Havent written anything of great consequence here for a while... ok probably never. So I thought that on this great dull saturday (on which I had a class by the way... that was a guest lecture... which I also attended... Yeah instead of sleeping) that I would write something here for just the heck of it. Well I have been here (in Kharagpur - a.k.a. KGP) for a long time now. Well a perceptively long time now and it gets to you sometime. The life here is awesome! That is not the problem. Nor is the weather (Which by KGP standards is awesome) cool breezes all day, a searing heat ONLY in the afty and lovely evenings. Maybe it is just the fact that I miss the best place on earth - Mumbai. Trust me once you are hooked to that city no amount rehab can get that out of your veins. Well it is the spring feeling too. Which leads you to think that there is a problem and what is the problem. Frankly... I don't know. Just feel a little makhaud (makhaud is a feeling of bored in this context). Frankly you know this feeling when you get to philosophising about life. Now you usually don't do this if you are someone like me. The weather is awesome for a game of football or what they call footer here in KGP. But I sort of messed up my leg playing the first match. What irritates me the most is the fact that I cannot play any more matches and I am supposed to rest. I cannot stay in my room for more than 8 hours on any normal day and here I am supposed to rest in my room. Just not happening. It is a beautiful day to just walk around, but I can't because I have to hobble. Ok now it is not as bad as it may sound and this news should obviously not reach my home. Anyways... I shall just head back to my room and sleep the rest of the day off. Maybe listen to some Iron Maiden.. The wickerman seems to be an awesome song for the moment, and of course Boulevard of Broken Dreams - Green day... fantastic song, queue up Mama I'm coming home (Ozzy) with a little Paradise Lost (Small town boy). Actually more of Paradise lost (Got a good gothic twinge to it). Metallica???? Hmmmmnnn... Nah.... nopes not even Enter Sandman or the Unforgiven 2. Rammstein is way to heavy for such a beautiful day. Moster magnet is nice though.
You're stone monolithic
I smell it on your breath
You gotta 'bout nothin' to say
Keep spending all your money
And love yourself to death...
Very inappropriate... sounds good for the moment.
Nightwish.... Gethsemane
Enchantment has but one truth
I weep to have what I fear to lose
And Nemo
Oh how I wish
For soothing rain
All I wish is to dream again
My loving heart
Lost in the dark
For hope I`d give my everything
Awesome tune and brilliant voice...
Saturday, March 11, 2006
Friday, February 10, 2006
Boozzahs!!!!
Really sorry about no posts here. (ok I heard some of you say who cares - but being the kind and generous should that I am ;-) I shall overlook it.) The thing is that a lot of funny and crazy things happen here, but I don’t think I can put them up. No of course not.... they are not the censored kind (Wherever did you come up with that) Well there are a few parties and lots of Bhaat (IIT lingo for talking) (of course when everyone’s spirits are high and the world is a friendlier place) I mean I can never understand why they say that you should not drink and go to work.... Wouldn’t the atmosphere be more friendly (No I haven’t tried) When it comes to such issues I have to clarify, lest you get the wrong ideas :-)
I remember my first drink... It was at a near and dear ones place.... There was this bottle on the table. Not a Jack Daniels, nor even something as humble as an Old Monk. It was this regular 2 litre Pepsi bottle (These guys should pay me for putting their name here :-) In it was a colourless liquid. We shall call it water for the time being (Ok I know that you guessed it Sherlock) So I pick up this bottle and ask if it was for the kids (Yeah there were small kids in the house, tiny ones to be precise). Well the near-and-dear one says no... and takes off. I pay no heed to the smirk...
Well so I opened the cap and guzzled the "water" like there was no tomorrow. (I was thirsty and no I am not making this up for the blog to be more entertaining). Well the rest is history... There almost wasn’t any tomorrow. That was pure and neat country (or as we call it in Mumbai - Narangi) liquor. After about 3 swallows that "elixir of life" tasted horrid and burnt. So I rush to the sink and I spew what was left in my mouth all over the sink. I took a deep breath and tried to extinguish the fire in my chest and in my stomach.
I later "heard" that even tequila shots don’t do that to you.
Like the theory of the heating rod, I have a lot of theories on booze too.
1. You talk a lot
2. You puke a lot
3. Most of your dirty secrets come out (No I obviously don’t have any. And no I don’t want to drink with you if that is your intention)
4. You actually get the courage to ask someone out.
5. You walk all zig-zag.
6. You get to be YOURSELF. (No I am the same either wise - did I just say that)
7. You believe that you can fly (Yeah my near-and-now-not-so-dear one lives on the 6th floor)
8. And you never remember anything the next day.
9. And oh yeah.. you get a mother of all hangovers (Whatever that is supposed to be... ;-))
... and many more.
So I sneaked onto the couch (after about 3 glasses of water, 2 of milk and 2 bananas (no this was not at the time of my breakfast) Just did it to try and put out the fire so to speak) and went to sleep.Yeah this was also a theory of mine... When you are drunk you sleep a lot. (Please don’t try and connect it simultaneously with talking and hurling - That is simply disgusting) Although I am pretty sure that the events take place in the following sequence: talking, proposing (For the romantically inclined), Fighting (for the warrior in you), puking and then sleeping. Do correct me if I am wrong.Now it is burning so much that I cannot get sleep. So that theory went out of the window. And I was not hurling (I was mighty pleased at that theory being disproved. Thought that I had some capacity), but I tried and remembered all that happened after that. As you can see that you have a very detailed description. Well lets just say that a lot of my theories got disproved at that time and we shall consider it as a very valuable contribution to the field of science called boozeism. (No I am sure that alcoholism is different)
So that was my first time....
I remember my first drink... It was at a near and dear ones place.... There was this bottle on the table. Not a Jack Daniels, nor even something as humble as an Old Monk. It was this regular 2 litre Pepsi bottle (These guys should pay me for putting their name here :-) In it was a colourless liquid. We shall call it water for the time being (Ok I know that you guessed it Sherlock) So I pick up this bottle and ask if it was for the kids (Yeah there were small kids in the house, tiny ones to be precise). Well the near-and-dear one says no... and takes off. I pay no heed to the smirk...
Well so I opened the cap and guzzled the "water" like there was no tomorrow. (I was thirsty and no I am not making this up for the blog to be more entertaining). Well the rest is history... There almost wasn’t any tomorrow. That was pure and neat country (or as we call it in Mumbai - Narangi) liquor. After about 3 swallows that "elixir of life" tasted horrid and burnt. So I rush to the sink and I spew what was left in my mouth all over the sink. I took a deep breath and tried to extinguish the fire in my chest and in my stomach.
I later "heard" that even tequila shots don’t do that to you.
Like the theory of the heating rod, I have a lot of theories on booze too.
1. You talk a lot
2. You puke a lot
3. Most of your dirty secrets come out (No I obviously don’t have any. And no I don’t want to drink with you if that is your intention)
4. You actually get the courage to ask someone out.
5. You walk all zig-zag.
6. You get to be YOURSELF. (No I am the same either wise - did I just say that)
7. You believe that you can fly (Yeah my near-and-now-not-so-dear one lives on the 6th floor)
8. And you never remember anything the next day.
9. And oh yeah.. you get a mother of all hangovers (Whatever that is supposed to be... ;-))
... and many more.
So I sneaked onto the couch (after about 3 glasses of water, 2 of milk and 2 bananas (no this was not at the time of my breakfast) Just did it to try and put out the fire so to speak) and went to sleep.Yeah this was also a theory of mine... When you are drunk you sleep a lot. (Please don’t try and connect it simultaneously with talking and hurling - That is simply disgusting) Although I am pretty sure that the events take place in the following sequence: talking, proposing (For the romantically inclined), Fighting (for the warrior in you), puking and then sleeping. Do correct me if I am wrong.Now it is burning so much that I cannot get sleep. So that theory went out of the window. And I was not hurling (I was mighty pleased at that theory being disproved. Thought that I had some capacity), but I tried and remembered all that happened after that. As you can see that you have a very detailed description. Well lets just say that a lot of my theories got disproved at that time and we shall consider it as a very valuable contribution to the field of science called boozeism. (No I am sure that alcoholism is different)
So that was my first time....
Smart System Admin
Check this out... A smart system admin....
Mr Baker, As an employee of an institution of higher education, I have a few very basic expectations. Chief among these is that my direct superiors have an intellect that ranges above the common ground squirrel. After your consistent and annoying harassment of myself and my co-workers during the commission of our duties, I can only surmise that you are one of the few true genetic wastes of our time. Asking me, a network administrator, to explain every little nuance of everything I do each time you happen to stroll into my office is not only a waste of time, but also a waste of precious oxygen. I was hired because I know about Unix, and you were apparently hired to provide amusement to myself and other employees, who watch you vainly attempt to understand the concept of "cut and paste" for the hundredth time.
You will never understand computers. Something as incredibly simple as binary still gives you too many options. You will also never understand why people hate you, but I am going to try and explain it to you, even though I am sure this will be just as effective as telling you what an IP is. Your shiny new iMac has more personality than you ever will. You walk around the building all day, shiftlessly looking for fault in others. You have a sharp dressed useless look about you that may have worked for your interview, but now that you actually have responsibility, you pawn it off on overworked staff, hoping their talent will cover for your glaring ineptitude. In a world of managerial evolution, you are the blue-green algae that everyone else eats and laughs at. Managers like you are a sad proof of the Dilbert principle.
Seeing as this situation is unlikely to change without you getting a full frontal lobotomy reversal, I am forced to tender my resignation, however I have a few parting thoughts.
When someone calls you in reference to employment, it is illegal to give me a bad recommendation. The most you can say to hurt me is "I prefer not to comment." I will have friends randomly call you over the next couple of years to keep you honest, because I know you would be unable to do it on your own.
I have all the passwords to every account on the system, and I know every password you have used for the last five years. If you decide to get cute, I am going to publish your "favourites list", which I conveniently saved when you made me "back up" your useless files. I do believe that terms like "Lolita" are not usually viewed favourably by the administration. When you borrowed the digital camera to "take pictures of your mothers b-day", you neglected to mention that you were going to take pictures of yourself in the mirror nude. Then you forgot to erase them like the techno-moron you really are. Suffice it to say I have never seen such odd acts with a ketchup bottle, but I assure you that those have been copied and kept in safe places pending the authoring of a glowing letter of recommendation. (Try to use a spell check please, I hate having to correct your mistakes.)
Thank you for your time, and I expect the letter of recommendation on my desk by 8:00 am tomorrow.
One word of this to anybody, and all of your little twisted repugnant obsessions will be open to the public. Never **** with your systems administrators, because they know what you do with all your free time.
Sincerely,
Name Omitted
Mr Baker, As an employee of an institution of higher education, I have a few very basic expectations. Chief among these is that my direct superiors have an intellect that ranges above the common ground squirrel. After your consistent and annoying harassment of myself and my co-workers during the commission of our duties, I can only surmise that you are one of the few true genetic wastes of our time. Asking me, a network administrator, to explain every little nuance of everything I do each time you happen to stroll into my office is not only a waste of time, but also a waste of precious oxygen. I was hired because I know about Unix, and you were apparently hired to provide amusement to myself and other employees, who watch you vainly attempt to understand the concept of "cut and paste" for the hundredth time.
