Currently listening to

Ya Ali...Raham Ali...Ya Ali, Yaar pe kurbaan hai sabhi,
Ya Ali...Madad Ali...Ya Ali, ye meri jaan, ye zindagi,
Ishq pe haan, mita doon, luta doon main apni khudi,
Yaar pe haan, luta doon, mita doon main ye hasti.

Ya Ali...Raham Ali...Ya Ali, Yaar pe kurbaan hai sabhi,
Ya Ali...Madad Ali...Ya Ali, ye meri jaan, ye zindagi...

Mujhe kuch pal de kurbat ke, fakir ham teri chaahat ke.
Rahein bechain dil kab tak? Mile kuch pal to raahat ke.
Chaahat pe, Ishq pe haan, mita doon, luta doon main apni khudi,
Yaar pe haan, luta doon, mita doon main ye hasti.

Ya Ali...Raham Ali...Ya Ali, Yaar pe kurbaan hai sabhi,
Ya Ali...Madad Ali...Ya Ali, ye meri jaan, ye zindagi...

Bina tere na ek pal ho, na bin tere kabhi kal ho.
Ye dil ban jaaye patthar ka, na isme koi hulchul ho.
Sanam pe haan, Ishq pe haan, mita doon, luta doon main apni khudi,
Kasam se haan, luta doon, mita doon main ye hasti.

Ya Ali...Raham Ali...Ya Ali, Yaar pe kurbaan hai sabhi,
Ya Ali...Madad Ali...Ya Ali, ye meri jaan, ye zindagi...

Got wind that this was a direct lift from a song "Ya Ghally" by Arabic band GUITARA. Also, other songs of Gangster, Lamha Lamha and Tu hi meri shab hai, are also seemingly "inspired" by Kal shab dekha and Sacral Nirvana. More dirt and inspired songs here. Beware, for like Shruthi, you might end up finding out that so many of your fave songs were, alas, second-hand stuff.

But personally, it didn't make any difference to me. This is some great music here, and I first heard it as "Ya Ali", and I liked it. If I had heard it as 'Ya Ghally', may be I would have loved it then, and cried foul now.

The debate on liking plagiarised stuff, and not acknowledging the original will go on and on, but all said and done, this song here ROCKETH.

Viky avarinda modalane ardhashataka...

Ok, this is my fiftieth post here. In order to make it special, this is in vernacular.

eega kelawu dina keLage, nanu nanna friend na keLde..."Enappa samachara bengaLooru hegide?". awa reply maaDida "Lo Viky, bengaLooru poorti kelawu jeevanada sathyagaLu rounDu hoDitaide".

nanu shake aade...yoonu yavaglinda jeevana, tatva anta hoda anta...amele mail bantu...

jeevanada sathyagaLu : aagatto? aagalvo?

1. bus hodre bus sTanDu alle irutte, adre cycle hodre, sTanDu jotege hogatte.
2. neenu bussalli hattidru, bussu ninmele hattidru, ticket thagoLodu neene.
3. ticket thagonDu oLage hogodu 'cinema theatre', oLage hogi ticket thagoLodu 'operation theatre'.
4. cellnalli BALANCE illa andre CALL maDakke agalla, manushyange CALL illa andre BALANCE maDakke agalla.
5. train eshTe faaaasTagi hodru, kone bogie barodu konegene.
6. cream biscuit madhya cream iratte, adre beNNe biscuit madhya beNNe iratta?
7. naayige naalakku kaale irabahudu, adre adikke kaal mele kaalu haki koothkoLakke agatta?
8. soLLe kachchidre 'aane kaalu' barutte...adre aane kachchdre 'soLLe kaalu' barutta?
9. hattu iruve seri ondu aane na kachbahudu...aadre hattu aane seri ondu iruve na kachchake agatta?

adu haage irli biDi, nange idella sumaru SMSgaLu bantu....along with 'suryange torcha?', 'saraswatige tuitionna?' thara messages. ella odi sumaru maja bantu...adre yelladikkintha maja bandiddu namma AYHAY dialogue gaLalli....(AYHAY anta nanna roomie, ille pune li biddu vaddaDtidda, eega London nalli Thames neeralli snana maDtane...bere nu eno maDtane, adre adirli)

hmm, onsala ayhay sakkat chaLi li walking hogidnante. thara-thara naDugiso chaLi li avanige allello dooradalli ondu bajji-gaDi kaaNtu. "ohoho" ankonDu ayhay gaaDi kaDe hoda....eNNe banDli pakka meNsinkai, baLekai aloogeDDe ella bajji ittu...
ayhay - "saar, bisi en ide?"
bajji-awa - "saar, takshNakke, eNNe bisi ide".

ayhay alle flaatu.

onsala aytalla, sumne irbeku taane. illa. huDuk-buddhi elli hogatte? hoda namma krishna bakery kaDe ge. shelf nalli line agi jentuppada bottle iTTiddru. togobekagiddu one pound breaddu. taleharTege keLda -
ayhay - "saar, jentuppaddu bottle eshTu beeLatte?"
bakery-awa - "en saar heege keLtira? beeLsidre ella beeLatte."

hangandidde taDa, breaddu etkonDu oDu...

Sadly, inonsolpa "gems" collect maDoNa anno ashtralli London ge relocate agbiTTidane...irli...en barode ilwa? bandre mataDode ilwa? awanu mataDidmele innenu...avnu heLodu hechcho, nanu illi bariyodu hechcho?

PS: title nalli modalanedu yake andre nanu eraDu mooru kaDe baritini....God willing, and Me willing, nanu allu on fifty hoDitini....

10 words, right from the heart

It goes this way: You comment on this, and I give you a letter. On your blog, write ten words beginning with that letter, describing what those words mean to you. If the words are esoteric, or you are giving your GRE in the near future, you can include the meanings as well. Chandni gave me 'D', so here goes...

Dreams: ... where your imagination shapes up and you feel motivated to achieve something. It is in dreams that you visualise your future. It is in dreams that you paint vivid pictures, which push you to raise the bar every single time. And it is in dreams that you do things the first time, before doing in actual life.

Dance: ... it is such a blissful sensation to see the perfect sync of limbs. To see the way the body gracefully sways to the rhythm, and reaches a peak where the mind, the body and the music resonate together, building up the tempo to the final crescendo.

Date: The first one, to be precise. The silent probing, the getting to know each other, the joy at finding something in common, the ease at which differences are accepted, the dry humour, the one-upmanship, the tingling tension, the dressing up for the date, the stolen glances when the other is occupied...SIGH...Some memories are so fresh...

Dawn: ... the cool breeze tickling the leaves and awakening the birds with its whispers, the light mist which makes you feel as if you were the first person on this virgin piece of land, the distant chants of "suprabhatam" in MSS's mellifluous voice, the birds which chirp in accompaniment as you come back from a jog, and the refreshing taste of the just-made tea at the chaiwalla down the road.

Dew: ... It makes the leaves look like they have been studded with diamonds, it wets your feet in such a way that you don't know whether they are wet or not, and the way you flick it onto your face, and enjoy the feeling as the drops run down your cheeks.

Drive: Be it ripping on the highway on my bike, or cruising along in a car, listening to great music, driving gives me the ultimate high. Forget driving in the city, to experience a good drive, you have to get away from the city, and pick a direction (not a destination). Driving alone is best, but nothing like it if you can take your partner out for a drive. (Love the Alto ad, where they drive up a cliff, and have tea on the top)

Donuts: Okay, I meant koDbaLe....because I love them so very much.

deja vu: ... when you know you have felt this, but don't know when, or where. It gives me a strange eerie feeling sometimes, and sometimes I am left biting my tongue at my follies.

Defeat: ... it is the the thing that makes you go further, push harder, do better. It is the backbone of every success you have had. It is responsible for so many decisions you take. It is the fire that hardens the steel in you.

And finally

Death: ... it is so mysterious. So dark. So cold. So sudden, that we shudder to think of what may befall our loved ones. So unknown, that we fear it, unconsciously.

One leg at a time

Came across this in some forward I received -

"If we jumped into our pants simultaneously placing both legs in at one time, we would land heavily on the ground. As a majority of us are getting dressed at the same time of the morning, the cumulative effect would cause an earth tremor. Due to the use of time zones, the tremor established In Eastern Time would arrive in the central zone at precisely the moment all those people were jumping into their pants. The tremor would increase in size exponentially, and proceed west to combine with the mountain zone folks as they get dressed. As this cycle encircles the globe, it would feed upon the next day's Tremor and eventually cause the earth's crust to break apart and float into space.

This is why we put our pants on one leg at a time."

Whew... in case you can't see me at eye-level, look down. I'm on the floor.

Fatal Fratricide

Pravin Mahajan: Poor brother of a rich, illustrious and media-loved icon of Indian politics, Pramod Mahajan. Moderately successful builder in Mumbai, and consultant to several companies of the likes of Reliance Infocomm. Drank occasionally. A caring father, a loving husband and yet, was the black sheep of the family. Was repeatedly slighted and ill treated by his more famous sibling, yet he adored his Pramod dada. Journo Sreevalsan Menon walks down the memory lane and remembers him as a technology hungry person who thought highly of his brother and praised him at every oppurtunity. Like all of us, he loved the good life. On April 22, he walked into his brother's bedroom and pumped three bullets into him at point-blank range.

