dreamed about for a long time now, I can't stop admiring the journey my mind has made. From being able to distinguish between "you" and "me" to descending on great philosophical truths of life. It is only now that I understand when they say life's a journey, not a destination. And the Geeta now makes perfect sense when it asks you not to worry about the results of your action, but the action itself.

Because you'll cherish the journey forever. The fruits last just their shelf life.

Another philosophical truth.

Enough for today. Be back with more.

Coaxed away!

2007-05-27T01:21:00.000-07:00

Well, so I find myself here in an oasis in the middle of the Persian Gulf. I have finished a substantial chunk of my education, and my road for the next 2 years has been charted out. I sip my morning Bournvita, and look outside the French windows, and my gaze falls on a barren piece of land. No lush greenery, no beautiful lawn to look out on. But the cool breeze of the AC brushes my hair, and the comfort of this place comes back to mind.

Sick of my lazing around and putting on weight, and doing no other useful work than surf around and chat on gtalk with friends, my parents decide to call me out to go shopping. Unwilling to go, I try to make excuses.

"I want to write my blog. There's no time, and no battery in my laptop. So I need to stay home"

"No."

"My best friend from school is coming back today. I want to catch up."

"You can speak to him after coming back. Now come and enough of this joblessness."

"Please." I beg to stay home. These will be my last holidays. I want to enjoy them at home, I think. But I don't say it aloud. I'll play that trump card elsewhere.

And relenting, I walk out in a pair of three quarters and a t-shirt. A Proline t-shirt that my mom absolutely disapproves of my wearing along with the three-quarters that we purchased at Geant and which she despises.

We get into the four-wheeled chassis, one of Toyota's wonderful creations and villa no. 27 vanishes in a puff of exhaust smoke. We cruise along the flyover, one of the few things you'd envy being in India. And barely has it been 15 minutes, we're at our destination 12 kms away.

Yet another thing I envy. Speed.

But what astounds me is the way I've swinged my emotions from being an 20.5-year old unruly kid to an admirer of philosophically and aesthetically pleasing things in life.....and the grim satisfaction I get now, not entirely unlike that of a student who fills up a page in his answer book having written nothing of substance at all.

They stopped an exploding man!!!

2007-05-24T09:23:00.000-07:00

My new laptop rocks. It's arguably the best laptop in the world in terms of performance, and also in terms of the way you can see amazing quality movies on it. In my first blog from this lappie, a tribute to my parents who've bought me this laptop for my future life at IIM.

And yet it can do not 0.07% of the stuff that the guys I saw in Heroes on it this afternoon can.

Season one of heroes ended this week. To the trained logical mind, it would seem no more than a fantasy of sorts, with ideas ripped off from X-men and the like. But brush aside the curtain of cold logic, and behold the artistic capacities of the human mind, and thou shalt appreciate the greatness of heroes.

Artistic capacities, that give humans other artistic capabilities to "Save the World". And to churn supreme testaments on life like the following....

Where does it come from, this quest? This need to solve life's mysteries when the simplest of questions can never be answered? Why are we here? What is the soul? Why do we dream? Perhaps we'd be better off not looking at all. Not delving, not yearning. But that's not human nature. Not the human heart. That is not why we are here. Yet still we struggle to make a difference, to change the world, to dream of hope, never knowing for certain who we will meet along the way. Who among the world of strangers will hold our hand, touch our hearts, and share the pain and triumph?

Well, psychologically and aesthetically inspiring. More so, spiritually. Metaphysics being an interest of mine, it should rightly be so. But my head rolls in awe when I see people making a compelling television show, which you know can never be real, and yet it makes you think twice about life.

How Claire, in spite of her healing ability, played no part in saving the world as such.

How Hiro with his endearing eye-crunch to stop time, teleports centuries in time and kilometres in distance, and yet did no greater service than discovering his ability and landing amongst a bunch of Samurai.

How most of the heroes, having delivered sensational scenes and stupendous achievements in their own life and locale, were either too late or too weak when it came to the fitting moment.

How the most powerful of them all (Peter, the one who absorbs anyone's power when they some close to him, and retains it for life) is compelled to shoot into space so that he explodes without harming anyone. How in spite of having the power to fly, he needs his brother to carry him into space.