You will never understand computers. Something as incredibly simple as binary still gives you too many options. You will also never understand why people hate you, but I am going to try and explain it to you, even though I am sure this will be just as effective as telling you what an IP is. Your shiny new iMac has more personality than you ever will. You walk around the building all day, shiftlessly looking for fault in others. You have a sharp dressed useless look about you that may have worked for your interview, but now that you actually have responsibility, you pawn it off on overworked staff, hoping their talent will cover for your glaring ineptitude. In a world of managerial evolution, you are the blue-green algae that everyone else eats and laughs at. Managers like you are a sad proof of the Dilbert principle.
Seeing as this situation is unlikely to change without you getting a full frontal lobotomy reversal, I am forced to tender my resignation, however I have a few parting thoughts.
When someone calls you in reference to employment, it is illegal to give me a bad recommendation. The most you can say to hurt me is "I prefer not to comment." I will have friends randomly call you over the next couple of years to keep you honest, because I know you would be unable to do it on your own.
I have all the passwords to every account on the system, and I know every password you have used for the last five years. If you decide to get cute, I am going to publish your "favourites list", which I conveniently saved when you made me "back up" your useless files. I do believe that terms like "Lolita" are not usually viewed favourably by the administration. When you borrowed the digital camera to "take pictures of your mothers b-day", you neglected to mention that you were going to take pictures of yourself in the mirror nude. Then you forgot to erase them like the techno-moron you really are. Suffice it to say I have never seen such odd acts with a ketchup bottle, but I assure you that those have been copied and kept in safe places pending the authoring of a glowing letter of recommendation. (Try to use a spell check please, I hate having to correct your mistakes.)
Thank you for your time, and I expect the letter of recommendation on my desk by 8:00 am tomorrow.
One word of this to anybody, and all of your little twisted repugnant obsessions will be open to the public. Never **** with your systems administrators, because they know what you do with all your free time.
Sincerely,
Name Omitted
Monday, November 07, 2005
Heating Rod
My first experience with a heating rod! I really thought that I would use this blog more constructively. Maybe to pen down some musings, some philosophical fundas that come to my mind as I sit here in IIT all alone in my room. Maybe a small reflection on life, on how I have taken everything for granted at home whereas here I have to fend for myself. Wash my own clothes, take my own thrash out, clean my room and stuff like that. But NO! here I sit while AC/DC belts out “Inject the Venom” and I write about my experience with a heating rod. Hardly the kind of thing you would expect. Then again who knows what you would expect huh?
Ok coming back to the rod bit of this post. Well rods are “kind of” banned in rooms, basically any heating device is. Oh and it is finally becoming cold here. I mean, I usually bathe in the night (not to say that the water is much warmer in the morning – it is just that I never wake up in time to have a bath on most days). I have heard a lot about how to use one of these things.
“You have to immerse the rod completely in the water else you will get a burning smell and the coil will burn out”
“You have to take care not to get a shock by putting the whole damn thing into the water.”
“NEVER EVER leave the coil on when it is not in water”
Yeah I know you want to know the answer to the number one question (at least it was mine)
How in heavens name do you suspend the rod at that exact depth in the water?
“You have to use a coat hanger to suspend the rod”
Ok fine with me. And mind you I knew all this theory before I had even seen a heating rod/coil in my life.
So I saunter into my good buddy’s room and ask him for a rod. He points out to a corner of the room where the sun don’t shine where he has stashed his rod/coil (remember it is banned) (and remember the “rod/coil” is something that I have never seen in my life). So I am staring at something that looks to me like an egg beater and that appliance is staring right back at me but… I don’t know what it looks like!!
So after a few choice expletives me almost ex-good buddy (“almost ex” because I needed that rod and I wasn’t going to get no frost bite where the sun don’t shine! ;-) ) got up and showed me where the rod was. It was a sort of rod like coil. Much like an egg beater as I have told you before. So I wrap it up in a piece of news paper (the whole Brand Equity supplement – I am doing my MBA here for crying out loud!) and smuggle it back to my room.
I then attempted to put into practice all the theory I have gathered on heating rods. I fill a bucket with water and slowly but surely lift it and very diligently spill a steady stream of water all across the diagonal of my room to the far side where the plug point is located.
Now the scene in my room is three quarter bucket of water in one corner of my room and a small brook no not brook – they usually have nice poetic connotations, but a stream heading down to my balcony. When I immerse the rod in the water I find that I needn’t stand there holding the rod as this rod has a sort of clip using which you can attach it to the side of the bucket. Thank all that is good for army canteens from where this good buddy of mine had procured this high quality rod.
Well here is what my room looks like now. We have a heating rod immersed in a semi full bucket of water in one corner of the room, a small stream flowing down to the balcony, a mug of water in a state of readiness (in case of a fire you see), my towel and sundry other items that I need for my abulitions.
So the water is being heated. I know because when I put my hand into the water it wasn’t too hot, so I took the liberty of checking out the rod on the tip of my little finger. Anyways my good friend has told me that the water will take 5 to seven minutes to get warm. I am sure he didn’t expect me to sit with a stopwatch and time the @&%$@# thing. So it doesn’t get “hot” in the stipulated time. I stir the rod in the water around a bit and I leave it there. Your good friend (aka Moi!) doesn’t see that the rod is touching the side of a very thermoplastic, red and white bucket. The point of contact is well below the water level and now if I have to use the bucket, it serves only half the purpose it was designed for.
Anyway this time I don’t wait for the water to heat up and am about my own business, when SUDDENLY I smell burning plastic. Now from the time I served in my engineering college all instincts were screaming ELECTRICAL FIRE!! This was followed by a hissing sound. (No I still don’t know from where that sound came). So I rush into my room and AAARRGGGHHHHHHH!!! The floor is slowly filling with water. RIGHT! How can a floor “fill” with water?? The dish-head who designed this building and the bowl-tops who actually built it made my room in the same way. So if we have water in my room it fills slowly but surely after which it flows into the balcony and fills there. I can see the rod hissing and an ever expanding hole in the bucket wall. Gone were all the thoughts of throwing water (remember the mug), so I put the switch off and remove the rod. In hindsight that was the correct decision. It would have been foolish to add more water into my room.
The water was scalding hot and there was no room to put in cold water. I am so irritated now that I just open the cold water and let it flow. I pick up the mug and cleanse myself.
I understandably haven’t used a heating rod since.
Ok coming back to the rod bit of this post. Well rods are “kind of” banned in rooms, basically any heating device is. Oh and it is finally becoming cold here. I mean, I usually bathe in the night (not to say that the water is much warmer in the morning – it is just that I never wake up in time to have a bath on most days). I have heard a lot about how to use one of these things.
“You have to immerse the rod completely in the water else you will get a burning smell and the coil will burn out”
“You have to take care not to get a shock by putting the whole damn thing into the water.”
“NEVER EVER leave the coil on when it is not in water”
Yeah I know you want to know the answer to the number one question (at least it was mine)
How in heavens name do you suspend the rod at that exact depth in the water?
“You have to use a coat hanger to suspend the rod”
Ok fine with me. And mind you I knew all this theory before I had even seen a heating rod/coil in my life.
So I saunter into my good buddy’s room and ask him for a rod. He points out to a corner of the room where the sun don’t shine where he has stashed his rod/coil (remember it is banned) (and remember the “rod/coil” is something that I have never seen in my life). So I am staring at something that looks to me like an egg beater and that appliance is staring right back at me but… I don’t know what it looks like!!
So after a few choice expletives me almost ex-good buddy (“almost ex” because I needed that rod and I wasn’t going to get no frost bite where the sun don’t shine! ;-) ) got up and showed me where the rod was. It was a sort of rod like coil. Much like an egg beater as I have told you before. So I wrap it up in a piece of news paper (the whole Brand Equity supplement – I am doing my MBA here for crying out loud!) and smuggle it back to my room.
I then attempted to put into practice all the theory I have gathered on heating rods. I fill a bucket with water and slowly but surely lift it and very diligently spill a steady stream of water all across the diagonal of my room to the far side where the plug point is located.
Now the scene in my room is three quarter bucket of water in one corner of my room and a small brook no not brook – they usually have nice poetic connotations, but a stream heading down to my balcony. When I immerse the rod in the water I find that I needn’t stand there holding the rod as this rod has a sort of clip using which you can attach it to the side of the bucket. Thank all that is good for army canteens from where this good buddy of mine had procured this high quality rod.
Well here is what my room looks like now. We have a heating rod immersed in a semi full bucket of water in one corner of the room, a small stream flowing down to the balcony, a mug of water in a state of readiness (in case of a fire you see), my towel and sundry other items that I need for my abulitions.
So the water is being heated. I know because when I put my hand into the water it wasn’t too hot, so I took the liberty of checking out the rod on the tip of my little finger. Anyways my good friend has told me that the water will take 5 to seven minutes to get warm. I am sure he didn’t expect me to sit with a stopwatch and time the @&%$@# thing. So it doesn’t get “hot” in the stipulated time. I stir the rod in the water around a bit and I leave it there. Your good friend (aka Moi!) doesn’t see that the rod is touching the side of a very thermoplastic, red and white bucket. The point of contact is well below the water level and now if I have to use the bucket, it serves only half the purpose it was designed for.
Anyway this time I don’t wait for the water to heat up and am about my own business, when SUDDENLY I smell burning plastic. Now from the time I served in my engineering college all instincts were screaming ELECTRICAL FIRE!! This was followed by a hissing sound. (No I still don’t know from where that sound came). So I rush into my room and AAARRGGGHHHHHHH!!! The floor is slowly filling with water. RIGHT! How can a floor “fill” with water?? The dish-head who designed this building and the bowl-tops who actually built it made my room in the same way. So if we have water in my room it fills slowly but surely after which it flows into the balcony and fills there. I can see the rod hissing and an ever expanding hole in the bucket wall. Gone were all the thoughts of throwing water (remember the mug), so I put the switch off and remove the rod. In hindsight that was the correct decision. It would have been foolish to add more water into my room.
The water was scalding hot and there was no room to put in cold water. I am so irritated now that I just open the cold water and let it flow. I pick up the mug and cleanse myself.
I understandably haven’t used a heating rod since.
Sunday, August 14, 2005
Washed out!
Well one of these days I had to try and wash some clothes. I couldn't really depend on the dhobi all the time. He shows up about once a week and that's about it. I had this huge stack of clothes lying in my 'laundry bin' (Which was actually a spare dustbin... but you really didn't need to know that.) So I pick up the whole armload and stuff it into the bucket. I rip open the packet of soap powder and chuck the whole thing in. I then put both the pieces of the packet together and try to read the instructions. They said to use the whole packet for a whole bucket. Now mine was only a half bucket. So I say to myself, "What the heck! They would probably come out better." Now this 'better' wouldn't mean brighter or whiter but..... Hmmmmnnn I haven't really thought this through. Well that apart, I soaked them for about an hour (the instructions on the packet did say half an hour, but... - by now you should be familiar with the concept of 'better'). So I step in about an hour later to 'do my washing'. I lift the first article out of the water and well it looks clean... Anyways I sort of pound on it like the way I have seen the woman who comes to do the washing at home. I open the tap and rinse it out. After I had finished all the others, I take a look at them. The black one seems black, the dark blue one seems dark blue, (so far so good) but the white one seems pale yellowish-brownish-yellow. "What the heck", I say to myself. "Maybe it is the effect of being wet and the colour of the light reflecting off the tiles behind it. WHATEVER!! I put them all to dry with a flourish. I have a bath feeling rather proud of self. So they dry the next day and WHADDYA KNOW!! The black one is black, the dark blue one is dark blue and........ oh! The white one is still yellowish-brownish-yellow. Hmmnnn..... I need a clothes brush - the kind with the stiff bristles to wash clothes else they wont turn out the way they are supposed to. And on this conclusion I rest my case for tonight.