Pramod Mahajan: The most lovable face of the BJP front runners. Aspired for the top post in 2014 elections. Has a coterie of people following his cellphone-and-laptop toting persona, but none have words of praise for him. Courts controversies like the pickle on his curd rice. Accused of brokering deals in the corridors of power. Leads a high profile life, which goes against the basic principles he learnt in the RSS. Accused of favouring Reliance during his tenure as the Communications minister in the NDA government. Found many-a-time dining and wining with media moguls and industry bigwigs. Was accused to have extra-marital relations with slain journalist Shivani Bhatnagar (in fact, Madhu Sharma, wife of RK Sharma, screamed all over the TV asking for the whereabouts of Pramod Mahajan at the time of Shivani's murder).

Like chalk and cheese, these two brothers' lives hardly match. One struggled to make ends meet and led a normal middle class life in Mumbai. The other led a high-profile life with multiple cellphones and plotted party tactics on laptops. One was a model neighbour (The next door lady went public on TV saying "Achche log they. Hamare liye to bahut hi achchey they.") The other was too busy for family (He asked his brother to meet him by taking appointments with his secretary). One always sang praises of his brother (Ask Sreevalsan Menon, about the trip to Germany). The other always slighted and ignored him (Pramod continued reading the paper after he saw Pravin, and allegedly mistook him to be a newspaper boy).

There was no property at stake, there were no ill feelings. Yet if a non-criminal like Pravin goes into his beloved brother's bedroom and shoots him down, it means there was a strong reason for him to get rid of Pramod. And look at the stoic replies he gives the police. That he was repeatedly mistreated by his brother, that he was ignored at family functions, that he had debts to clear and his brother didn't help him. Very normal reasons to pick a fight perhaps, but fail miserably as reasons for murder.

And he was mentally stable enough to give himself up and court arrest. Is he trying to hide something? Something big enough to kill his own brother, and then by giving himself up, diverting attention towards himself, and away from both the families. The media too, talks of only the brothers, and nothing about the families. It reeks of the feeling that Pravin wants to save his and his brother's families of an embarassment, much bigger than a brother-killed-brother saga.

Add this to the fact that the money from Pravin's consultancy (about Rs 70000 per month) was remitted to his wife Sarangi's account. And that Pramod Mahajan had acquired shares of a prominent company in his sister-in-law Sarangi's name. And that the police say that the murder was pre-meditated. Keeping in mind Pramod's high profile life, and the accusations in Shivani murder case, it puts a weird feeling in my mind.

Did Pramod Mahajan have an affair with his brother's wife Sarangi?

Bangalored

Some of you may feel that an undying horse is being flogged again (borrowed the line from Magnolic) but nevertheless, an interesting conversation going on here.

Homecoming

She was waiting for him. It had been long since he had passed her way, by visiting or otherwise. Her love had accumulated over time, and was threatening to spill from her eyes. Longing was taking a toll on her. Then he came. Like a wayward son returning home, he came into her folds, and her brimming love broke all restraint and out came the tears, like a torrential deluge, as she welcomed him back.

I reached Mysore today. And three days of overcast clouds rained in all their splendour.

16 hours on the NH-4

Yoo hoo and a bottle of rum...

Harsha was giving high recommendations to Sharma Travels, and I can see now why. Minutes after Harsha and Gokul had lugged my bag into the bus, the bus started, and the powerful AC cooled the whole cabin in minutes. It was already 12 by the time we hit the ghats on the outskirts of Pune, so I guess that may have been the reason he did not play any movie at night. Blankets and bottles given, the lights were dimmed and then put off, and the only thing audible was the slow hum of the AC, which combined with the chilled ambience, put everyone to sleep.

Not me though, cos the seat I got was not fully reclining, and so I was feeling very uncomfortable. The girl next to me was accomodating enough to let me put my legs to the far end of her leg-space, so that I could doze off in a diagonal position, with my head on the window. I remember being awake till 1, because I was continuing a SMS conversation with a birthday gal. Then, fatigue overtook me, and the next thing I knew was daylight on my face through the window. The girl next to me was still asleep, complete with the blanket over her head to prevent the sun. I did the same and slept for another hour or so, before dad called me.

Presently he stopped for breakfast, and for once, it was not a stinky roadside hotel. The places where these KSRTC people stop, you know instantaneously where the toilet is, thanks to the stench emanating from it. Here, however, I had to ask, and to my pleasant surprise, the toilets were clean, the water was clear, and the food, sumptuous. It atleast leaves you with the comforting feeling that you got your money's worth. The place he stopped was a Reliance A-1 Outlet, methinks its Reliance's answer to Club HP "Achcha lagta hai" pit-stops on Pune-Mumbai expressway, with hotels and toilet facilities along with re-fuelling stations.

Lunch was again at a Reliance A-1, 50 kms away from Bangalore. By this time, I had seen Rang De Basanti and Malamaal Weekly. Thank God, I did not watch the latter movie in the theatres. Sucks big-time. This starts where the climax of Hungama ends (with all those people shaking and shouting in a bout of electric discharge). If it were not for the gal next to me, I would have pulled my hair out. During the course of the movie, I learnt that she was from Dombivili in Mumbai, and was working in some small company in Pune, and had got a new job in Cygnus software. Before joining there, she wanted to take a break and was visiting her brother in Bangalore.

Movies and Conversations over, the speakers started churning out FM, and after a long time, I heard the class of Bangalore RJs. Radio Mirchi RJs in Pune suck big time. Then the cleaner came and started announcing the stops in Bangalore, and she got off somewhere near Navrang, and a few more minutes later, me too gathered all my bags and headed home. It had taken fifteen and a half hours from Pune to Bangalore, pretty good enough. Comfortable seats, warm blankets, cool AC and neat stop-overs. Sharma is good, after all.

I will be going to Mysore tomorrow.

And by the way, this post is from my new notebook via a GPRS connection on the cell.

I'm off...

An old friend's engagement.
One long pending visit to a friend's new house.
One visit to the school, with school-friends.
One drive to the college, and one cutting chai in the canteen.
One meal at the dhaba, just like the old times.
Two re-unions.
Dozens of movies on my new notebook.
Hours of wi-fi internet at Cafe Coffee Day, Kalidasa Road.
Scores of photos on Harsha's Nikon.
and
a helluva catching up is all I want to do in Mysore.

Yes, I'm off to Mysore, and will be back in Pune on May 02nd. Will keep posting, though.

That Was The Week That Was

For the long-ishness of the previous post, it is but justified that I take a long break.

Anyway, last Saturday saw Rupa flying to Ipswich, and Rakshith will be flying some time next week.

Had been to Mumbai to see Rupa off, and for what little time I was there, and for what little I saw of the city, I fell in love with it. The power it exudes, the pace at which it moves...makes me shake my head in awe. Not that I dislike Pune, but Mumbai is Mumbai. Pune is incomparable. Its like comparing Mysore to Bangalore. One is a cultural stronghold, the other is the moolah-machine.

More on that in another post. Coming back home, we sacked our maid, and got a new one in her place. The old maid's lethargy had made us so bluntly tolerant, that now, the new one's routine work seems like a luxury.

And since afternoon, I am happy, because work-wise, there is nothing for me to finish before proceeding on leave. So all I did for the later half of the day was read her. I came across the link via desipundit, and I am not getting enough. Do read her stories. They are short, sweet, and leave you with your head tilted, saying "Awww".

And I am a part of Pune Bloggers now.

Love, Marriage and the Arrangements

Last weekend saw one of my friends attending a "groom-showing" ceremony. That's because she would be the bride in the equation. Somehow, this thing of "seeing" a bride/groom intrigues me no end. There is the tingling feeling of whom you may meet, whether the chemistry would be instant, or would fizz out like a half-opened can of beer.

I listened with keen interest as she kept on telling me details of their conversation, just the two of them. It was like the first date, only that this was a kind of family-arranged "blind" date. Breaking the ice, the hesitation, the urge to show your dry humor once the other person drops his/her guard, the deliberate need to make the other person feel comfortable...all this makes you kinda ecstatic. Its also true that you are put off if the other person is not responsive enough, but still...the quest to find a topic on which you can speak on and on, the exchanging of phone numbers, the talking late into nights...seems like a dream, but I have seen many such arranged blind dates flourish and blossom beautifully.

But there is the flip side too. What happens when there is a mismatch? What happens when all the late night talks and tingle were just the initial excitement, where you had this guard on, and after marriage, you drop your guard, to find a different person altogether? Then, you are too late to back out as well, and you resort to compromise. I am not against compromise, nor am I suggesting that relationships be damned at a drop of a hat, without taking the effort to make them work, but there is only so much you can do.