And thus reality bites now and roars at me - "A hero is not one who can work miracles or achieve the impossible. A hero is one who can exhort himself to the maximum when it demands of him that he shall. And put his priorities, his values before himself. "

And so comes my take on the whole thing. I'm not disappointed that I have no superpowers. I don't care if I can fly, if I can bend space and time or heal myself. Nor does it matter to me if others can and I cannot absorb their powers. But I would sorely be disappointed if I were called upon to be, and I failed in my duty, as a hero.

To wrap up, the bottom line from "Genesis"...(which by the way I think is amazing)

We dream of hope, we dream of change, of fire, of love, of death. And then it happens; the dream becomes real, and the answer to this quest, this need to solve life's mysteries finally shows itself like the glowing light of the new dawn. So much struggle for meaning, for purpose. And in the end, we find it only in each other. Our shared experience of the fantastic and the mundane. The simple human need to find a kindred. To connect. And to know in our hearts... that we are not alone.

So long, I'll be back, with more !!!!

Homecoming

2007-05-12T23:54:00.000-07:00

Home at last. The flight was boring to use the politest word at disposal, and it's such a relief to be back in the air conditioned rooms of our house. Despite the terrible temperatures of the Middle East, and the barrenness of the desert all round, it still feels home. This was where I grew up. This is home.

And yet, there's this small and truthful voice in my head that goes, no, you don't miss this place so much as you'd miss college. And I think, yes. Our home for four years, NITK gave us glimpses of hell, and shorter glances of heaven, yes, but it was still home for four years. I'm already missing the long walk from the room to the bathrooms at the other end of the corridor as the taps at my end are running dry! (NITK hostels are built on a slope) Among other things, I also can't seem to forget the powercuts. The horrendous stench of sweat that didn't seem to stop because the fans weren't working. The amount we used to curse the people in the generator room as they would never switch on the generator. And always used to be partial to our block, no matter which block we lived in.

Memories flood my tiny cerebrum as I think of the bygone four years...the four years for which this sleepy little town on the west coast of India, Surathkal has been my home away from home. And finally, as I sit in the comfort of air conditioning in my parents' home here in Bahrain, the reality bites me, and I realise....I'm no longer an undergrad. Make no mistake ...I can't call myself a graduate either; my final sem results are yet in the waiting. But tehe point is, as I lie now and recline on this couch, I find I have nothing to worry about, and all I can do is to sit and reminisce.

It's all over.

Ring

2007-04-26T11:21:00.000-07:00

My ring ceremony's over. It seems like college's almost over, but it's not. I don't feel like crying, but there's this thing deep down in me which says I'm going to be crying for the next 10 years.

It's not everyday that you remember such sentimental quotes like that. This one's Matthew Perry, of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. fame, and he said something similar when the show ended after a 10 - year run. In my case the nostalgia is more by leaps and bounds.

So what's brought this up, you ask? Well, I happen to be in this college where a silver ring is presented to all students as a mark of their graduation. Apparently (or so said the Dean) this was as close as they could get to a convocation before becoming a Deemed univ. So here we were, all in formals, for one last farewell....

I won't go too much into the details, 'cos they don't really matter, but suffice it to say that when our HOD/ prof slipped that ring up our finger, each and every one of us felt that flourish of pride. That feeling of wonderment and astonishment that we had made it on our own. As Pranay who gave the valedictory speech said, we made our identities here, or rather, we discovered them. And to think it all comes back to you at the precise moment when you're going to leave the college....Strange yet stark realities of life.

Anyway so we all got the ring, and the best students got the golden ring and golden medal...we all read the pledge, of which we have one copy apiece. Though following it is going to be one hard thing.(it was hard enough eating dinner keeping it in one hand)

Oh and by the way, so that you don't have any misconceptions, ....we've had our share of problems.

The food sucked. Just when we thought nothing could be worse than mess food.

There was no water in the blocks for 40% of the time we spent here. Maybe even more.

We've been deprived of our 3 basic necessities so many times, water, electricity and net.

We've had our share of surprise tests, and it's taken its toll.

None of us have the CGPA we wanted. As always ,we would have wanted more.

And yet, as Pranay said, I wouldn't have it any other way.

Tripped!