Saturday, August 06, 2005
Carry on! Carry on!
I got this from an old and good friend. Nice one Sada!!
It's easy to fight when everything's right,
And you're mad with the thrill and the glory;
It's easy to cheer when victory's near,
And wallow in fields that are gory.
It's a different song when everything's wrong.
When you're feeling infernally mortal;
When it's ten against one, and hope there is none,
Buck up, little soldier, and chortle:
Carry on! Carry on!
There isn't much punch in your blow.
You're glaring and staring and hitting out blind;
You're muddy and bloody, but never mind.
Carry on! Carry on!
You haven't the ghost of a show.
It's looking like death, but while you've a breath,
Carry on, my son! Carry on!
And so in the strife of the battle of life
It's easy to fight when you're winning;
It's easy to slave, and starve and be brave,
When the dawn of success is beginning.
But the man who can meet despair and defeat
With a cheer, there's a man of God's choosing;
The man who can fight to Heaven's own height
Is the man who can fight when he's losing.
Carry on! Carry on!
Things never were looming so black.
But show that you haven't a cowardly streak,
And though you're unlucky you never are weak.
Carry on! Carry on!
Brace up for another attack.
It's looking like hell, but - you never can tell;
Carry on, old man! Carry on!
There are some who drift out in the deserts of doubt,
And some who in brutishness wallow;
There are others, I know, who in piety go
Because of a Heaven to follow.
But to labor with zest, and to give of your best,
For the sweetness and joy of the giving;
To help folks along with a hand and a song;
Why, there's the real sunshine of living.
Carry on! Carry on!
Fight the good fight and true;
Believe in you mission, greet life with a cheer;
There's big work to do, and that's why you are here.
Carry on! Carry on!
Let the world be the better for you;
And at last when you die, let this be your cry:
Carry on, my soul! Carry on!
It's easy to fight when everything's right,
And you're mad with the thrill and the glory;
It's easy to cheer when victory's near,
And wallow in fields that are gory.
It's a different song when everything's wrong.
When you're feeling infernally mortal;
When it's ten against one, and hope there is none,
Buck up, little soldier, and chortle:
Carry on! Carry on!
There isn't much punch in your blow.
You're glaring and staring and hitting out blind;
You're muddy and bloody, but never mind.
Carry on! Carry on!
You haven't the ghost of a show.
It's looking like death, but while you've a breath,
Carry on, my son! Carry on!
And so in the strife of the battle of life
It's easy to fight when you're winning;
It's easy to slave, and starve and be brave,
When the dawn of success is beginning.
But the man who can meet despair and defeat
With a cheer, there's a man of God's choosing;
The man who can fight to Heaven's own height
Is the man who can fight when he's losing.
Carry on! Carry on!
Things never were looming so black.
But show that you haven't a cowardly streak,
And though you're unlucky you never are weak.
Carry on! Carry on!
Brace up for another attack.
It's looking like hell, but - you never can tell;
Carry on, old man! Carry on!
There are some who drift out in the deserts of doubt,
And some who in brutishness wallow;
There are others, I know, who in piety go
Because of a Heaven to follow.
But to labor with zest, and to give of your best,
For the sweetness and joy of the giving;
To help folks along with a hand and a song;
Why, there's the real sunshine of living.
Carry on! Carry on!
Fight the good fight and true;
Believe in you mission, greet life with a cheer;
There's big work to do, and that's why you are here.
Carry on! Carry on!
Let the world be the better for you;
And at last when you die, let this be your cry:
Carry on, my soul! Carry on!
Thursday, August 04, 2005
IIT - KGP
Well.... well... well... So I am here finally. Actually I have been here for like about 3 weeks but not bothered to update this blog. Can't blame me. I have had limited access to the internet. Or maybe I just didnt feel like. Tonight I am in the mood for writing something about life here at IIT. The thing is that I hold some kind of post of sorts here so it really restricts my writing. :-)
What would all my fellow batchmates think of me if I wrote about their inane questions in the class or I put up pictures that I have taken with my mobile phone camera while they were sleeping. :-) You never know what you find on peoples mobile phone cameras ;-)
Hence I am going to have to restrict this freedom that I thought I would have by creating this blog. I wish I could..... but then to sound very cliched, If wishes were horses beggars would ride.
Let me begin by telling you a little about some of the day to day activities that happen. I shall leave out the academic stuff because that is what we are supposed to do here. And you all must have gone through some kind of formal education so you all know what I am talking about.
I seem to have written about a million mails to people telling them about life in this place. Hence forth you shall have to check my blog to know what is happening. If you don't then I shall have to resort to other means of persuasion such as death threats, plain threats, cajoling, pleading and then finally begging.
A little about the longest railway station in the world.
IIT Kharagpur is located at Kharagpur. Kharagpur is in West Bengal. OK so what is so interesting? I know that the above lines are boring. So is Kharagpur. There are only two things in Kharagpur. One of them is of course my college better known as IIT (Indian Institute of Technology) is one of the better schools on this side of the world. The second thing here is the railway station. Yeah, the railway station. No I am not trying to show you that other than IIT there is nothing here. Kharagpur is supposed to have the longest railway platform in the world. The length of this world record is 833 m. Apart from these two there is little else in Kharagpur. As one of my professors so tactfully put it in regard to attendance "There are only two things here. One is my class at IIT and the other is the platform. If you are not here then I shall make sure that you are there (Platform)" indicating the dire consequences of abstaining from his lectues.
Ok now just like you, when I heard about this eyesore of a railway platform for the first time I too was ooh-ing and aah-ing about it. Now I would have detested that stupid platform had it not been useful to me. Allow me to elaborate.
A little bit about the geography of this place. Kharagpur is situated about 116 kms from one of India's metropolitian cities Calcutta or today known as Kolkata. Kolkata is thus about 2.5 hours by train from this wart of a platform.
So last Saturday my good friend SM and self headed down to Cal. (Cal = Calcutta=Kolkata). I wanted to get a few things and do some sight-seeing. So we took a cycle rickshaw and went uneventfully down to the sore of a station. Ater purchasing our tickets we headed down onto the platform. Upon alighting from the bridge we enquired and found out that our train was supposed to leave in about 2 minutes. So in about roughly 180 seconds we sprinted about 800 m. Why 800 m you ask?
The beauty of this platform is that 2 trains usually come one after the other on the same platform. And our train was supposed to be in the front. As luck would have it our compartment was in the front of this steel caterpillar on this rotten leaf of a platform. So we did the 800 m dash only to find out that the train had just left. The smartest thing to do next was to find out the time and the place of the next train. That was two platforms away and was scheduled to leave in 10 minutes. The bridge was about 800 m away from our current geographical location. So we upped our skirts and ran to the bridge and arrived on the new platform.
A small deviation: Do you read Calvin and Hobbes? Well it is one of my favourite comics. Calvin looks at his pet imaginary tiger - Hobbes and says "Hobbes, do you believe in God?" Well his alter-ego-tiger says that he doesn't. So Calvin looks skywards in utter confusion and says "Well there must be someone out to get me"
I too felt like that when I realised that the train was at the other end. When I finally arrived at the door of my compartment, all I could do was clamber in, find a seat and nod-off.
So if anyone comments on this railway platform in relation to the world record length, I warn you all hell shall be let loose.
Watch this space for an account of my first time (washing clothes).
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
Rise and Fall - 5
Then he concluded:
I spoke to HIM
The Superlative DiVINITY
Asked HIM for the reason
HE said "Reason? Its the biggest disability"
Said HE, "Work with no qualms
And I assure You Life
But first you must meet
The Examiners, Poverty & Strife"
I tried to be smart
And outwit the ONE
I denounced his offerings
Rather have Wealth & Fun
HE said "Oh I see
you've just met Compromise,
The Prince of Strayed Men
the King of the Unwise"
"Forget him Now",
"But he? ...... HE is HIM"
I fumbled for words
As my mind filled to the Brim
These two voices inside me,
Me, on my side
The other,The devil
Who is after my hide
I finally realised
The cost To be Free
A soul of a sinner
And that sinner is ME
I spoke to HIM
The Superlative DiVINITY
Asked HIM for the reason
HE said "Reason? Its the biggest disability"
Said HE, "Work with no qualms
And I assure You Life
But first you must meet
The Examiners, Poverty & Strife"
I tried to be smart
And outwit the ONE
I denounced his offerings
Rather have Wealth & Fun
HE said "Oh I see
you've just met Compromise,
The Prince of Strayed Men
the King of the Unwise"
"Forget him Now",
"But he? ...... HE is HIM"
I fumbled for words
As my mind filled to the Brim
These two voices inside me,
Me, on my side
The other,The devil
Who is after my hide
I finally realised
The cost To be Free
A soul of a sinner
And that sinner is ME
Rise and Fall - 4
To which I replied:
We can't know it all
For that is the prerogative
Of him that knows it all
Of him that ever lives
We are mere mites
In the sands of time
All the strings are pulled by Him
He who is divine
Remember in the thirst for reality
As the words of Fred Durst do
"Life is a lesson
You learn it when you're through"
But we must rest not
In the hope of a favour
For only he who is brave
Does fortune really favour.
And when our time comes
Silently we must not die
Rather go skidding into our grave screamin
"F**k whatta ride!!"
We can't know it all
For that is the prerogative
Of him that knows it all
Of him that ever lives
We are mere mites
In the sands of time
All the strings are pulled by Him
He who is divine
Remember in the thirst for reality
As the words of Fred Durst do
"Life is a lesson
You learn it when you're through"
But we must rest not
In the hope of a favour
For only he who is brave
Does fortune really favour.
And when our time comes
Silently we must not die
Rather go skidding into our grave screamin
"F**k whatta ride!!"
Rise and Fall - 3
He wrote back:
But u see my friend
In what we speak,
Only the surface we scratch
Of the base not the peak
We quote and rhyme
Of the rise and fall
Of the reality of this world
We know nothing at all
Its time to be brave
No cowardice at all,
If you want to Rise
Then Be ready to Fall
But u see my friend
In what we speak,
Only the surface we scratch
Of the base not the peak
We quote and rhyme
Of the rise and fall
Of the reality of this world
We know nothing at all
Its time to be brave
No cowardice at all,
If you want to Rise
Then Be ready to Fall
Friday, July 29, 2005
Rise and Fall - 2
I replied:
Sometimes you feel the fall
As you hit the concrete
This world has no mercy
As you are trampled upon by others feet
It spares not a creature
That it has conceived
But how deep you are in the dirt
Is for you to percieve
Falling is never easy
Riding the high is what we do best
But rising up from the fall
Is the only real test
Can you meet this?
When you can't anticipate the fall
Not the magnitude not the direction
About it you know nothing at all........
Sometimes you feel the fall
As you hit the concrete
This world has no mercy
As you are trampled upon by others feet
It spares not a creature
That it has conceived
But how deep you are in the dirt
Is for you to percieve
Falling is never easy
Riding the high is what we do best
But rising up from the fall
Is the only real test
Can you meet this?
When you can't anticipate the fall
Not the magnitude not the direction
About it you know nothing at all........
Rise and Fall - 1
I had this conversation with my good friend Daenan. It was written in verse. So I shall post the verses as they were written. There are 5 parts to this post. You can read some of his poems on this site.
He wrote:
RISE AND FALL
------------------------------
Carried by the winds of Fate,
the eaglet leaves its nest,
the first flight it makes today,
Free-Fall is its first test.