Take for example, what the man of few words says. Three years of bliss, would you want to throw it away. Three years of understanding each other, aligning yourself, and honing yourself, with the objective of spending all your life with the partner of your choice...would you want to throw it away, without making it work? I refrain from advising or suggesting anything to that couple, but I do think that when you feel you have made your choice, when you like a person so much that you want to spend your life with him/her, then caste, creed and all such things don't really matter. And for those to whom it matters, they have to realise that its a conscious decision you have made, and for all you are worth, your decision needs to be respected.

You may give me the argument that in an Indian context, a person marries a family, and not an individual. If you have such close ties with your family, why don't they give your decision the respect it deserves? Why don't they realise that while you searched out your partner, you have thought about them as well. Because for all the times they have been there for you, and made you the man/woman you are, you obviously would see to it that your partner respects and cares for them, along with you.

I am not saying love marriages always work out. All I'm saying is, in love, you can see where it is going. Consider twins. One falls in love, while the other "sees" a boy/girl and gets engaged. Both carry on for three months, getting to know their respective partners. Then, if the first finds that the partner is diametrically opposite to her/his persona, (s)he always has the chance to finish it, and back out with no hard feelings. No strings attached (pun unintended). The other is stuck with his/her polar opposite for life. (I of course, am not implying that things dont work out if the other person is totally opposite. In fact, its a good thing, helps understand each other better)

Here again, you may argue that the second one may have had a fruitful relationship, in spite of all the differences, due to compromises made. Point taken, but there are innumerable examples always. There are love marriages which ended in splitsville. And there are love marriages which worked out beautifully. And there are arranged marriages which worked out beautifully. And there are arranged marriages which were broken in court. And there are love marriages which got the consent of elders and became love-cum-arranged marriages. And there are live-ins. And there are couples who live separately. And extra-maritals. And on and on and on.

Compromises are made everywhere. There are voluntary compromises, which you do, to prevent a relationship going bad . There are frown-on-the-face compromises which you do, to prevent a bad relationship from going worse. There are things you do because your loved one wants you to. Similarly there are things you dont do because your loved one does not want you to. There are women who chuck their job, to look after the child. There are men, who tend the house when the wife is working (Arshad Warsi's is a notable example. He tended his child for two years, without a job, when they felt Maria Goretti's job was more important).

All said and done, things work out if you want them to. And it may take a lot of convincing, and groundwork before commitment. And love marriages give you an excellent platform. I know girls who want to be in a relationship, but are shackled by parental rules. I know girls who have honestly told the family about their plans ahead. Love marriages provide you with a chance to understand each other completely before committing yourself for life. I know for a fact (girls have told me in interesting discussions) that girls are more comfortable going to bed with someone they know, and trust their love and life with, than being undressed by a person they met a week, a month or even three months before.

I am not drawing this discussion to sex without reason. I believe that any relationship founded on sex is not strong enough. What if the guy has some expectations, and the girl, in her apprehensions (she's already naked with a stranger-of-three-months) does not live up to it. Will it not affect their relationship. Is it worth losing a lifetime of sleep over one night of staying awake? Marriage is not just about being good in bed. I believe that sex comes at the culmination of a relationship. The topmost level. The zenith. It gives you complete freedom, and an exulting feeling when your partner is someone whom you love, whom you care for, whom you can trust your life with, for whose happiness you will give up the world.

And this is where arranged marriages tend to falter (Remember, I'm not saying they fail). More often than not, they start with a compromise. And fare for the better or worse.

After a lot of detours and interesting roadblocks (read thought-blocks), I come to the same point where I was. One of my friends attended a "groom-seeing" ceremony last weekend. And both sides have "OK"ed it. The dates have not yet been finalised, but two more people are bidding farewell to their singlehood this season. Happy Married Life. *Raises glass*

Jammy's April Fool Prank

Ouchmytoe is back on its heels, or rather, toes again.

Jammy had put up a prank on April Fools Day, he blocked his own blog site, giving his readers a big shock. Not this one, of course...

He had "replaced Ouchmytoe blog's code with that of Rediffblogs. This was done after I had saved Ouchmytoe's code (both in "my documents" and in the Gmail server). Now my Blog looked like Rediffblog home. But there was something missing "how would I know who got fooled and who didnt" I definitely had to bring in a feature that would allow visitors to leave comments - documented proof that the prank had worked. The presence of this feature wouldn't have worked by itself. I needed to build a story around why I could have been blocked. Which is why I left the first comment - This is such a flimsy reason to block my site. I didn't agree to write for you because you don't pay well...and that was it. I didn't realize you would go to the extent of blocking my site! This is the heights...."

But he left too many loose ends...first of all, he gave everyone a warning two days beforehand that he was planning some prank. And on D-Day, instead of getting redirected to Rediff page, the browser was still showing the ouchmytoe address, and thirdly he had left his hit counter in a remote corner of the page, visible only when scrolled down.

Nevertheless, the prank was a good one, going by the number of horrified comments "You should have shifted to blogspot when you had the time","This is eerie" and all, it had hit the bull's eye.

Farewell Season

The farewell season seems to have begun. In its fullest form.

Soon after Shan left, Niral left Pune for Bangalore, in preparation for her higher studies abroad. Varun will be leaving Pune on April 7th, again to Bangalore on a transfer from Geometric. Good luck both of you.

Last week, Kavash left the company, and Pune, for Fidelity, Bangalore (yet again). He got a lucrative package, they tell me. Good for him. After Balivada, he is the first one to leave the batch after completion of training, and as it seems, he may just be the start of the exodus. Farewell, mate, and good luck.

Deep bid a farewell of a different kind. To bachelorhood. Last week, Deep and Nupur made it known that they would marry each other on July 12 in Ranchi. Its always a nice feeling to see the twosome, who spent so much time with each other, tie the knot and look together at the future. Happy married life, both of you.

And finally, and most importantly, Ayhay flew to London today. From Friday, all I saw of him was a huffy puffy mass going around from floor to floor getting his paperwork done. Considering that it this was his first flight ever, the whole of Saturday we shopped for him, from underwear to overcoats, until we were dog tired and the bill threatened to run towards the wrong side of five figures.

That makes two in my flat who went to the UK. Must be something with the room. Me shifting to the other room too... :) Anyway, Crazy Frog (because he loves the Ding Ding) will be back on May 27th. Gives me some time to compose a long list...*evil grin*

Bengal and Indian English literature

Shobhaa De: Arguably India's most recognised woman writer. Popular for her sauce-n-sleaze novels like "Sultry Days", "Starry Nights", "Socialite Evenings" etc. Comes across in her columns as a hardcore feminist, though she has herself said she's not a male basher.

Jhumpa Lahiri: Most promising writer on the Indian fiction front. Pulitzer Prize in 2000 for "Interpreter of Maladies". Her other novel "The Namesake" is being made into a movie of the same name by Mira Nair.

Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni: American Book Award in 1996 for "Arranged Marriage". Other novels include "The Mistress of Spices" (being made into a movie of the same name, starring Ash Rai) and "Sister of my Heart" (being made into a Tamil soap by Suhasini Maniratnam).

Sagarika Ghose: Senior Editor with the Indian Express, and prior to that, worked as a journalist for The Times of India and Outlook. Her first novel "The Gin Drinkers" is a comedy of manners set in Delhi’s cocktail circuit. Second novel "Blind Faith" will hit the stands late this year. Married to Rajdeep Sardesai of CNN-IBN.

Gayatri Mazumdar: Worked as a journalist at the Press Trust of India, The Independent, All India Radio and Debonair (where she also edited the Poetry Page). Her first Anthology of Poems (in English) - "Shout" - has recently been published by Sampark, New Delhi, India. It includes her poems written since she was nineteen till the most recent ones.

Bharati Mukherjee: National Book Critics' Circle Award for best fiction for "The Middleman and Other Stories". She has taught creative writing at Columbia University, New York University, and and Queens College, and is currently professor of English at the University of California at Berkeley

Do you see what I see? Make a list of women writers of India, and these would prominently figure in the list. All of them have a Bengali connection, having born or being educated in Calcutta. Those who are abroad are either first generation emigrants (Bharati, Chitra) or were born to Indian parents (Jhumpa).

The connection reflects in their writings too. I haven't read Sagarika, Gayatri or Bharati, yet. But Chitra and Jhumpa's writing teem with the Bengali flavour. In "Arranged Marriage", Chitra brings out beautifully the angst of a would-be Bengali brides, her romantic longing for a Mills-and-Boons type guy to sweep her off her feet, the elaborate rituals of the conservative Bengali family, the vivid expressions of a new bride in an unknown US city, where the only other Bengali she knows is her husband...

Jhumpa too conjures the same magic in "The Namesake". In the uncertainty of a young girl who settles with her husband in the US, and how she misses the wide terraces of her ancestral home in Calcutta, she brings out the taste of Bengal through minute descriptions of the food and living. The once-a-year visits to Calcutta, the other Bengali families, who live cities apart, but gather for celebration of Naba Barsha and Durga Pujo as if they were relatives...