2007-03-31T01:47:00.000-07:00

Kerala is a nice place. So nice that they are called God's own country, and rightly so. Somehow the feeling of being heavenly was very profound when we stopped at the outskirts of this town Sulthan Bathery, which was to be some kind of a center point for all the places we were to visit on the trek we went last week. The mist surrounded us and both sides of the road dived down steeply, so that it seemed that we were on the mezzanine and all the fields were on the ground floor. The air was cold and I having had woken up from my deep slumber, was still trying to figure out what was going on. All around me the enthusiastic juniors were clicking away, while some tried to get acrobatic by climbing trees.

So here we were, 300-odd kilometres away from hostel, away from the steamrolling heat and sweltering climate of Skull, to enjoy the cool backwaters of Kerala. Well, not everything is rosy in life, and soon the pangs of hunger started biting. Yeah, we had the biscuits and no, we did not have cooked food packed from the lousy mess, but the reserves were meant for the trek or something. So we landed up at this so-called best place to eat in SB, and what an experience we had. The few guys who knew Mallutongue in our group chattered something we did not understand, I only hoped they were ordering something veg. Palappams, and ultra spicy curries turned up and there was also this dish which looked like a dosa made out of spaghetti. Anyway, most delicious (probably because of the hunger) and wanting to get on with the trek we moved on.

Revati had very kindly jugged us the lodge at this wildlife sanctuary at Muthanga. Having dumped our stuff there, we relaxed for a bit. The guys were tired, I don't know about the girls. But the one remarkable thing was the way we all flattened out on the bed. Wow, was the KSTRC bus ride tiring. Anyway, there wasn't much wildlife around and this wasn't Periyar at any rate, so we decided to get a move on. There are around 9-10 places that you would really like to visit in and around Wayanad. (see wayanad.nic.in) And 2 days aren't really enough.

We settled on Kuruwa island. Unfortunately we wasted an hour going around in circles, trying to find the point where we moved from bus to boat. Finally, we paid over 860 bucks to get 43 of us across a stream half as wide as an Olympic swimming pool. Man, I could have swum across that one! But con said no, and con is an honorable man. So then we crossed, and we were at last on the island. The trip mood hadn't yet picked up and herding 43 people through a jungle was proving to be quite a task. Con rose to the occasion by getting us a guide and we started our sojourn through the woods of Kuruwa. On land, you can at best file in a straight line and all there is for grip are roots of trees and dead leaves. The waters divide Kuruwa into bits and pieces and the waters that flow are stopped by the presence of big, smooth rocks. The rocks are really treacherous when it comes to letting you walk over them, and least because of the huge amount of moss that grows on them. So that's how the trek through the forest was, partially on land, then wade through water(yes my shoes were in my hand), then walk again with soggy socks and dirty shoes that poked because of the wild grass stuck to my wet feet. Finally after about a thirty such crossings, we got tired and rested on the rocks. In the mood for mischief , we started watering Con. And that snowballed into a major water play! (See pic). This went on till it got dark after which it was dinner and sleep, which would be too regular to blog about!

End of the day, there was only one thought in my mind .....we should do more of this!!!

The First One

2007-01-02T17:34:00.000-08:00

Everything that has a beginning has an end. And this is the end of my lethargy to make a blog. For months now, I've seen and read a lot of blogs. Some get personal, some are simply travel itineraries, and yet there are some which discuss issues that matter globally. The really good ones, as someone recently told me, talk about issues, as against views. That way you're giving your readers more freedom to explore both sides of the coin, rather than do what the media does - shed light only on one side.

So that's strikes me as my first topic. As bloggers , we either contribute to the filth on the web (some would call that "SPAM"), or we make a difference. So we're now part of the 'over hyping' media. The same media that lifts sportspersons to seventh heaven when they perform, and brings them down when they face a stroke of bad luck. What must the media do, then? What mustn't it do? In fact, what would an ideal paper or website look like?

Having chosen the issue, let's for a short time put ourselves in the shoes of a reporter or an editor of a weekly / daily and explore. As the one who runs the business, your primary aim is the viewer. To increase the TRP rating of your channel, it is content and content alone that would matter. Global awareness is a must . For example, most regional channels are very informative when it comes to issues in their state, but are miserably behind time when it comes to international issues. At the same time we have channels like NDTV which are almost instantaneous when it comes to international news and even governmental activities, but nil when it comes to state based events, unless they assume gargantuan proportions. What I'm trying to say is that when it comes to content, it has to cater to all sections of your audience. Rather than spend an hour on the top story, just interviewing related people, one could spend at least 15 minutes on the regional news. After all there are people down south also.