40 days of dependency,
Fed scraps of Second-hand Kill,
Its time now to take a stand,
Time to feel the thrill.
As it speeds through nothingness,
Sucked down by Gravity,
It spreads its wings to break the fall
and floats to levity.
SO ironic, the twisted lesson
the eaglet teaches us all,
No matter what you do or where you are
there's always Rise in a Fall.
He wrote:
RISE AND FALL
------------------------------
Carried by the winds of Fate,
the eaglet leaves its nest,
the first flight it makes today,
Free-Fall is its first test.
40 days of dependency,
Fed scraps of Second-hand Kill,
Its time now to take a stand,
Time to feel the thrill.
As it speeds through nothingness,
Sucked down by Gravity,
It spreads its wings to break the fall
and floats to levity.
SO ironic, the twisted lesson
the eaglet teaches us all,
No matter what you do or where you are
there's always Rise in a Fall.
Thursday, July 07, 2005
A prize winning essay
This winning piece is by a 15-YEAR-OLD Singaporean girl A rather thought provoking piece....what's important in your life?
Singapore girl wins Commonwealth essay prize! A 15-YEAR-OLD Singaporean, competing against 16- to 18-year-olds, has won the top prize in a writing contest that drew 5,300 entries from 52 countries. In the annual Commonwealth Essay Competition, Amanda Chong of Raffles Girls' School (Secondary) chose to compete in the older category and won with a piece on the restlessness of modern life. Her short story, titled What The Modern Woman Wants, focused on the conflict in values between an old lady and her independent-minded daughter. "Through my story, I attempted to convey the unique East-versus-West struggles and generation gaps that I felt were characteristic of young people in my country," said Amanda, who likes drama, history, and literature and wants to become a lawyer and a politician.
Chief examiner Charles Kemp called her piece a 'powerfully moving and ironical critique of modern restlessness and its potentially cruel consequences'. The writing is fluent and assured, with excellent use of dialogue.
Amanda gets (S$1,590). A Singaporean last won the top prize in 2000, said Britain's Royal Commonwealth Society, which has been organising the competition since 1883. Singaporeans also came in second in the 14- to 15-year-old category, and fourth in the under-12s. Other winners included students from Australia, Canada and South Africa.
==================================================================
What the Modern Woman Wants : By Amanda Chong Wei-Zhen
The old woman sat in the backseat of the magenta convertible as it careened down the highway, clutching tightly to the plastic bag on her lap, afraid it may be kidnapped by the wind. She was not used to such speed, with trembling hands she pulled the seatbelt tighter but was careful not to touch the patent leather seats with her callused fingers, her daughter had warned her not to dirty it, 'Fingerprints show very clearly on white, Ma.' Her daughter, Bee Choo, was driving and talking on her sleek silver mobile phone using big words the old woman could barely understand. 'Finance' 'Liquidation' 'Assets' 'Investments'... Her voice was crisp and important and had an unfamiliar lilt to it. Her Bee Choo sounded like one of those foreign girls on television. She was speaking in an American accent. The old lady clucked her tongue in disapproval.
'I absolutely cannot have this. We have to sell!' Her daughter exclaimed agitatedly as she stepped on the accelerator; her perfectly manicured fingernails gripping onto the steering wheel in irritation. 'I can't DEAL with this anymore!' she yelled as she clicked the phone shut and hurled it angrily toward the backseat. The mobile phone hit the old woman on the forehead and nestled soundlessly into her lap. She calmly picked it up and handed it to her daughter. 'Sorry, Ma,' she said, losing the American pretence and switching to Mandarin. 'I have a big client in America. There have been a lot of problems.'
The old lady nodded knowingly. Her daughter was big and important. Bee Choo stared at her mother from the rear view window, wondering what she was thinking. Her mother's wrinkled countenance always carried the same cryptic look. The phone began to ring again, an artificially cheerful digital tune, which broke the awkward silence. 'Hello, Beatrice! Yes, this is Elaine.' Elaine. The old woman cringed. I didn't name her Elaine. She remembered her daughter telling her, how an English name was very important for 'networking', Chinese ones being easily forgotten. 'Oh no, I can't see you for lunch today. I have to take the ancient relic to the temple for her weird daily prayer ritual.' Ancient Relic. The old woman understood perfectly it was referring to her. Her daughter always assumed that her mother's silence meant she did not comprehend. 'Yes, I know! My car seats will be reeking of joss sticks!' The old woman pursed her lips tightly, her hands gripping her plastic bag in defence.
The car curved smoothly into the temple courtyard. It looked almost garish next to the dull sheen of the ageing temple's roof. The old woman got out of the back seat, and made her unhurried way to the main hall. Her daughter stepped out of the car in her business suit and stilettos and reapplied her lipstick as she made her brisk way to her mother's side. 'Ma, I'll wait outside. I have an important phone call to make,' she said, not bothering to hide her disgust at the pungent fumes of incense. The old lady hobbled into the temple hall and lit a joss stick, she knelt down solemnly and whispered her now familiar daily prayer to the Gods. Thank you God of the Sky, you have given my daughter luck all these years. Everything I prayed for, you have given her. She has everything a young woman in this world could possibly want. She has a big house with a swimming pool, a maid to help her, as she is too clumsy to sew or cook. Her love life has been blessed; she is engaged to a rich and handsome angmoh man. Her company is now the top financial firm and even men listen to what she says. She lives the perfect life. You have given her everything except happiness. I ask that the gods be merciful to her even if she has lost her roots while reaping the harvest of success. What you see is not true, she is a filial daughter to me. She gives me a room in her big house and provides well for me. She is rude to me only because I affect her happiness. A young woman does not want to be hindered by her old mother. It is my fault. The old lady prayed so hard that tears welled up in her eyes. Finally, with her head bowed in reverence she planted the half-burnt joss stick into an urn of smouldering ashes.
She bowed once more. The old woman had been praying for her daughter for thirty-two years. When her stomach was round like a melon, she came to the temple and prayed that it was a son. Then the time was ripe and the baby slipped out of her womb, bawling and adorable with fat thighs and pink cheeks, but unmistakably, a girl. Her husband had kicked and punched her for producing a useless baby who could not work or carry the family name. Still, the woman returned to the temple with her new-born girl tied to her waist in a sarong and prayed that her daughter would grow up and have everything she ever wanted. Her husband left her and she prayed that her daughter would never have to depend on a man. She prayed every day that her daughter would be a great woman, the woman that she, meek and uneducated, could never become. A woman with nengkan; the ability to do anything she set her mind to. A woman who commanded respect in the hearts of men. When she opened her mouth to speak, precious pearls would fall out and men would listen. She will not be like me, the woman prayed as she watched her daughter grow up and drift away from her, speaking a language she scarcely understood. She watched her daughter transform from a quiet girl, to one who openly defied her, calling her laotu; old-fashioned. She wanted her mother to be 'modern', a word so new there was no Chinese word for it.
Now her daughter was too clever for her and the old woman wondered why she had prayed like that. The gods had been faithful to her persistent prayer, but the wealth and success that poured forth so richly had buried the girl's roots and now she stood, faceless, with no identity, bound to the soil of her ancestors by only a string of origami banknotes. Her daughter had forgotten her mother's values. Her wants were so ephemeral; that of a modern woman. Power, Wealth, access to the best fashion boutiques, and yet her daughter had not found true happiness. The old woman knew that you could find happiness with much less. When her daughter left the earth everything she had would count for nothing. People would look to her legacy and say that she was a great woman, but she would be forgotten once the wind blows over, like the ashes of burnt paper convertibles and mansions. The old woman wished she could go back and erase all her big hopes and prayers for her daughter; now she had only one want: That her daughter be happy.
She looked out of the temple gate. She saw her daughter speaking on the phone, her brow furrowed with anger and worry. Being at the top is not good, the woman thought, there is only one way to go from there - down. The old woman carefully unfolded the plastic bag and spread out a packet of beehoon in front of the altar. Her daughter often mocked her for worshipping porcelain Gods. How could she pray to them so faithfully and expect pieces of ceramic to fly to her aid? But her daughter had her own gods too, idols of wealth, success and power that she was enslaved to and worshipped every day of her life. Every day was a quest for the idols, and the idols she worshipped counted for nothing in eternity. All the wants her daughter had would slowly suck the life out of her and leave her, an empty soulless shell at the altar. The old lady watched her joss tick. The dull heat had left a teetering grey stem that was on the danger of collapsing.
Modern woman nowadays, the old lady sighed in resignation, as she bowed to the east one final time to end her ritual. Modern woman nowadays want so much that they lose their souls and wonder why they cannot find it. Her joss stick disintegrated into a soft grey powder. She met her daughter outside the temple, the same look of worry and frustration was etched on her daughter's face. An empty expression, as if she was ploughing through the soil of her wants looking for the one thing that would sow the seeds of happiness. They climbed into the convertible in silence and her daughter drove along the highway, this time not as fast as she had done before.
'Ma,' Bee Choo finally said. 'I don't know how to put this. Mark and I have been talking about it and we plan to move out of the big house. The property market is good now, and we managed to get a buyer willing to pay seven million for it. We decided we'd prefer a cosier penthouse apartment instead. We found a perfect one in Orchard Road. Once we move in to our apartment we plan to get rid of the maid, so we can have more space to ourselves...' The old woman nodded knowingly. Bee Choo swallowed hard. 'We'd get someone to come in to do the housework and we can eat out-but once the maid is gone, there won't be anyone to look after you. You will be awfully lonely at home and, besides that, the apartment is rather small. There won't be space. We thought about it for a long time, and we decided the best thing for you is if you moved to a Home. There's one near Hougang-it's a Christian home, a very nice one.' The old woman did not raise an eyebrow. 'I've been there, the matron is willing to take you in. It's beautiful with gardens and lots of old people to keep you company! I hardly have time for you, you'd be happier there.' 'You'd be happier there, really.' Her daughter repeated as if to affirm herself. This time the old woman had no plastic bag of food offerings to cling tightly to; she bit her lip and fastened her seat belt, as if it would protect her from a daughter who did not want her anymore. She sunk deep into the leather seat, letting her shoulder sag, and her fingers trace the white seat. 'Ma?' her daughter asked, searching the rear view window for her mother. 'Is everything okay?' What had to be done, had to be done. 'Yes,' she said firmly, louder than she intended, 'if it will make you happy,' she added more quietly.
'It's for you, Ma! You'll be happier there. You can move there tomorrow, I already got the maid to pack your things.' Elaine said triumphantly, mentally ticking yet another item off her agenda. 'I knew everything would be fine.' Elaine smiled widely; she felt liberated. Perhaps getting rid of her mother would make her happier. She had thought about it. It seemed the only hindrance in her pursuit of happiness. She was happy now. She had everything a modern woman ever wanted; Money, Status, Career, Love, Power and now, Freedom, without her mother and her old-fashioned ways to weigh her down... Yes, she was free. Her phone buzzed urgently, she picked it up and read the message, still beaming from ear to ear. 'Stocks 10% increase!' Yes, things were definitely beginning to look up for her...
And while searching for the meaning of life in the luminance of her hand phone screen, the old woman in the backseat became invisible, and she did not see the tears.
Singapore girl wins Commonwealth essay prize! A 15-YEAR-OLD Singaporean, competing against 16- to 18-year-olds, has won the top prize in a writing contest that drew 5,300 entries from 52 countries. In the annual Commonwealth Essay Competition, Amanda Chong of Raffles Girls' School (Secondary) chose to compete in the older category and won with a piece on the restlessness of modern life. Her short story, titled What The Modern Woman Wants, focused on the conflict in values between an old lady and her independent-minded daughter. "Through my story, I attempted to convey the unique East-versus-West struggles and generation gaps that I felt were characteristic of young people in my country," said Amanda, who likes drama, history, and literature and wants to become a lawyer and a politician.