Shobhaa De, however tries to keep the connection toned down in her writings, but occasionally it does show up in some of her columns. Shobhaa, in any case, converts all her novels into a feminist, male bashing conundrum. I have read a couple of her novels, and believe me, I never went ahead of her sex-sleaze-scorned woman-male bashing angle.

These writers, combined with the likes of Vikram Seth, Amitava Ghosh et al prods me to look in awe at the contribution of Bengal to Indian English literature. Add a bygone era and you have innumerable stalwarts to adorn your list.

Is it just coincidence, or is it something with the Bengali life and roots?

Happiness Abounds

The sun is that bit more brighter today, the wind has a song in it. There is a spring in my feet as I sweat it out on the treadmill. My most recent poems find their place in Starlit Nights. My laptop has been upgraded with an extra 512, and is ready for my exploits. I have been granted leaves, so I'm headed home for a long vacation of 20 days starting April 14 (nahi, shaadi nahi ho rahi hai meri...).

And yes, its one more year, and I thank you, people for keeping my cell beeping and ringing...

Yoo Hoo

YES!!! My swanky new, fully loaded notebook was delivered to me.

After a lot of deliberation, and hours of company internet spent on shortlisting the various models of HP on offer, I had settled for a dv1386TU model. As luck would have it, the model was being phased out by HP, and they gave me a better configuration at a reasonably lesser rate. Combined with Srik's employee discount, I got it at almost a steal.

Allow me now to yap on my newest toy. Its a dv1624TN, the latest stallion from the HP stable. Its powered by a 1.66 GHz Intel Core Solo processor, and has a 512 MB RAM ( I'm adding one more 512 MB to the other slot ). Storage is an ample 80 GB, and comes with a DVD Writer. It also has a 6-in-1 media card reader, 3 USB ports and the normal I/O ports. It weighs 2.4 kgs and has an integrated webcam and microphone. 2 headphone jacks see to it that you dont have to watch a movie sharing your headphones.

The best part is it comes with Quickplay, which means that if all you need to do is play DVD / VCD / ACD / mp3 CD or movies/music from the HDD, you need not boot the PC up. It works like a normal DVD player, and comes with a remote too, which you can tuck in the PCMCIA slot, when not needed. A set of headphones are included. XPH is pre-loaded.

Looks are gorgeous, silver on the outside and black on the inside. Media buttons come with a blue backlight, and so do the status lights. The front panel is very aesthetically designed and slopes forward like the hood of a car, giving it that extra sleek look.

I'm just ogling at it from the past three days, will yap more on this later.

Full Circle

I guess this is what you call coming around a full circle.

Some time in the past, I had created an account in Orkut. I even added a few friends, and scrapped here and there, to get a hang of it. But then I realised, it was getting painstakingly difficult to reach out to everyone at once, I have had to scrap the same things in quite a few scrapbooks...

Moreover, firewalls blocked Orkut, and I switched to blogs. When a very close friend visited me recently, she said all our school friends could be reached through Orkut, and said she had added my name, but rarely saw me operational on Orkut.

That did it. Now I want to be on Orkut, but can't. That's because I forgot my username. Now I am searching high and low for my old username, but I am not finding it. Even Orkut is not helping me out :((

Anyway, now that the firewalls have been relaxed, I have created a new profile on Orkut and all you people out there on Orkut, add the newer profile...there are two profiles, don't get confused, both are ME only.

Also, I created a new blog on blogspot, for my literary side. Named Starlit Nights, this blog will carry my poems, and the little bit of fiction I have managed to write. The link is http://undertheshiningstars.blogspot.com.

Adios

Farewell

Today again we were playing Reply-All, and the topic was on the snap taken on the weekend Shanthi left.

The first thing I noticed about Shan when I met her was her hair. Long, strong and silky. I have used the same words in orkut as well, but I will let that be. The ultimate buggable creature, Shan was the best person to try your dry humour on. Good soul that she was, she never took it to heart. Which made us raise the bar higher and higher.

The first of those started when she accompanied us to Mahabaleshwar, and was doing a Rajnikanth sitting in the front seat. From the road to the Narayanpur temple, to the cliffs of Mahabaleshwar and Panchgani, I bugged her no end. That was the start of a beautiful relationship, which parted ways a couple of weeks back.

Mahabaleshwar to Shirdi to Dive Agar to Goa to Khandala-Lonavala, we had so much fun. Like the time when we always teased her about her college where there is gender discrimination, even in college buses (girls sit on left side, boys sit on right side ... girls dont wear trousers, boys dont wear t-shirts ... girls boys dont talk, or you fail in the exams) ... like the time when we hitched a ride in Goa, and her eyes went wide as she said "Lorry?"... like the time when we walked back from Senapati Bapat road after devouring pizzas...

Like the time we teased her about her innumerable "boyfriends" here ... like the time her mom served her a few more dosas when she tried to say "no" in kannada ... like the time she said she would lose weight by walking, and it rained on the day she decided to walk ... like the time we splashed her name all over the office, and in the newsletter on her birthday during the annual pre-bash ... like the time when Ayhay sang a song for her in the canteen ... like the time when she applied mehndi on Sushma's hands...

Putting mehndi was one thing she did superbly, every two-three weeks her room mates used to show their hands "See, Shan put this...".

At times giving you gyan(She's Sun certified Java, mind you), at times dumber than the "dumbest blonde joke ever", she was one heck of a person to be with. She had this rickety old laptop, which would run only on AC, nevertheless it was our only means to watch movie after movie (only one movie...number of times...thanks to Beryle) on innumerable weekend afternoons. It also helped Gokul to study for his Interwoven test. Stupid gal took it with her, even though it was adding 4 kgs to her already heavily overweight luggage.

A constant companion in our pizza outings, Shan always comes when we talk of US. And with Shan comes McKinsey. And her Vince mama. And her meeting with the Pope. And the awesome plum (read rum) cakes she got from Pondy.

Chechi will miss her for the time she spent with her, Gokul will remember her for the fellow LT she was, Vidya and Beryle will remember her for obvious reasons, and the rest of us will remember her for the person she was. A nice friend, a warm hearted lovable girl who never hurt anybody, Shan left Pune two weeks back for "green"er pastures in the US. And I wish her goodluck, and hope our paths cross again in the future.

Holi Hai

Holi khele raghubeera...awadh mein...holi khele raghubeera...

Happy Holi.

Pride or Shame

March 13 will be a landmark day for the Indian armed forces. For the first time in its history, a lady officer will command the Passing Out Parade at Armed Forces Medical College here. 34-year-old Wahida Prizm from Jammu & Kashmir is the daughter of a teacher in Rajouri who was gunned down by militants in 2001. Born in a middle-class family at village Thanna Mandi on March 11, 1972, she was commissioned into the Indian Navy on November 10, 1997, after passing her MBBS from Jammu Medical College. Their saga of valour does not end there, in fact, it runs in the family. Her husband Major M F F Khan is a former short-service commission officer, and her sister is an inspector with the J&K police force. Read the full story here.

The double murder of a lawyer Anuratha Mahajan, and her mother Swarana Mahajan, who was also a lawyer, has once again triggered debate on Delhi being a safe city for single women. Swarana was a widow, while Anuratha had separated from her husband, and both women were living together in the flat in which they were murdered. The commercial capital Mumbai too saw the rape of a 52 year old woman, on the pretext of offering her a lift.

Is it just a coincidence that whenever we have reason to hold our head high in pride, an equally or more disastrous act weighs it down in shame.

Blank Noise Project and Women's Day

I came across this Blank Noise Project via a link from other blogs. When I read about Annie's street harassment, and Hema's single-girl-on-a-train post, I can only say "SORRY" for being a part of the "male" society which left a scar on their persona. I know it doesn't help, but there is only so much we can do. I have been in such situations before, and when you say all this, I can only say "I agree" and hang my head in shame.

There was this time when I was teaching my cousin to ride a bicycle, sitting on the carrier behind, and guys from the street behind passed filthy comments. "Teaching her to ride ... from the behind". My cousin was probably too young to understand it, or may be she did, and kept quiet. I wanted to thrash the imbeciles, but there was nothing I could do. I was all of 15 then, and these were men almost my uncle's age.

Then there was the guy who stretched his legs under the seat and tried to play with the feet of a female friend I was travelling with. She promptly stomped on his toes, and knowing her, I'm sure he would have bled if he wasn't in shoes.

2004 passed-out engineering graduates in and around Bangalore will remember their Oracle walk-in. Not for the jobs they got or missed. Girls will remember that day, not for the physical bruises in the melee, not for the material losses like cellphones, spectacles and slippers, but for the hundreds of hands which pinched their behind, for the unknown hands that felt them up. Guys I know to be born lechers, boasted about it. They had already stripped the girl in their mind. The lecherous stares, the eyes which stealthily go 'downtown', even as a girl is being introduced, the hands which never let go of a handshake until the girl makes it all-too-limp. I wonder what they get by two seconds of female flesh contact. I am reminded of Shobhaa De's article in The Week, where she writes about lecherous men in Mumbai locals fantasising about their daily dose - two bottoms pinched, one breast cupped, two minutes of rubbing against a sleeveless hand, one toe against a waxed leg...