Coming to the process of view gathering, it brings into picture the issue of free press and media. In fact, the whole purpose of free press is to avoid the occurrences of the Hitler era, like the popularization of Aryan superiority and the false aggrandizement of Nazism. A free press thus is ideally supposed to report events as precisely as possible, and present it as honestly as possible to the public, without any bias. At the same time a good medium would provide a much needed platform for public debate and an opportunity for junta to explore both sides of the coin. In fact, in a democracy like ours, a powerful media would actually bring the high and mighty down to the public platforms and ensure that they are made answerable for their actions.

Thus we surmise that the ideal medium would have to focus on the following: (a) collection of information (b) Delivery of this information to the public and (c) Ensuring that the public gets a good platform to discuss stuff on.

With reference to collection of information, one can say this for sure. The two qualities that one looks for are (i) plain and simple honesty and (ii) Extensive nature of the news. The media, by all standards needs to be unbiased while collecting information. How can a biased reporter present both sides of the coin to his audience if he himself hasn't explored one side? Of course, that is not to say that incompetence alone drives such behaviour. The hand of politics does manage to find its way into making the media elements their own mouthpieces. The media is driven by the desire to make personal gain by creating ripples in society on the one hand, and by political / other forces on the other hand. In the midst of all this is lost the requirement for unbiased information

Even if the information collected is unbiased, it has to be extensive. By extensive it has to be large in depth as well as breadth of coverage. As I have already said, a good media must cover issues spanning the entire country, however seemingly insignificant they may be. A fisherman in Kerala would more likely be affected by a water processing plant set up near the coast (which might drive the fish away) than by the 25-day fast of Mamata Banerjee, whatever the reasons. That is breadth. That having been accepted, the depth of coverage must be proportional to the significance / extent of influence of the issue as such, and also on the amount of information that has been collected.

Coming to delivery of information there is of course the need for clarity of information. With the excellent education that we have in place in the country this, at least seemingly, is no longer a problem. However one thing that can and will make a difference is the use of powerful visual / auditory aids to boost information. Tell a child about the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombings and he will simply mug up the whole without a thought for the gravity of the situation. But show him one picture of the atomic bomb cloud that hung over the dead city, or the after-effects of radiation, and he becomes empathetic instantly ! Thus the point I'm trying to make is that most reporters miss out on crucial bits of information which are best conveyed as auditory or visual rather than conveyed in the third person.

The next thing, and I hope at least some of you agree with yours truly on this, is that a medium has to be selective in how much of the information it actually broadcasts. Granted that people have a right to know what our leaders have said. Granted that people should know the full and complete truth without any masala. But there are some issues that do harm/cause unrest by their very mention. A case in point is with reference to the hanging of Saddam Hussein recently. It was reported that he died with a Koran in his hand and was highly religious right up to the very end. No offense being meant to any religion, it is a fact that this piece of information makes him look a changed man, at least in the last moments of his life, and adds fuel to the fire of revolt up against his execution. In my view, it would have done no harm if this piece of information was in fact hidden by the media. (Yours truly acknowledges that there might be views on this radically different from his own and welcomes dissent. After all, a good medium is supposed to provide a public platform for debate)

Finally, there comes the issue of offering a public platform for debate and dissent. Though I must say that this has gone only as far as newspaper columns and TV shows like the Big Fight and others, they are indeed very effective. In fact, vis-a-vis my earlier babble about issues versus views, these are the only outlet for actual views to reach the public. They must therefore be used very effectively. The only regret of mine is that they do not have enough reach to the audience. How many people can really sit in on that TV show. The only way the non-invitees can participate is by calling and more recently, by sending emails / sms. Technology for one, and net for another can surely help in increasing this reach. One new fad I find fairly attractive is the one-to-many chats that I have seen on rediff.com, where public figures sit down for an hour or two and are open to relevant questions from anyone online.

And thus I see that a mild pondering of such an issue can yield so many aspects to it. That makes me wonder. The media face so many issues daily - do they really ponder over even a few of them. If they do, I'd love to have a peek into their heads.

PS: Please leave your comments. I would find them invaluable.