Chief examiner Charles Kemp called her piece a 'powerfully moving and ironical critique of modern restlessness and its potentially cruel consequences'. The writing is fluent and assured, with excellent use of dialogue.
Amanda gets (S$1,590). A Singaporean last won the top prize in 2000, said Britain's Royal Commonwealth Society, which has been organising the competition since 1883. Singaporeans also came in second in the 14- to 15-year-old category, and fourth in the under-12s. Other winners included students from Australia, Canada and South Africa.
==================================================================
What the Modern Woman Wants : By Amanda Chong Wei-Zhen
The old woman sat in the backseat of the magenta convertible as it careened down the highway, clutching tightly to the plastic bag on her lap, afraid it may be kidnapped by the wind. She was not used to such speed, with trembling hands she pulled the seatbelt tighter but was careful not to touch the patent leather seats with her callused fingers, her daughter had warned her not to dirty it, 'Fingerprints show very clearly on white, Ma.' Her daughter, Bee Choo, was driving and talking on her sleek silver mobile phone using big words the old woman could barely understand. 'Finance' 'Liquidation' 'Assets' 'Investments'... Her voice was crisp and important and had an unfamiliar lilt to it. Her Bee Choo sounded like one of those foreign girls on television. She was speaking in an American accent. The old lady clucked her tongue in disapproval.
'I absolutely cannot have this. We have to sell!' Her daughter exclaimed agitatedly as she stepped on the accelerator; her perfectly manicured fingernails gripping onto the steering wheel in irritation. 'I can't DEAL with this anymore!' she yelled as she clicked the phone shut and hurled it angrily toward the backseat. The mobile phone hit the old woman on the forehead and nestled soundlessly into her lap. She calmly picked it up and handed it to her daughter. 'Sorry, Ma,' she said, losing the American pretence and switching to Mandarin. 'I have a big client in America. There have been a lot of problems.'
The old lady nodded knowingly. Her daughter was big and important. Bee Choo stared at her mother from the rear view window, wondering what she was thinking. Her mother's wrinkled countenance always carried the same cryptic look. The phone began to ring again, an artificially cheerful digital tune, which broke the awkward silence. 'Hello, Beatrice! Yes, this is Elaine.' Elaine. The old woman cringed. I didn't name her Elaine. She remembered her daughter telling her, how an English name was very important for 'networking', Chinese ones being easily forgotten. 'Oh no, I can't see you for lunch today. I have to take the ancient relic to the temple for her weird daily prayer ritual.' Ancient Relic. The old woman understood perfectly it was referring to her. Her daughter always assumed that her mother's silence meant she did not comprehend. 'Yes, I know! My car seats will be reeking of joss sticks!' The old woman pursed her lips tightly, her hands gripping her plastic bag in defence.
The car curved smoothly into the temple courtyard. It looked almost garish next to the dull sheen of the ageing temple's roof. The old woman got out of the back seat, and made her unhurried way to the main hall. Her daughter stepped out of the car in her business suit and stilettos and reapplied her lipstick as she made her brisk way to her mother's side. 'Ma, I'll wait outside. I have an important phone call to make,' she said, not bothering to hide her disgust at the pungent fumes of incense. The old lady hobbled into the temple hall and lit a joss stick, she knelt down solemnly and whispered her now familiar daily prayer to the Gods. Thank you God of the Sky, you have given my daughter luck all these years. Everything I prayed for, you have given her. She has everything a young woman in this world could possibly want. She has a big house with a swimming pool, a maid to help her, as she is too clumsy to sew or cook. Her love life has been blessed; she is engaged to a rich and handsome angmoh man. Her company is now the top financial firm and even men listen to what she says. She lives the perfect life. You have given her everything except happiness. I ask that the gods be merciful to her even if she has lost her roots while reaping the harvest of success. What you see is not true, she is a filial daughter to me. She gives me a room in her big house and provides well for me. She is rude to me only because I affect her happiness. A young woman does not want to be hindered by her old mother. It is my fault. The old lady prayed so hard that tears welled up in her eyes. Finally, with her head bowed in reverence she planted the half-burnt joss stick into an urn of smouldering ashes.
She bowed once more. The old woman had been praying for her daughter for thirty-two years. When her stomach was round like a melon, she came to the temple and prayed that it was a son. Then the time was ripe and the baby slipped out of her womb, bawling and adorable with fat thighs and pink cheeks, but unmistakably, a girl. Her husband had kicked and punched her for producing a useless baby who could not work or carry the family name. Still, the woman returned to the temple with her new-born girl tied to her waist in a sarong and prayed that her daughter would grow up and have everything she ever wanted. Her husband left her and she prayed that her daughter would never have to depend on a man. She prayed every day that her daughter would be a great woman, the woman that she, meek and uneducated, could never become. A woman with nengkan; the ability to do anything she set her mind to. A woman who commanded respect in the hearts of men. When she opened her mouth to speak, precious pearls would fall out and men would listen. She will not be like me, the woman prayed as she watched her daughter grow up and drift away from her, speaking a language she scarcely understood. She watched her daughter transform from a quiet girl, to one who openly defied her, calling her laotu; old-fashioned. She wanted her mother to be 'modern', a word so new there was no Chinese word for it.
Now her daughter was too clever for her and the old woman wondered why she had prayed like that. The gods had been faithful to her persistent prayer, but the wealth and success that poured forth so richly had buried the girl's roots and now she stood, faceless, with no identity, bound to the soil of her ancestors by only a string of origami banknotes. Her daughter had forgotten her mother's values. Her wants were so ephemeral; that of a modern woman. Power, Wealth, access to the best fashion boutiques, and yet her daughter had not found true happiness. The old woman knew that you could find happiness with much less. When her daughter left the earth everything she had would count for nothing. People would look to her legacy and say that she was a great woman, but she would be forgotten once the wind blows over, like the ashes of burnt paper convertibles and mansions. The old woman wished she could go back and erase all her big hopes and prayers for her daughter; now she had only one want: That her daughter be happy.
She looked out of the temple gate. She saw her daughter speaking on the phone, her brow furrowed with anger and worry. Being at the top is not good, the woman thought, there is only one way to go from there - down. The old woman carefully unfolded the plastic bag and spread out a packet of beehoon in front of the altar. Her daughter often mocked her for worshipping porcelain Gods. How could she pray to them so faithfully and expect pieces of ceramic to fly to her aid? But her daughter had her own gods too, idols of wealth, success and power that she was enslaved to and worshipped every day of her life. Every day was a quest for the idols, and the idols she worshipped counted for nothing in eternity. All the wants her daughter had would slowly suck the life out of her and leave her, an empty soulless shell at the altar. The old lady watched her joss tick. The dull heat had left a teetering grey stem that was on the danger of collapsing.
Modern woman nowadays, the old lady sighed in resignation, as she bowed to the east one final time to end her ritual. Modern woman nowadays want so much that they lose their souls and wonder why they cannot find it. Her joss stick disintegrated into a soft grey powder. She met her daughter outside the temple, the same look of worry and frustration was etched on her daughter's face. An empty expression, as if she was ploughing through the soil of her wants looking for the one thing that would sow the seeds of happiness. They climbed into the convertible in silence and her daughter drove along the highway, this time not as fast as she had done before.
'Ma,' Bee Choo finally said. 'I don't know how to put this. Mark and I have been talking about it and we plan to move out of the big house. The property market is good now, and we managed to get a buyer willing to pay seven million for it. We decided we'd prefer a cosier penthouse apartment instead. We found a perfect one in Orchard Road. Once we move in to our apartment we plan to get rid of the maid, so we can have more space to ourselves...' The old woman nodded knowingly. Bee Choo swallowed hard. 'We'd get someone to come in to do the housework and we can eat out-but once the maid is gone, there won't be anyone to look after you. You will be awfully lonely at home and, besides that, the apartment is rather small. There won't be space. We thought about it for a long time, and we decided the best thing for you is if you moved to a Home. There's one near Hougang-it's a Christian home, a very nice one.' The old woman did not raise an eyebrow. 'I've been there, the matron is willing to take you in. It's beautiful with gardens and lots of old people to keep you company! I hardly have time for you, you'd be happier there.' 'You'd be happier there, really.' Her daughter repeated as if to affirm herself. This time the old woman had no plastic bag of food offerings to cling tightly to; she bit her lip and fastened her seat belt, as if it would protect her from a daughter who did not want her anymore. She sunk deep into the leather seat, letting her shoulder sag, and her fingers trace the white seat. 'Ma?' her daughter asked, searching the rear view window for her mother. 'Is everything okay?' What had to be done, had to be done. 'Yes,' she said firmly, louder than she intended, 'if it will make you happy,' she added more quietly.
'It's for you, Ma! You'll be happier there. You can move there tomorrow, I already got the maid to pack your things.' Elaine said triumphantly, mentally ticking yet another item off her agenda. 'I knew everything would be fine.' Elaine smiled widely; she felt liberated. Perhaps getting rid of her mother would make her happier. She had thought about it. It seemed the only hindrance in her pursuit of happiness. She was happy now. She had everything a modern woman ever wanted; Money, Status, Career, Love, Power and now, Freedom, without her mother and her old-fashioned ways to weigh her down... Yes, she was free. Her phone buzzed urgently, she picked it up and read the message, still beaming from ear to ear. 'Stocks 10% increase!' Yes, things were definitely beginning to look up for her...
And while searching for the meaning of life in the luminance of her hand phone screen, the old woman in the backseat became invisible, and she did not see the tears.
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
"Does this make me look fat?"
Any guy must have almost certainly been asked this question and ANYBODY knows that there is no
right answer to this question. But were you ever left stumbling for an answer? Or an
expressionless 'poker' face? Were you ever reprimanded for being too callous in ignoring this
question? Or in giving some kind of a 'ho-hum' answer? Did you ever experiment with the truth?
(As tempting as it may be, just even if you wanted to be different)
My first tryst with this question was when my very near and very very (cuz note the 2 very's)
dear cuz asked me this before going out in the evening. I swear! She was just going for a walk on
a very quotidian promenade filled primarily with sweaty and grunting joggers and people with
dogs! As it was the first time I was put to this third-degree question, not knowing the
implications I replied "slightly". Well the question was re-put abeit with a very stern eye.
Completely missing the point of the re-test and the stern eye, I gave her another once over and
suggested that maybe she could keep her shirt out instead. Needless to say I was ignored for the remainder of the evening and repeated requests to the nature of my misdemeanor were disregarded. I found out later on.
I have had repeated tests since then from near and dear ones, girlfriends, just friends,
acquaintences, colleagues, friend's sisters, women in contention for the role of Mammy two-shoes in the Tom and Jerry remake, sporting wimmen and hellraisers, neighbours and whatnot. I did make it through only a few by the skin of my teeth. If looks could kill, then I was staring down the barrels of a sawn-off shot gun at point blank range!
Believe me the solution you get in the hit sitcom F.R.I.E.N.D.S. doesn't work at all. You know
what I am talking about right? The scene where Ross and Chandler are discussing 'trick'
questions? It goes something like this
C: She asked me if I looked fat and I looked.....
R(interrupting): You looked!!??? Dude you NEVER look.
C: OK.R(continuing): Do I look fat? No! It should be like that. Instant. Reflex.