Personally, I am all for girls to be independent. I applaud it when they stand up for their rights. I encourage them when they strive to be self-sufficient. I appreciate it when they break the "male bastions". I congratulated a very close friend when she fought her way and made a guy get up from the ladies seat, because she was uncomfortable standing in the back of the bus with other guys. People really close to me know how I feel about it.

But, there are also times when I have myself escorted female friends out of a park when people passed comments because we sat together. I have hung my head, tongue tied, while walking together on the beach at night. I have let them drag me out of situations where the guy walking with a chip on his shoulder. Like Rajesh, my inaction at times makes me feel I'm an accomplice. I am unable to say anything when a female friend drags me away from a potential situation saying, "We have learnt to live with it."

Why? Why have you learnt to live with it?

zigzackly makes an interesting point when he draws a comparison on harassment. Is it harassment when a guy asks a gal out? Most definitely no. Then is it the lack of polish that maked the difference? Roadside romeos seeking a chance also do the same, but in a rude, crude manner. And what would you call the polished ones, who send flowers and candy repeatedly, and won't take no for an answer?

The problem is in differentiating these. These are grey areas which cant be shackled into black and white squares. Nobody is born a gentleman. Gentlemanly qualities are acquired. Respect for women in imbibed. Chivalry needs to be developed. And which is why this post finds its place in the blogspace. Even if one person in my miniscule readership reads this post and the links, and turns a wee bit better, I am vindicated. Slowly but surely, the cat calls will stop, and a day will dawn where men will respect a woman's privacy, dignity and grace. And until then, we will have to keep moving the wheel, and improving ourselves and those around us.

To all those women I love, I respect, I care for and share my tears and laughter with, have a great Womens Day.

QnR: Partyspeak

A party for R is a all-night all-guys drinking spree, unless otherwise specified. When the guys meet, they are greeting each other, backslapping and pulling each other's legs. Every one speaks in a common language. Before drinks that is. Afterwards, you can start counting the languages. Every damn thing comes out, and is discussed at length. From the first crush to the last heartbreak, everything is revisited. College life comes out, vivid as ever, memories are refreshed, jokes cracked, a detailed analysis is done vis a vis life then, and it is agreed that life was much more fun then, and another round is served. So on it goes into the night.

The morning after, friendships are at an alltime high. Should Q call anyone "R didnt come home last night", half a dozen friends would vouch that he was with them the last night. And then half a dozen calls would go to R's cell, saying Q had called. And R would have a tough time saying all seven of them were together, catching up on life at a eighth person's house.

Conversations with his male friends are over in less than a minute. He can convey a hundred things in "Yes, Ok...No not that, the other one. Yep. U bet. Thats on me, yes. Sure, Bye". The others understand too. When he says "nothing", there is no need to ask "You sure?". God forbid you walk away saying OK, when she says "Nothing". With girls everything is the opposite. Nothing always means there is something. She is not fine when she says "Fine". A Maybe is most definitely a Yes, and a "Thanks a lot" is absolutely no thanks.

QnR: May I take you out for dinner?

He will eat anything anywhere.

Whether it is a chai at a footpath hotel or sushi in a suburban deli, he will not fuss too much. In the rare case that he doesnt like anything, he will just not eat it. Take her out on a treat -- "The guy put his hand in the jug, how can you drink from it" at the footpath, "The plate has something on it, lets go somewhere else" at the chat center, "The service is so late, has he gone to grow the cereals?" at the restaurant, "The prices are so high, I can make better manchurian at home", at the suburban deli, "The food is so oily" at the bhajia stall, "The cup is dirty" at the tea stall.

He is like "Kya naatak hai yaar, we guys have been doing these things for so many years before we met you gals...zinda nahi hain kya?"

QnR: Shopping et al

No matter what you do, he gets his clothes dirty in half a working day. And he is not overly bothered about it. A shirt will be worn as long as the deo does its job and it will be washed only when it becomes unwearable. I will not write about jeans. Finding an ironed shirt is an impossible task in the room. Announce a client visit or a crucial interview at short notice, and he will either wear a friend's clean shirt or buy a new one. Shoes are polished only once on the day of wearing. Any dust that the left shoe accumulates after the polish will see the calf portion of the right trouser and vice versa. Canvas shoes are never washed and are made to undergo the ultimate test of quality and endurance.

Two sets of shoes are enough for him. She, in contrast, is always short of footwear. Every dress should have a matching footwear and every footwear will have a matching dress. In fact she has only two problems: 1. Too less clothes to wear. 2. Too less wardrobe space.

He is generally clear-headed while shopping. A trip to buy a pair of trousers will end in just that. He knows the cut, the type, the fabric, and all he has to do is go to the store, pick the stuff, pay the bill and outta there. She will spend half a day (lunch included) to buy a single top, when she had actually come looking for a skirt, which someone in her parlour said was on sale.

He can finish shopping gifts for three weddings, two birthday parties, a social gathering and a thanksgiving in a single trip of one hour. She needs to be taken seven times, to seven different shops to search seven gifts and shortlist one for each occasion. Each gift has to be different and of a different price range. God, she even starts rating the recipients, "He is more close to me ya, I cant give him this.", "Arre, Seema is also giving him the same thing, ya". He goes "God, give them anything yaar, the wedding couple will be more interested in their honeymoon, they wont sit and compare who gave what." Then he cracks this joke which goes "Men will pay Rs.200 for something they really need, even if it costs only Rs.100. Women will pay Rs.100 for a Rs.200 item which they do not need, but just because it is on sale."

QnR: Life in General

She is Q. Because she is always asking "Kyon". He is R. Because he is explaining it to her, "Aw, its not like that", "Aw, it works like this".

Someone had asked me once, why only Q and R? Why not something else. Well, Someone, now you know.

He is generally messy, and comfortable in his own mess. He can live in absolute harmony with his remote, laptop, mobile, chargers, wallet, watch, bike keys, towel, tracks, yesterday's shirt, jeans, belt, specs and newspaper all lying on his bed. He can give you money, answer a call, watch TV, put two chargers in the socket and switch them on with a flick of the rolled up newspaper, all with the slightest movements of his body. He can find his things in the mess, wherever they are. The worst case is he may have to yank the bedspread down, and he will definitely get the laundry receipt he was looking for.

She is cleanliness personified. God forbid her cleaning out his room and bring some order into his life. He will go out and call her from the PCO to find out where his mobile is, and for two days he will be on the mobile, asking her where the other things are. "Q, where is my charger?", "Q, there was this recharge coupon near the pillow, where did you keep it?", "Where are my bike keys, yaar, why do you keep miss-placing things?". "It is there only, R, just look around" will only get "It is not anywhere near the bed" in response.

The bedspread may not have been changed for two weeks at a stretch, but he can never see the dirt on it. In extreme circumstances, he resorts to reverse engineering, and the thing is taken care of for 2 more weeks. This goes on until Q comes and gives him a earful, or some other person of the other sex comes and explicitly spells it out "CHANGE THE BED SPREADS".

Ask him about it, and he will only say "Boys will be boys, Oh oh Oh oh Oh oh...".
There is more.

Radiance

He gets a fleeting glimpse of her. Eyes meet, she gives a cheerful smile, and there is radiance all over, before she gets herself lost in the crowd.

Oooff !!!

Missing out on India's most prolific run chase in recent years, a flat tyre, a PC which shut down while I was listening to songs, an earphone whose left speaker went on strike, a re-arrange of the paraphernalia in my duffel bag, a splitting headache, a blog which made me senti, an occupational issue, irrelevant questions, lots of answers and an abundance of explanations is all that happened to me since the last post.

Yuvi has come of age, and how !!! This Indo Pak series has been totally his. He has overshadowed every other performance, including Shoaib Malik's three 90+ scores. The young guns have fired, and in great style. Dhoni, RP Singh, Sreesanth, Pathan, everyone has some reason to punch his fist in the air and say "Yes". It was a delight to see Dravid splashed on all the papers. It is after a long time that Dravid has openly rejoiced and with such passion. For the first time, Indian cricket walks with a chip on its shoulder, provoking, almost throwing down a challenge to other teams in the world. This was India's thirteenth successful run-chase in a row, and I just hope this form continues till the World Cup.

I was re-doing this huge duffel bag I have, and I found this book, which I had bought at Crossword long back, but had never read it. Actually, it was because I had bought Chetan Bhagat's One Night at a Call Center and another one by Sudha Murty along with it, and after all that light reading, Gabriel Garcia Marquez was tough to relate to. Anyway, redid all the other stuff in the bag, and dusted it off. Got a blocked nose that night, and a splitting headache the next morning.