I tried this once and was met with a stony look and "You never even looked!" I did try defending myself with "I don't need to look", but you can guess how that turned out.
You can also refer to this place for more help.
As most of the analysts to this question will tell you, the safest thing to do is to have a severe epileptic seizure just before that question is finished being posed. If you can slip a sly finger down your throat without your Significant Other (SO) noticing and hurl, you may just get away with it. However this is very unadvisable when you have finally selected the matching tie after
"You are kidding me right?"
"Why don't you just put a red ball on your nose?"
"It looks like your suit is having an Orgasm"
...and then
"Where is the one I gave you the last Christmas?"
DA WINNING TIE!!
(But that is another story...)
On the other hand if you really think that your SO's dress is too... yunnoh... well unappropriate you can also tell them the truth. This also helps in getting you out of any social events that you would much rather eschew. Another very important aspect is the age group you are involved in. Much to my chagrin, I discovered that my 10 year old ex-sweet cousin was also very fashion conscious. Anyways she spilt some syrup down the front of that top. Well that showed her! We are all in tune with the 15 to the 30 (I assume that the thought process would be the same) year olds. Well if an "older woman" asks me this question (if ever) I go uhhhmm... and she in all her infinite wisdom and goodness smiles serenely and says ok. I haven't found out yet what that means. If you know the answer do let me know.
right answer to this question. But were you ever left stumbling for an answer? Or an
expressionless 'poker' face? Were you ever reprimanded for being too callous in ignoring this
question? Or in giving some kind of a 'ho-hum' answer? Did you ever experiment with the truth?
(As tempting as it may be, just even if you wanted to be different)
My first tryst with this question was when my very near and very very (cuz note the 2 very's)
dear cuz asked me this before going out in the evening. I swear! She was just going for a walk on
a very quotidian promenade filled primarily with sweaty and grunting joggers and people with
dogs! As it was the first time I was put to this third-degree question, not knowing the
implications I replied "slightly". Well the question was re-put abeit with a very stern eye.
Completely missing the point of the re-test and the stern eye, I gave her another once over and
suggested that maybe she could keep her shirt out instead. Needless to say I was ignored for the remainder of the evening and repeated requests to the nature of my misdemeanor were disregarded. I found out later on.
I have had repeated tests since then from near and dear ones, girlfriends, just friends,
acquaintences, colleagues, friend's sisters, women in contention for the role of Mammy two-shoes in the Tom and Jerry remake, sporting wimmen and hellraisers, neighbours and whatnot. I did make it through only a few by the skin of my teeth. If looks could kill, then I was staring down the barrels of a sawn-off shot gun at point blank range!
Believe me the solution you get in the hit sitcom F.R.I.E.N.D.S. doesn't work at all. You know
what I am talking about right? The scene where Ross and Chandler are discussing 'trick'
questions? It goes something like this
C: She asked me if I looked fat and I looked.....
R(interrupting): You looked!!??? Dude you NEVER look.
C: OK.R(continuing): Do I look fat? No! It should be like that. Instant. Reflex.
I tried this once and was met with a stony look and "You never even looked!" I did try defending myself with "I don't need to look", but you can guess how that turned out.
You can also refer to this place for more help.
As most of the analysts to this question will tell you, the safest thing to do is to have a severe epileptic seizure just before that question is finished being posed. If you can slip a sly finger down your throat without your Significant Other (SO) noticing and hurl, you may just get away with it. However this is very unadvisable when you have finally selected the matching tie after
"You are kidding me right?"
"Why don't you just put a red ball on your nose?"
"It looks like your suit is having an Orgasm"
...and then
"Where is the one I gave you the last Christmas?"
DA WINNING TIE!!
(But that is another story...)
On the other hand if you really think that your SO's dress is too... yunnoh... well unappropriate you can also tell them the truth. This also helps in getting you out of any social events that you would much rather eschew. Another very important aspect is the age group you are involved in. Much to my chagrin, I discovered that my 10 year old ex-sweet cousin was also very fashion conscious. Anyways she spilt some syrup down the front of that top. Well that showed her! We are all in tune with the 15 to the 30 (I assume that the thought process would be the same) year olds. Well if an "older woman" asks me this question (if ever) I go uhhhmm... and she in all her infinite wisdom and goodness smiles serenely and says ok. I haven't found out yet what that means. If you know the answer do let me know.
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
I don't know if I want to stay...
I got this forward from a friend called T.
The name is good, the brand is big
But the work I do is that of a pig
The work or the brand, what is my way?
I don't know if I should stay.
To work, they have set their own way
Nobody will care to hear what I say
My will be NULL, they wont change their way
I don't know if I should stay.
The project is in a critical stage
But to do good work, this is the age
This dilemma is killing me day by day
I don't know if I should stay.
The money is good ,the place is great
But the development is at a very small rate
Should I go for the work, or wait for pay
I don't know if I should stay.
The managers don't know what they talk
The team doesn't know where they walk
That's a bad situation, what say?
I don't know if I should stay.
I can go to any other place
But what if I get the same disgrace
I cant keep switching day by day
I don't know if I should stay.
The -ves are more, the +ves are less
Then why have this unnecessary mess
Should I continue walking their way,
still wondering should I stay.
I replied:
Your heart will lead you on
Your feet will find their own way home
Wander a little and enjoy it
It is not a game with only one way out.
The way out will be the best
Something you could never imagine
Not even in a million years
Do freak out on the ride though
The situation ONLY depends on you
Your perception and your imagination
Your grit and your determination
It is your fight and your win
For in the result lies the reward
Of the seed that is sown
And the harvest that you reap is none
NONE but your very own!
Then she wrote back:
Life, my dear is a game in itself.....
you can just go to right..n not to left....;)
The desions are not taken by heart but by brain..
It will think of only a short/ long term gain....
It is true, that the SITUATION depends on youself,
Faith too plays an important role.
For reaching anywhere yourself
You need to sit up and work towards your goal.
Sometimes you do not see the result of the seed sown,
but you need to keep the faith and thats ur very own,
you can only believe that you can achieve
Then only u can say the results are the fruits I receive....
I like the last verse. Don't you?
The name is good, the brand is big
But the work I do is that of a pig
The work or the brand, what is my way?
I don't know if I should stay.
To work, they have set their own way
Nobody will care to hear what I say
My will be NULL, they wont change their way
I don't know if I should stay.
The project is in a critical stage
But to do good work, this is the age
This dilemma is killing me day by day
I don't know if I should stay.
The money is good ,the place is great
But the development is at a very small rate
Should I go for the work, or wait for pay
I don't know if I should stay.
The managers don't know what they talk
The team doesn't know where they walk
That's a bad situation, what say?
I don't know if I should stay.
I can go to any other place
But what if I get the same disgrace
I cant keep switching day by day
I don't know if I should stay.
The -ves are more, the +ves are less
Then why have this unnecessary mess
Should I continue walking their way,
still wondering should I stay.
I replied:
Your heart will lead you on
Your feet will find their own way home
Wander a little and enjoy it
It is not a game with only one way out.
The way out will be the best
Something you could never imagine
Not even in a million years
Do freak out on the ride though
The situation ONLY depends on you
Your perception and your imagination
Your grit and your determination
It is your fight and your win
For in the result lies the reward
Of the seed that is sown
And the harvest that you reap is none
NONE but your very own!
Then she wrote back:
Life, my dear is a game in itself.....
you can just go to right..n not to left....;)
The desions are not taken by heart but by brain..
It will think of only a short/ long term gain....
It is true, that the SITUATION depends on youself,
Faith too plays an important role.
For reaching anywhere yourself
You need to sit up and work towards your goal.
Sometimes you do not see the result of the seed sown,
but you need to keep the faith and thats ur very own,
you can only believe that you can achieve
Then only u can say the results are the fruits I receive....
I like the last verse. Don't you?
Friday, June 24, 2005
The Toughest Paper
As much time and effort that has been cumulatively dedicated to the study of ancient religious texts, civilizations, mental disorders, general medicine and discovering new sea routes has been spent understanding the fairer sex. Somehow this 'fairer sex' phrase is something of a misnomer. It's like you see someone you like perhaps at a bar or in a pub and you go hot under the collar. Understandable. Then your heart starts beating faster as you toy with the thought of speaking to her. Not because she may be the most beautiful person in the room but because you feel that this exam is gonna be real tough. Meeting women is always a high pressure event, something like an exam. In most of the encounters we are the ones who are weak or need protection (from the hulk at her side called Sunny). So why call them the fairer sex?
Think about it. Why is it that we males are always the ones being assessed? Why can't we do the assessing? Not that we don't. But that is different. In fact most women term that as gaping, ogling, leching (completely not true), eyeballing and if you type out stare in the Thesaurus you would get the remaining variations. Women check you out. The reason we don't feel offended at this is because it so rarely happens. but mind you we are still being assessed. If she likes you well you will get a sign like a come-hither look. (I don't think that this has ever happened in the history of my life though I do like to imagine it sometime.) Yeah sometimes it so happens that it is more of a please-pass-the-salt situation but who is gonna ever verify that huh? Well it does make a great story.
"Man! She is totally checking me out!"
"Get over it mate. She was just looking around"
"Dude, but she gave me a second look"
"No ways! That was just her eye-sweep on the way back. You are sooo drunk!"
"Whatever!!"
"Just finish your beer and let's go someplace else"
The interesting thing is that we love taking these exams. Whether it is the come-hither eyelash flutter or a quick eye-lock in a crowd scan, I would normally walk up and open my mouth. Yeah most of the times sound does not emanate. The result FAILED! Or it is "Scuze me, I have to pass through" Yeah you guessed it FAILED!
Now any self respecting engineer like me knows the value of the "Try... try... till you succeed" adage. (Wistfully: Brings back fond memories of that thermal engineering paper or papers ;-)) Well we return to our seat, pick up our mug and drown our sorrows. (Stupid adage never worked. You would typically end up writing that Thermal paper over and over again until the law of averages caught up and you passed)
Ordinary warriors have faced Vikings and hordes of barbarians with more courage than any one of them would have trying to talk to a woman. Heard of Hagar the Horrible? There is something to the way he acts in front of Helga, which only goes to show that you can never be free of those examinations. Unless of course you would much rather spend time with your tools or a lathe.
Coming back to those examinations. To get a guys attention a woman may go to the extreme of pretending to be faint. Then as she is falling he catches her and she looks into his eyes and the rest is history. Ever seen the reverse happening. A guy falls over near a woman. She picks up her skirts and takes to her heels. Where is the sympathy? Where is the milk of kindness? All we get in this situation is a look that one would normally reserve for the ugliest frog in all of Ribbidland. WHY!??
So you walk up to her and open your mouth. She smiles sweetly and touches the side of her mouth with her little pink finger. BELLS ARE GOING OFF IN YOUR HEAD!!! RUN! RUN! RUN! DAMN YOU!. And all the while you are thinking...
"Is there ketchup on my mouth, or something in my teeth? Have I not shaved the left side properly? Maybe it is not near my mouth, maybe it could be anywhere on my face. Is my shirt inside out? RUN!"
FAILED!
Another sticky situation is the one where you are pretty sober and sure that she is giving you the once over. You take that last swig out of your glass and swagger over. Just as you reach her she coyly slips her arm around the 100 kg Punjabi sitting beside her, probably called Pinky, Twinky or Pappu. What the hell does it matter RUN! You fool RUN!! This FAILED! stamp is better than having to see a bone setter or an undertaker for that matter.
Well well.... So you go over. And you open your mouth and some coherent words come out. "Haven't I seen you someplace before?"
"Heaven must be short one angel because she is standing in front of me"
"You know what I like about you? My arms."
"I hope you know CPR, cuz you take my breath away!"
DUH!! You get it, right FAILED!!
At this point I am usually hammered out of my mind and just stagger home. This exam is way to hard. (Thinking: Man those days of the Thermal papers were just too good! Atleast there was a law of averages). Convince myself that it's just not worth it. (Yeah the grapes are sour if you wanna put it like that)
Who am I kidding!
Think about it. Why is it that we males are always the ones being assessed? Why can't we do the assessing? Not that we don't. But that is different. In fact most women term that as gaping, ogling, leching (completely not true), eyeballing and if you type out stare in the Thesaurus you would get the remaining variations. Women check you out. The reason we don't feel offended at this is because it so rarely happens. but mind you we are still being assessed. If she likes you well you will get a sign like a come-hither look. (I don't think that this has ever happened in the history of my life though I do like to imagine it sometime.) Yeah sometimes it so happens that it is more of a please-pass-the-salt situation but who is gonna ever verify that huh? Well it does make a great story.
"Man! She is totally checking me out!"
"Get over it mate. She was just looking around"
"Dude, but she gave me a second look"
"No ways! That was just her eye-sweep on the way back. You are sooo drunk!"
"Whatever!!"
"Just finish your beer and let's go someplace else"
The interesting thing is that we love taking these exams. Whether it is the come-hither eyelash flutter or a quick eye-lock in a crowd scan, I would normally walk up and open my mouth. Yeah most of the times sound does not emanate. The result FAILED! Or it is "Scuze me, I have to pass through" Yeah you guessed it FAILED!
Now any self respecting engineer like me knows the value of the "Try... try... till you succeed" adage. (Wistfully: Brings back fond memories of that thermal engineering paper or papers ;-)) Well we return to our seat, pick up our mug and drown our sorrows. (Stupid adage never worked. You would typically end up writing that Thermal paper over and over again until the law of averages caught up and you passed)
Ordinary warriors have faced Vikings and hordes of barbarians with more courage than any one of them would have trying to talk to a woman. Heard of Hagar the Horrible? There is something to the way he acts in front of Helga, which only goes to show that you can never be free of those examinations. Unless of course you would much rather spend time with your tools or a lathe.
Coming back to those examinations. To get a guys attention a woman may go to the extreme of pretending to be faint. Then as she is falling he catches her and she looks into his eyes and the rest is history. Ever seen the reverse happening. A guy falls over near a woman. She picks up her skirts and takes to her heels. Where is the sympathy? Where is the milk of kindness? All we get in this situation is a look that one would normally reserve for the ugliest frog in all of Ribbidland. WHY!??
So you walk up to her and open your mouth. She smiles sweetly and touches the side of her mouth with her little pink finger. BELLS ARE GOING OFF IN YOUR HEAD!!! RUN! RUN! RUN! DAMN YOU!. And all the while you are thinking...
"Is there ketchup on my mouth, or something in my teeth? Have I not shaved the left side properly? Maybe it is not near my mouth, maybe it could be anywhere on my face. Is my shirt inside out? RUN!"
FAILED!
Another sticky situation is the one where you are pretty sober and sure that she is giving you the once over. You take that last swig out of your glass and swagger over. Just as you reach her she coyly slips her arm around the 100 kg Punjabi sitting beside her, probably called Pinky, Twinky or Pappu. What the hell does it matter RUN! You fool RUN!! This FAILED! stamp is better than having to see a bone setter or an undertaker for that matter.
Well well.... So you go over. And you open your mouth and some coherent words come out. "Haven't I seen you someplace before?"
"Heaven must be short one angel because she is standing in front of me"
"You know what I like about you? My arms."
"I hope you know CPR, cuz you take my breath away!"
DUH!! You get it, right FAILED!!
At this point I am usually hammered out of my mind and just stagger home. This exam is way to hard. (Thinking: Man those days of the Thermal papers were just too good! Atleast there was a law of averages). Convince myself that it's just not worth it. (Yeah the grapes are sour if you wanna put it like that)
Who am I kidding!
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Waqt - A waste!
Ok so I went to see a Hindi movie in the theatre. Yeah it wasn’t the first. No I didn’t like it. How would I know it was going to be so bad? Of course I had something better to do. Like what you say… like NOTHING! Or perhaps foraging around in some metaphorical haystack for a bloody metaphorical pin (OK needle if you insist). I went under peer pressure. What will you do at home anyways? Is someone coming over? You don’t like our company? All of which are purely rhetorical. Any answer to any of the above questions would have put me and my activities under severe scrutiny. Now I really wouldn’t want this to happen. No Siree! Not when at 23 I haven’t too many restrictions. Well all I did to fend these off was to open my mouth the first few times as of to say AH and then let it sort of drag into a UMMMNN… and the next few times to vehemently deny it with a strong NO, but well it went into the same effect. Then came the emotional blackmail. “You never come (Of course not! I don’t like the stuff)”, “You need to be more Indian (More Indian than what? I do pay all my taxes)” “Maybe you are afraid you won’t understand or not get any of the jokes. (OK this hurt me. I mean I have lived in Mumbai long enough to get most of the jokes). The bottom line is that I went.
There were five of us, my dearly beloved Mom, Sis, Uncle and Aunt and self. The ladies moved out in time to get the opening song sequence where as Uncle (S) and self lingered with our food and of course the Confederations cup match between Argentina and Tunisia. Twenty minutes into the game, about three phone calls (All with a similar theme “Where the heck are the both of you’ll) and consequentially three false reassurances later we left for the movie hall. We reached well in time for what was perhaps the 3rd or the 4th song sequence in that half hour of edited film. (Seems like they could have edited it a bit more and done away with a few song and dance sequence). Regrets aside, I endured that tree boogie and sundry other beating about the bush.
The thing with Hindi movies is that you can walk in at any time during the movie and within five minutes of dialogue pick up the story. They were fixing up the arranged marriage about the time I got in and when I awoke five minutes later to a well-placed and determined elbow, the son (Call him Ambitious A) had run away and got married to Pretty P (Yes she was the highlight of the movie). Well he brings her home and like the understanding parents Mr. Big B and wife Mrs. Salty S accepts her. A lives a carefree life and is doting father (who owns a toy factory) indulges him. S chides her husband for giving in to his every whim. The father-in-law Nutty N is always involved in some kind of one-uppism with B. Well B gives A a deadline to make a lakh of rupees. He Doesn’t meet the deadline so he is kicked out of the house. His lovely wife P tags along understanding the moral of the story that everyone has guessed by now. B is trying to bring A on track and is in nearing the final stages of cancer. (Clichéd!).
Upon waking up a little later to a smart, well-aimed rap to the back of my head (Oh yeah there was a comment to the effect “If you wanted to sleep you should have stayed at home!” HALLO!!) I found them in the middle of another dance sequence. As it was the festival of Holi, there was a rain dance in white clothes. (Standard fare for the lecherous public.) It was on a boat of sorts that was connected to land by streamers. (Yeah the boat. Yeah I was wondering too what the heck was going on) I took care of that by concentrating on the rain dance (the key words being rain, white and wet).
Then thankfully the intermission interrupted the movie and as the light came on, I was subject to a couple of cold looks (I told you I didn’t want to come… but no, nobody listens). After the well-deserved break was over and the movie resumed there was a complete switch in the sentiment portrayed. From the slapstick humour of the man-servant (who was probably the head man of the village ‘of’ idiots), it changed to an excessively maudlin episode. There were sniffles from almost all the 20 people sitting there (read as hopeless movie = no takers). As the rift between the Big B and Ambitious A is increasing, B is dying but is more adamant in reforming A. A is determined to make something of his life by winning a contest that will be his ticket to movie stardom.
Anyways by now if you aren’t thinking of leaving this post and going back to doing whatever it was you were doing I won’t feel offended. I completely understand.
The race is against A winning the competition to prove a point to his dad – B and against A staying alive to see his grandchild. In the true infallible ‘Hindi’ movie style all the 3 events converge unto the same hour.
At the end A is dying as he holds his grandson in his arms and his entire family is around him telling him to name the kid. I mean WHAT PRESSURE!! Poor old man is dying, and instead of giving him an oxygen mask and a drip all around him are like “Name your grandson! Name him!”
AAARRGGGHHHH!!
Goodbye O cruel and unrelenting world! Goodbye! Call him whatever the heck you want. You people just can’t let me even die in peace.
Waqt… A complete waste of!
There were five of us, my dearly beloved Mom, Sis, Uncle and Aunt and self. The ladies moved out in time to get the opening song sequence where as Uncle (S) and self lingered with our food and of course the Confederations cup match between Argentina and Tunisia. Twenty minutes into the game, about three phone calls (All with a similar theme “Where the heck are the both of you’ll) and consequentially three false reassurances later we left for the movie hall. We reached well in time for what was perhaps the 3rd or the 4th song sequence in that half hour of edited film. (Seems like they could have edited it a bit more and done away with a few song and dance sequence). Regrets aside, I endured that tree boogie and sundry other beating about the bush.
The thing with Hindi movies is that you can walk in at any time during the movie and within five minutes of dialogue pick up the story. They were fixing up the arranged marriage about the time I got in and when I awoke five minutes later to a well-placed and determined elbow, the son (Call him Ambitious A) had run away and got married to Pretty P (Yes she was the highlight of the movie). Well he brings her home and like the understanding parents Mr. Big B and wife Mrs. Salty S accepts her. A lives a carefree life and is doting father (who owns a toy factory) indulges him. S chides her husband for giving in to his every whim. The father-in-law Nutty N is always involved in some kind of one-uppism with B. Well B gives A a deadline to make a lakh of rupees. He Doesn’t meet the deadline so he is kicked out of the house. His lovely wife P tags along understanding the moral of the story that everyone has guessed by now. B is trying to bring A on track and is in nearing the final stages of cancer. (Clichéd!).
Upon waking up a little later to a smart, well-aimed rap to the back of my head (Oh yeah there was a comment to the effect “If you wanted to sleep you should have stayed at home!” HALLO!!) I found them in the middle of another dance sequence. As it was the festival of Holi, there was a rain dance in white clothes. (Standard fare for the lecherous public.) It was on a boat of sorts that was connected to land by streamers. (Yeah the boat. Yeah I was wondering too what the heck was going on) I took care of that by concentrating on the rain dance (the key words being rain, white and wet).
Then thankfully the intermission interrupted the movie and as the light came on, I was subject to a couple of cold looks (I told you I didn’t want to come… but no, nobody listens). After the well-deserved break was over and the movie resumed there was a complete switch in the sentiment portrayed. From the slapstick humour of the man-servant (who was probably the head man of the village ‘of’ idiots), it changed to an excessively maudlin episode. There were sniffles from almost all the 20 people sitting there (read as hopeless movie = no takers). As the rift between the Big B and Ambitious A is increasing, B is dying but is more adamant in reforming A. A is determined to make something of his life by winning a contest that will be his ticket to movie stardom.
Anyways by now if you aren’t thinking of leaving this post and going back to doing whatever it was you were doing I won’t feel offended. I completely understand.
The race is against A winning the competition to prove a point to his dad – B and against A staying alive to see his grandchild. In the true infallible ‘Hindi’ movie style all the 3 events converge unto the same hour.
At the end A is dying as he holds his grandson in his arms and his entire family is around him telling him to name the kid. I mean WHAT PRESSURE!! Poor old man is dying, and instead of giving him an oxygen mask and a drip all around him are like “Name your grandson! Name him!”