Then there was this blog on trains which made me senti, and I wrote a big comment on it. Now, I feel I could have written it here, and just given a link. Add to that small things like a PC which went off the LAN even as I was listening to its songs, and a creaky earphone, whose left part doesnt work. Using the right earphone in the left ear becomes a "pain in the neck", so I had to get my new Sony earphones out of my bag, and into the office. (This was why I even thought of re-doing the bag in the first place)

And all this week, I will be repeating the same long answers, to the same irrelevant questions and explaining the damn old things to every person who raises the occupational issue, until Friday. Then, its another weekend, and a brand new week...

Currently listening: Kaise bhoolegi mera naam - Euphoria
Currently reading: One hundred years of solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

PJ of the Day:
Hyderabadi 1: Kya ji, ine newsaan mein kya dikhaare so ... bird flu ki... kya ki?
Hyderabadi 2: Woch samasta nahi so, abhi bird flew nahi kartin to kya caraan bussan flew kartin kya?

Poor Jokes

Finally I write on something I really love. I came across this blog http://ouchmytoe.rediffblogs.com and this guy JV Rajan is some guy, I tell ya. He brings out these jokes which can easily be classified into the "PJ" category, and they have me smiling everytime I see one coming. I am totally hooked on to this guy's blog.

Anyway, this is the joke which I saw on his blog:

A neutron goes into a bar and orders a drink.
He drinks and drinks and when it comes to paying the bill, the neutron gives a cheque.
The bartender refuses payment saying, "Sir, for you, there is no charge".

Neutron is puzzled and comes out and meets an atom. Like all of us who drink, these two drunks, started talking. An upset neutron told the atom: "They refused to take any money from me". Atom enquired "Why??"
Neutron: "Don't know man. I am sure there is something fishy happening here".
Atom: "I also have this feeling. As soon as I came to this pub, I lost an electron".
Neutron: "What? You lost an electron??".
Atom: "Yes".
Neutron: "That's really sad man. Are you sure??".
Atom: "Yes, I am positive!?".

Jokes apart, let us dwell on what actually is a poor joke.

Q: What is a poor joke?
A: PJ
Q: What is a complex poor joke?
A: (P + i J)
Q: Why dont people laugh at complex poor jokes?
A: Because the joke part of it is imaginary.

Logical enough, dont u think?

And then there was this knock-knock joke I came across in another blog:
Husband: I can make you cry.
Wife: You do? Honey, just try.
H: Knock knock.
W: Who's there?
H: Boo
W: Boo Who?
H: Hah....gotcha.

Then there is this ultimate PJ which has more than one answer:
Q: You are in a boat in the middle of a river. You have 2 cigarettes and have to light any one cigarette. You don't have anything else with you in the boat? How will you do it?

A1: Take one cigarette and throw it in the water. So the boat will become LIGHTER........using this LIGHTER you can light the other cigarette
A2: You throw a cigarette up and catch it. Catches win Matches. Using the matches that you win, you can light the cigarette.
A3: Take water in your hand and drop it drop by drop...(TIP - TIP) "TIP TIP barsa Pani. Pani ne aag lagayee" -- us aag se hamne cigarette jalayee.
A4: Start praising one cigarette, The other will get jealous & "jalney lagega".

Well, these are all the ones which we have heard and read in our emails, and there are quite a few original ones, which have come off me in real "situations". But then, that's another day's topic. They don't call me PJ Master for nothing.

More on Thatha

Continued from here.

Thatha had latent humor. He would inject humor into dead serious situations, and still keep his face straight. Like the time when the couple next door bought an outdated nth-hand Maruti (The ones called Dolphins) and he went and asked him whether it was a new one. And when the neighbour said yes, my thatha had the cheek to ask him, "but the registration number does not seem new".

The second time Thatha had scolded me was when I was behaving very pally-pally with my uncle, not keeping in mind the age difference. He was very matter-of-fact this time and came straight to the point without much beating around the bush and things. It was around this time, that I learnt the Ambassador, and was permitted to take it around the city. But when I returned, Thatha would be standing at the gate, to remind me to park the vehicle inside the garage. I have this habit of leaving the vehicle in front of the gate, so that I can be off, as soon as I hear my friends' vehicles in the distance. But Thatha would always see to it that vehicles were parked inside.

Thatha had this insatiable hunger for technology. In his later years, it was the mobile phone which caught his fancy, and he would ask me on and on about how they function. He would listen with rapt attention the stuff about networks, towers, billing, SMS and whatever stuff I dished out to him. He would devour the newspaper for new terminologies and refer them to me, for clarification. Once, he wanted to know the difference between 'web' and 'cyber'. He had seen it in one of these internet parlours.

Internet was one thing that got him hooked. He was amazed at how fast the news travelled, and he followed the Iraq war entirely on internet. He would open accounts, and ask me the funda behind the secret question thing. He would mail me and check on phone whether I received the mail. He was passionate about computers. He joined the tutorial next door on how to assemble a computer. Hardware stuff basically. He wasnt interested in software. So poor thing, he skipped the classes on software installations. Everytime Windows gave him a problem, he would just hit format *.*, and come back to me for having the OS installed again. He loved XP and its colours. Google Earth was another favourite of his. He would look up all the places where US had bombed Iraq.

He was ill for most of his later years, the reason being, he would always stand near the front door, and take in all the dust and smoke. Come autumn, and he would take a broom and start sweeping away all the leaves. He never listened to anyone, and if he felt like it, he would take the vehicle and go roaming, exploring new suburbs of the city, at 11:30 forenoon. He also became a bit stubborn. He would keep quiet when the doctor was around, and as soon as he left, he would pester the nurse to write a discharge sheet. Sometimes when we had asked the doctor to tell him that he needed bedrest, he would act very active, and read the paper, walk around his ward, and make us look like fools.

He was so happy when I got my job, and when I filed up all the documents of the house, vehicles and other things. He was very ill when the house-warming was done, and he just came to attend the final chants of the puja. He maintained regular contact over email, while I was here in Pune. Once he would mail from one account, and then from the other. He was impressed by the way cellphones clicked the photos, and transferred them over the internet from person to person. When I left for Pune after the house-warming, he asked me to bring along the datacable, so that he could learn how to transfer the files from cellphone to computer. Sadly, he never got to learn it.

Thatha died last Diwali. I was the last one to see his face. Grandma, Mom, Dad, my uncle, everyone was holding their emotions, somehow. I got the feeling they were postponing the imminent, minute by minute until I arrived. The moment I stepped into the hall, loud sobs broke out all over. Mom was clinging to me, Dad had closed his eyes, and my palm was hurting in his hands as he tried hard to take control over himself. Thatha was lying there, his face serene, almost as if he was just there in a deep sleep. He was sleeping, yes, but he would never wake up from it.

May God rest his noble soul in eternal peace.

Thatha

Roll in a Retired Superintendent of Customs and Central Excise, a lover of all things mechanical, a technology freak, a hardware student, a card-player who played every Sunday evening, a WILLS patron (as long as it sponsored the Indian Team), a smoker who quit, a man with impeccable English, a person who thought all government jobs could be taken care by flawless correspondence, a stubborn man and a stick-to-basics-rest-will-be-fine personality together, and you may somehow be close to what my maternal grandfather was.

Given the brat that I was in school, and I was away from my parents, my grandfather was the person I was initially afraid of. There have been only two times in the eleven odd years I spent with him, that he admonished me. The first was when I bunked school with 10 other friends, and went to play cricket the whole day (like Swami and his friends in Malgudi Days). He had slapped me right in front of my teacher, and my glasses had gone for a toss. That night he had checked on my glasses when I was pretending to be asleep, and years later, he asked me forgiveness for it. He gave me a golden rule then : "Men forget all the yap you give them, but never an insult". He had made a point by insulting me there, in front of everyone, because I would remember the insult till the last day of my life, and with the insult, I would remember the lesson learnt.

It was fun with Thatha, during school days, he was the one who would sign my report cards, and there was one time, where to control my brat-ness, he had asked my class-teacher to mark "No complaints" and the date on a small notebook, which he would periodically review. This book was maintained for about 2 months, before everyone grew out of it. It was while cleaning my cycle, that Thatha and I would really get into the groove. He was the total D-I-Y guy, there was nothing in the house which could not be ripped apart using the tools in his bag. From snippers to soldering irons, he had them all. He taught me how to clean the cycle, repair its brakes, rechain the pedals to the wheel and fix a dynamo to the whole thing. He would even take a test ride and tell me whats wrong and where.

It was on his old scooter that I graduated to geared vehicles. The scooter would barely give 25 kmpl, but he would diligently write down the reading on the garage wall, and calculate the mileage everytime he filled in gas. He would open the scooter up every Sunday, much to the wrath of my grandmother, who had a hard time calling him in for breakfast and lunch. The best part was he would call for coffee and sit in the garage, while she would look all over the house for him. And when he finally got it, it was cold, and was sent for re-heating. My thatha would often send me on small trips to the local store to get him his quota of Wills cigarettes. There was a time when we were going on a trip, and he had got a 20's pack, because he was not sure whether he would get them on the roadside. He eventually quit smoking, but it was too late by then.