AAARRGGGHHHH!!
Goodbye O cruel and unrelenting world! Goodbye! Call him whatever the heck you want. You people just can’t let me even die in peace.
Waqt… A complete waste of!
Friday, June 17, 2005
The Fred Factor
I am reading this “National Bestseller” called The Fred Factor – Mark Sanborn . At the time I am typing this post out I have read about half the book and am going to put down my thoughts at this point. Maybe I’ll have another post when I am through reading it.
So far what I have read is good and pretty inspirational. (Are these the right words? Maybe I am sure you can add in a few of your favourite words that you use when describing these inspirational, straight from the heart kind of books.) OK I know what you are thinking right now. You are thinking that I am about to launch into a long-winded tirade condemning this book or pointing out something out of the ordinary here right?
NO!
I like what I have read so far in this book. But the thing is that I don’t quite get the peoples reactions… “Hey I know a Fred!” just like finding out that an old stock that they found in their granddad’s bunch of papers is worth a small fortune. C’mon they should be ashamed and go about changing quietly. I wouldn’t like to buy a $12 book that told me what my parents told me to do in the first place!! Or maybe they just didn’t say “These thing also apply when you are making money”
In school we are taught to say ‘Good Morning’, ‘Please’, ‘Thank you’ etc. and mean it. We are taught that ‘Honesty is the best policy’ blah… blah… blah… But doesn’t any of this apply when we go out to make money and build our own little financial empires. Would it not be more profitable to make money and make people feel like humans at the same time? Wouldn’t relationships esp. business ones improve?
Or maybe at work these things don’t matter. He is like that and he won’t change so why the hell should I not pay him back in his own coin? Maybe “his” is a reaction to my perception of his character! Which means that we could all be reacting to someone else’s imaginary character!
Ok this is a little far fetched with the likes of the people our gaols are filled with, but I think that most of us would classify as normal sane people. Guess this would also qualify all of us as potential Freds. But we are held back by some peers opinion of how an ‘X’ year old should behave. Is that why when we are kids we can make friends with any other kid but when we are older well there always has to be an ulterior motive?
This book is an extremely well written book and really gives one an outside look at the goodness that happens. I guess only then can one make an effort to perhaps live the Fred way.
I haven’t yet come across anything about turning the other cheek in this book but then again I haven’t finished reading it.
So far what I have read is good and pretty inspirational. (Are these the right words? Maybe I am sure you can add in a few of your favourite words that you use when describing these inspirational, straight from the heart kind of books.) OK I know what you are thinking right now. You are thinking that I am about to launch into a long-winded tirade condemning this book or pointing out something out of the ordinary here right?
NO!
I like what I have read so far in this book. But the thing is that I don’t quite get the peoples reactions… “Hey I know a Fred!” just like finding out that an old stock that they found in their granddad’s bunch of papers is worth a small fortune. C’mon they should be ashamed and go about changing quietly. I wouldn’t like to buy a $12 book that told me what my parents told me to do in the first place!! Or maybe they just didn’t say “These thing also apply when you are making money”
In school we are taught to say ‘Good Morning’, ‘Please’, ‘Thank you’ etc. and mean it. We are taught that ‘Honesty is the best policy’ blah… blah… blah… But doesn’t any of this apply when we go out to make money and build our own little financial empires. Would it not be more profitable to make money and make people feel like humans at the same time? Wouldn’t relationships esp. business ones improve?
Or maybe at work these things don’t matter. He is like that and he won’t change so why the hell should I not pay him back in his own coin? Maybe “his” is a reaction to my perception of his character! Which means that we could all be reacting to someone else’s imaginary character!
Ok this is a little far fetched with the likes of the people our gaols are filled with, but I think that most of us would classify as normal sane people. Guess this would also qualify all of us as potential Freds. But we are held back by some peers opinion of how an ‘X’ year old should behave. Is that why when we are kids we can make friends with any other kid but when we are older well there always has to be an ulterior motive?
This book is an extremely well written book and really gives one an outside look at the goodness that happens. I guess only then can one make an effort to perhaps live the Fred way.
I haven’t yet come across anything about turning the other cheek in this book but then again I haven’t finished reading it.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Impossible or I'm possible
Brilliant Solution.
This is a real story that happened between the customer of General Motors and its Customer-Care Executive. A complaint was received by the Pontiac Division of General Motors:
"This is the second time I have written to you, and I don't blame you for not answering me, because I sounded crazy, but it Is a fact that we have a tradition in our family we have Ice-Cream for dessert after dinner each night. But the kind of ice cream varies so, every night, after we've eaten, the whole family votes on which kind of ice cream we should have and I drive down to the store to get it. It's also a fact that I recently purchased a new Pontiac and since then my trips to the store have created a problem. You see,every time I buy a vanilla ice-cream, when I start back from the store my car won't start. If I get any other kind of ice cream, the car starts just fine. I want you to know I'm serious about this question, no matter how silly it sounds"
"What is there about a Pontiac that makes it not start when I get vanilla ice cream, and easy to start whenever I get any other kind?" The Pontiac President was understandably skeptical about the letter, but sent an Engineer to check it out anyway. The latter was surprised to be greeted by a successful, obviously well educated man in a fine neighborhood. He had arranged to meet the man just after dinnertime, so the two hopped into the car and drove to the ice cream store. It was vanilla icecream that night and, sure enough, after they came back to the car, it wouldn't start.
The Engineer returned for three morenights.
The first night, they got chocolate. The car started. The second night, he got strawberry. The car started. The third night he ordered vanilla. The car failed to start. Now the Engineer, being a logical man, refused to believe that this man's car was allergic to vanilla ice cream. He arranged, therefore, to continue his visits for as long as it took to solve the problem. And toward this end he began to take notes: he jotted down all sorts of data: time of day, type of gas uses, time to drive back and forth etc.
In a short time, he had a clue: the man took less time to buy vanilla than any other flavor.
Why? The answer was in the layout of the store. Vanilla, being the most popular flavor, was in a separate case at the front of the store for quick pickup. All the other flavors were kept in the back of the store at a different counter where it took considerably longer to check out the flavor.
Now, the question for the Engineer was why the car wouldn't start when it took less time. Eureka - Time was now the problem - not the vanilla ice cream!
The engineer quickly came up with the answer: "vapour lock". It was happening every night; but the extra time taken to get the other flavors allowed the engine to cool down sufficiently to start. When the man got vanilla, the engine was still too hot for the vapour lock to dissipate.
This is a real story that happened between the customer of General Motors and its Customer-Care Executive. A complaint was received by the Pontiac Division of General Motors:
"This is the second time I have written to you, and I don't blame you for not answering me, because I sounded crazy, but it Is a fact that we have a tradition in our family we have Ice-Cream for dessert after dinner each night. But the kind of ice cream varies so, every night, after we've eaten, the whole family votes on which kind of ice cream we should have and I drive down to the store to get it. It's also a fact that I recently purchased a new Pontiac and since then my trips to the store have created a problem. You see,every time I buy a vanilla ice-cream, when I start back from the store my car won't start. If I get any other kind of ice cream, the car starts just fine. I want you to know I'm serious about this question, no matter how silly it sounds"
"What is there about a Pontiac that makes it not start when I get vanilla ice cream, and easy to start whenever I get any other kind?" The Pontiac President was understandably skeptical about the letter, but sent an Engineer to check it out anyway. The latter was surprised to be greeted by a successful, obviously well educated man in a fine neighborhood. He had arranged to meet the man just after dinnertime, so the two hopped into the car and drove to the ice cream store. It was vanilla icecream that night and, sure enough, after they came back to the car, it wouldn't start.
The Engineer returned for three morenights.
The first night, they got chocolate. The car started. The second night, he got strawberry. The car started. The third night he ordered vanilla. The car failed to start. Now the Engineer, being a logical man, refused to believe that this man's car was allergic to vanilla ice cream. He arranged, therefore, to continue his visits for as long as it took to solve the problem. And toward this end he began to take notes: he jotted down all sorts of data: time of day, type of gas uses, time to drive back and forth etc.
In a short time, he had a clue: the man took less time to buy vanilla than any other flavor.
Why? The answer was in the layout of the store. Vanilla, being the most popular flavor, was in a separate case at the front of the store for quick pickup. All the other flavors were kept in the back of the store at a different counter where it took considerably longer to check out the flavor.
Now, the question for the Engineer was why the car wouldn't start when it took less time. Eureka - Time was now the problem - not the vanilla ice cream!
The engineer quickly came up with the answer: "vapour lock". It was happening every night; but the extra time taken to get the other flavors allowed the engine to cool down sufficiently to start. When the man got vanilla, the engine was still too hot for the vapour lock to dissipate.
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Back by Demand!
Hey great news.....
I seem to be finally getting hits on this site from people I don't know. Yeah of course they are hiding themselves under their pseudo names. Though I strongly suspect that the Princess who visits here is my sweet cuz Sharon. My sis believes that people who live their life out of a blog thinking that this is one of the coolest things to happen to them seriously needs a life. Well she thinks the same about all engineering students and wannabe engineers!! I am cornered!
Was kinda giving up on this thing for a while....... something what others call work... My opinion here doesn't matter.
It is hard to say who reads this.... famous etc... etc... ok ok narcisicm aside, I shall use this to solicit my completely uncalled for opinion, write trite book and movie reviews, to keep you all updated on what I am currently listening to and distill out the effects of all my hangovers... (if any of my relatives are reading this please remember that you cannot believe and trust all that you read on the internet nowadays). I shall pen down random thoughts in class(when concious) else you shall get to hear about my dreams..... Yeah woman of my dream included. (You wish!! LOL!) ;-)
Marc... thanks for taking the time out to read this. Do recommend it around. If Princess here threatened that you read this and write some comment I am sorry. (kidding Cuz!) If you wanna like your blog site up to mine lemme know. If you can link mine up to yours it would be great.
@GoneMAD: I still have the ticket stub of the concert up on the wall of my cube.
Here are a few links....
For some pix. Really good stuff. Nice colour combinations and some excellent shots.
Check out the Satch man's home page....
..........And his tour schedule.
I seem to be finally getting hits on this site from people I don't know. Yeah of course they are hiding themselves under their pseudo names. Though I strongly suspect that the Princess who visits here is my sweet cuz Sharon. My sis believes that people who live their life out of a blog thinking that this is one of the coolest things to happen to them seriously needs a life. Well she thinks the same about all engineering students and wannabe engineers!! I am cornered!
Was kinda giving up on this thing for a while....... something what others call work... My opinion here doesn't matter.
It is hard to say who reads this.... famous etc... etc... ok ok narcisicm aside, I shall use this to solicit my completely uncalled for opinion, write trite book and movie reviews, to keep you all updated on what I am currently listening to and distill out the effects of all my hangovers... (if any of my relatives are reading this please remember that you cannot believe and trust all that you read on the internet nowadays). I shall pen down random thoughts in class(when concious) else you shall get to hear about my dreams..... Yeah woman of my dream included. (You wish!! LOL!) ;-)
Marc... thanks for taking the time out to read this. Do recommend it around. If Princess here threatened that you read this and write some comment I am sorry. (kidding Cuz!) If you wanna like your blog site up to mine lemme know. If you can link mine up to yours it would be great.
@GoneMAD: I still have the ticket stub of the concert up on the wall of my cube.
Here are a few links....
For some pix. Really good stuff. Nice colour combinations and some excellent shots.
Check out the Satch man's home page....
..........And his tour schedule.
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