Every family occasion was a time for him to recount his old tale, of when he had a Morris, which was started by spinning a pedal wheel in front of the bonnet. He had gone to KRS along with the family, and while he was going uphill, all the petrol in the car tilted towards the bottom of the angled tank, causing no petrol to flow into the engine. And how they had to walk back and get more gas, till the time the car could start in its inclined position.

Much later we had a Padmini in our garage, which Thatha would polish every Sunday, with a generous amount of WAXPOL. He cleaned it religiously and would never let my uncle drive it, for the reason that it belonged to another uncle of mine, and my Thatha was not the one to be in a position to answer unwanted questions. My uncle had actually sulked for some time, because Thatha had not allowed him to drive on the way to Bangalore. By the time I was in a position to drive those machines, Thatha had become quite frail, though you could never go on his external appearance.

Continued here.

How do you mend a broken heart?

How often do you actually realise that you have broken a heart? How do you cope with the knowledge that every word you spoke was making an incision, every action of yours was sawing away on an innocent heart? How do you cope with the fact that you could be so heartless? How do you get out of the lousy feeling, which makes your stomach churn its guts out?

For the first time in life, I made an other heart bleed, and I cringe at it, more so because of the fact that nothing in my power....nothing I say, nothing I do, will make it up to her. For the first time in life, I was so myopic to my own actions, never saw where it was going. For the first time in life, I want to say all the SORRY I can, even though it will not make an iota of difference to the damage done.

For the first time in life, I have been guilty of nurturing an undefinable relationship, and bringing it down in the worst possible manner, of extending hands to build castles in her heart, and then demolishing them with the same ones. For the first time in life, I am ready to do anything to make her feel better, to help her get over the trauma, but I'm tied down with the helplessness that I was the one who made her go through this in the first place.

For the first time in life, I hate myself. I hate myself for having broken a heart, for having made her cry, for having given reason for her to drift away, for throwing away the crystal I had in my hands, for watching it break it to a hundred pieces, for the knowledge that nothing I do can put it up the way it was before, for gashing an existing wound, for bringing back the pain, for giving wings to a placid heart and bringing it down when it started to fly.

I just wanted to be someone she can say she shares so much in common with. I just wanted to be nice, to care for her as a good friend, to be around for her, to hear her agony, to provide her a shoulder to cry on, to share her joys, to listen to her laugh, to console her in her sorrow, to wipe her tears away, you know, just to be the thing good friends are made of.

But, now I know I can't. Because now the sorrow has been caused by me, the tears flow because of me, and I only want that one chance. To wipe away the tears which flowed on account of me, to make her laugh away the sorrow which I caused her. I want her to talk to me, about all those things which we have put off for another day. I want her to know, that I dont want to lose her, what with all the things we have in common. We came up with something in common, even the last time I spoke to her.

I want her to know that I will be there for her, even though it is highly unlikely that she will ever ask me anything consciously. I want her to know that my utter thoughtlessness was not intentional. I want her to know that the lines were not blurred deliberately. It was only that there was a difference in where we drew the lines. I kept my line in sight, and was totally unaware that my feet were stomping, making undefinable patterns, on what was left of hers. And when I backed off, it was too late. My eyes, which were so mindful of my line, could only see the blurred remains of footprints: awry, trodden, shambled, irreparable. I want to redraw those lines, but this time, the two will be together. I just want her to give me another chance, as she said she would.

I have fallen in my own eyes, and there is nothing that makes a man more ashamed. She may forgive me, after her wounds have healed, but it will be a long time before I can get this lousy feeling out of my gut, before I can look myself in the eye.

Gok's gal

Goks: People, I got my girl.
Viky: Cheers mate, when do I get to ride her.
Goks: She's all mine, but you can ride her from the back.
Viky: The rear is always for the taking, but I was talking of 'you-know-what'. These are experienced hands, I will rev her up like anything.

Chillax guys, the girl of Gokul's dreams is a YAMAHA RX 100, and it has fallen right into his hands, and boy, is he happy about it?

Hey Goks, this post is for you, mate. Drive safely, and always with a helmet.

LOST

I have a friend. But lately, she's kinda drifting apart.
I know her for long. But I feel she's miles out of my reach.
I talk to her often. But we rarely go beyond pleasantries.

She is definitely not the one I knew before. We used to talk about everything under the sun, but now the talks are silent, the silence is killing. We could end it and go our ways, but then, we could also make it work, if she only speaks.

I am the kind of guy who likes to look at the lighter side of things, and she was one who acknowledged the efforts. Nowadays, nothing has any effect on her. She flares up for the flimsiest of reasons, she argues on the relevancy of my jokes. She explains the real meaning of a phrase when I have woven a joke around it.

This can go on until we both reach our boiling points, and one day, it will fall apart. I dont want to take it up with her, because she will either say "Nothing" or will classify it "Personal", which means there are no more discussions on it. I just dont want it to end with such stupidity that we can't even laugh about it five years down the lane.

Is it something I did? Or said? I dont know. One more face in the mind, is on the verge of fading away. One more photo will go down the memory lanes with LOST stamped on it.

John Abraham in Jism..."rishtey hamesha buri tarah hi khatam hote hain, ya phir khatam hi nahi hote."

Raat baaki

Sleeplessness has taken its toll on me this week. (Ask my roomies and they will raise an eyebrow and say "Yeah, Right!!" ). Gets up at half past eleven and still speaks of insomnia...But then, I sleep late guys. Staying awake till 1 am to catch Simpsons on Star World has become commonplace. Even after that sleep eludes me for an hour or two...

The night before yesterday, I was gazing at the little amount of sky visible from my window. Thankfully, it was cloudless, and I could see some stars, twinkling away, as if someone was sending a coded message to someone else in this wide vast universe.

Watching the sky, the moon, the stars in constellations, makes you feel so humble. It shows you your place in the scheme of things. So tiny, so insignificant, so helpless. Yet we keep on harping on power and authority every time we get a chance. The cool breeze wafting along brings the scent of jasmine, and you inhale it with your eyes closed, and for that single fleeting moment, you are one with nature. You may get another chance when you take a second breath, but it never gives you the heavenly feeling, and this knowledge gives you goose-pimples on your arms. You rub your palms on your arms, and go back to the warmth of your rug.

Yesterday, I was listening to soulful songs by Lucky Ali, including my fave "Nahin rakhta dil mein kuch". I listened to the entire CD once, and then put it in shuffle and repeat. The player was OFF when I woke up, and the earphones were not entwined to my body, and I dont know whether it was me, or the roomies who put it off, and away. The player even had some power to play some songs today morning.

Strangely, even though I was listening to Lucky Ali, it was this song by Rafi, which was doing rounds in the back of my mind.

aaj ki raat, yeh kaisi baat, ke humko neend nahi aati
meri jaan aao, baiTho paas, ke humko neend nahi aati...aaj ki raat.

machal uTha ye dil naadan, baDa ziddi baDi mushkil
khuda ko bhi mana loon main, magar mane na rooTha dil
tumhi dekho karo koi baat, ke humko neend nahi aati
meri jaan aao, baiTho paas, ke humko neend nahi aati...aaj ki raat.

Guess I'll listen to some Rafi tonight.

Salvation...Liberty...Moksha

karmoDa maLeyagi suridaga, kaNNa hanige mukti

marada hakki mari rekke beesidare, adara garige mukti

yadeya novu haaDagi hommidare bhaavakke bandhamukti

endu aadevu naavu mukta mukta mukta...?

The opening lines of a popular kannaDa TV serial MUKTA, these lines have so much meaning in them that I keep going back to them again and again. Especially nowadays.

karmoDa maLeyagi suridaga, kaNNa hanige mukti

when the black clouds descend as droplets of rain, it meets the tear-drop in the eye, and thus the tear-drop attains salvation.

marada hakki mari rekke beesidare, adara garige mukti

when the young bird on the tree, flutters its wings and flies, the branch which supported it hitherto, attains salvation.

yadeya novu haaDagi hommidare bhaavakke bandhamukti

when the pain in the heart, bursts out as a song, the 'thought' behind the pain attains salvation.

endu aadevu naavu mukta mukta mukta...?

on what fortunate day do we attain salvation?

D-Day Disaster

The bash was a complete disaster, with the anti-Mars feeling dominating a large part of it. The venue was a total let-down. It was a unlevelled open site, for God's sake, and they had put up cloth all around, and made it look like a consumer exhibition. And to top it all, we had the Zensar guys looking at us from their balconies. First-timers somewhat enjoyed it, but then, they had no yardstick to judge it. Last year's bash was leagues ahead of this.

We reached the venue in the afternoon, in the sweltering heat, and the first things we are given are some games coupons. (I am being convinced this is an exhibition after all.) I look around and see heavy snacks (read dosas, bisi bele bath) being served, and dust all over. Didnt feel like eating much.

The mood went for a toss right there. Had a look at the games counters - put a ball through a swinging tyre wrapped in golden paper, put the coin in the tumbler immersed in a bucket of water, hang rings on a couple of hooks five feet away. Sheesh!!! My high school exhibition had more exciting games.

Cut to early evening. A poor man's Johnny Lever takes the sub-stage and does a poor show of imitating Bollywood. Me looking at a red M&M 4x4 parked mear the main stage. Yawn!! Show over, the comedian begs for applause and beats a hasty exit. Me does a photo session with friends on the red M&M. The jeep is the only solace in the hot afternoon sun beating on our backs, getting the sweat to flow. Wrong choice of clothes, I think to myself, looking at the beige trousers getting reddy streaks, thanks to the mud and dust around. The shoes are a complete wreck, took me half a bottle of Cherry Blossom to bring them back to black.

Cut to late evening, when the Idol starts. The first round is a classical round, and it starts on a melodious note. But where is this "Just Chill Chill" coming from. Its the DJ at the kiddie zone, belting out the numbers blissfully unaware that someone is stretching their vocal chords to the highest octave just next to him. The noise surprisingly subsides when the IDOL steps on stage. By this time, the crowd has settled down and found their groove, though some are still loitering near the breezer counter, hoping to grab the first bottle. By the time the IDOL takes the stage for his second round, side screens are in place, flanking the main stage, and beaming up his face for all to see.

The choice, the rendition and the outcome of the song was such, I heard at least half a dozen people openly saying they could do better. Out of the seven, yet, the IDOL came up tops, and the presence of a certain person saw to it that Mars gets the least points (read a lowly third), even though it had two of the top three singers that evening. Needless to say, IDOL won the Idol, for a second time in a row.

Ever heard of Abhijit Sawant winning the Indian Idol 2. But hey, this is bash, and anything amiss is perfectly okay.

The bar was telling a story of its own. They were serving only beer and breezer, and what do we have with it? Wonder of wonders, peanuts and potato wafers. Is this an annual bash, you are tempted to ask, but you decide against it, to wait and watch. The first few rounds are given in bottles, and what do you see next? Liquor given in paper cups. Where is the world coming to? Even Laloo gives tea in earthen cups, and we get liquor in paper cups. Better kick? Maybe, ask those who were high on it. Compare with this the unlimited vodka and whisky which flowed freely last bash, in decorated glassware, and Thai and Lebanese starters to go with it. Last bash even had a cigarette stall to lift the "high" people higher.

The food was okay, but thats the best that can be said about it. The damage was done as early as mid-afternoon when people saw all the dust settling on the cutlery and stuff. Award ceremonies gave way to stage performances, and it kept on dragging behind schedule. The results of the IDOL brought along with it the results of the campaigning and the house tallies. With IDOL walking away with the accolades, it was certain that Venus was way ahead of Mars, but the final nail in the coffin was hammered when they announced they had divided the 100 points for campaigning equally between Mars and Venus. Now, someone please tell me how can two campaigns be equal?

Campaigning is where there is always a clear winner. You come up with a brainwave, and the other comes up with an equally killing idea, but there is always a clear line which declares the winner. I agree the Mela and newspaper were stunning moves, but the 50-50 stank of the rancid politics going on.

Finally the rock band came, and gave some real headbanging for a few minutes, before they were asked to leave the stage in the middle of their performance. Reason unknown. Result unknown. Rock gave way to DJ, and finally, some hip shaking numbers came through the speakers. The dance started from one end of the stage, and dust raised to spoil the shirts. (The trousers were already asking for their date with the drycleaners).

I remember the last bash, when we left the venue past midnight, and had voices reach their peak in the buses, on the way back. The event reverberated for two days then. This time around it wound up at 10pm, and the buses started to leave. As expected, there was a humungous rush for the first bus back to the city. And the ride was a silent one to boot, you could have heard a pin drop. And when one reached home, it was perfectly normal that he curled up under his rug, and dozed off watching tennis on the TV, just like any other day slogged out at the office.

I am happy I did not shop for this bash.

Woman on Top

The pre-bash events finally drew to a close on Friday, with the campaigning ending a good 48 hours before the bash. Barring Treasure Hunt, Venus had taken a slender lead of 3 points over Mars, and the scales looked to tip in favour of Mars as we had our trump card in Company Idol, to be held on Sunday (Bash Day).

Come to think of it, any of the nine planets could have come up and staked a claim for the winners, but just look at who is roughing it out. Its Mars and Venus, like Men and Women in real life...

Annual Bash

Hi,
Yeah I know... I know...its been a long time since I have come here, but then...better late than never.

The company is gearing up like anything for the Annual Bash. The pre-bash events are drawing to a close, and for the first time today, Venus caught up with us Martians, to share the top place.

Oh!! Wondering what this Mars and Venus are??? The entire organisation has been divided into 9 planets, and events have been organised to see who comes up tops. All the events have been given galactic names, in keeping with the theme of the bash-Brahmand. Carrom was Black Hole, Quiz was renamed Cyborg, Badminton was Space Shuttle and so on.

The first event was carrom, and Mars (to which I belong) drew the first blood by getting the top place. We also got bonus points for it as we had our GH participating in it as well. Next me and Santu teamed up and brought home the Quiz titles. Badminton too fell into our basket.

Mars headed on to the skyline of the house tally like a rocket, and even as the other teams were trying to catch up, Mars took the lead further by staking its claim to first AND second prizes in Dexterity. FYI, Dexterity is soap-carving.

Lot of other events like Antakshari and the Company Idol are going on and Mars has strong contenders in each. But ever since Venus has taken the Cricket trophy and sent four of its teams to the semifinals, it has started to look menacing.

Today, for the first time since the events started, there is someone who stands neck and neck in front of us. I have to mention though, that some of their publicity stunts have been superb. The Globe in the middle of the annexe lift, with a light in it was a sure point-puller, and so is the newspaper they have launched today.

The newspaper was a gem of an idea, but they have not taken it the extra yard. Giving in to the temptation, they have badmouthed other houses, part of it is justified, but in the end, it leaves a bad taste to the person looking from outside. I doubt whether they get any substantial points for it.

I have been hearing mixed reactions on the Red Fort of the Martians, but the effort makes it worthwhile. The whole of fifth floor looks formidable, with red fortress-like looks, complete with mock spears, shields and what not.

Mars has also been involved in Community services, and involving the support staff in its publicity campaign, so they are the hot favourites for grabbing the max of the points for publicity. Jupiter too is in the fray with its innovative Jupiter Swing which moves with the Annexe Lifts.

Anyway, this weekend will see most teams making a last ditch effort as everything would end on Friday. Will keep posting more on the Mars - Venus battle.

Adios for now...

KLUES

Folks,
It has been a delightful and exciting experience cracking each of these levels. So, if you really want to enjoy the fun, dont read this, slam doors, pull your hair out, and think "out" of the box and solve it on your own.

But, if nothing rings a bell, you can take a sneak peek here. But there are no answers here, only clues, which are more obvious than the ones you can see already. Do read the rules carefully, and remember them (and the answers you get as you move ahead) while solving each level :))

Here goes...Always look at the URL, the Title of the pages and other obvious clues before looking at anything else.

Level 01: Click on the gate.
Level 02: Wait till something blinks on the door, and quickly click on it.
Level 03: There is a rainbow behind the word Goddess. The obvious hint is towards the 'rainbow goddess'.
Level 04: Where have you last seen this type of B. It has something to do with the last answer. Which part of your body is the 'last answer'?. This is a very popular brand in its line.
Level 05: Read the clue. "You havent seen all yet". Wonder why they gave a scroll bar? Google and find the band. Band will lead you to singer, and the next level. The URL asks you to "use this space".
Level 06: See the face? May the source be with you. Connect the face and Liz Hurley. He asks you to dial, so you know what goes in the field.
Level 07: Keep it simple. Follow the rules to the letter.
Level 08: The title and the source are the key. How do you send a message. What is on the road? Connect, google and decipher.
Level 09: "Devil and Saint", Yin and Yang, Male and Female, Black and White. Double entendres. Text twist.
Level 10: Again Keep it simple, but not so much. Read rules, change things.Level 10: You guessed the B. Now guess the A. Think Rings, and Commentators.
Level 11: "Type it again", "switch it back". Something's wrong in the keyboard. What should have been the id/password?
Level 12: "singalong".asp, Which map do I see? Does the knife kill a beast? Is the spirit a 69? Who has a Mercedes Benz? "Try going out of this level", "NO EXIT"? Can you never leave? First word ID, second PWD.
Level 13: Thirteen, thirteen everywhere...decipher.
Level 14: Google Ahoy!!!
Level 15: Deja Vu...English Cricket?
Level 16: Notice the scroll-bar? Get something, and use them with the right keys in the right boxes.
Level 17: "Whose words". Google to the rescue.
Level 18: Why dont you message back?
Level 19: "Look There" Where? Behind? In the source? "Pointed which way"? Decipher now.
Level 20: "If you know him, you will know his ..." The man who said the first line had a peculiar way of doing things. Google your way ahead for a completely different answer.
Level 21: Akash-Siddharth-Sameer.
Level 22: "Turned around", "I can come back to where I began", "Authenticate for a=z, b= ..."
Level 23: "Get this". "dontchangethis.asp" Change something else, to "get" something. Go ahead, techies.

Level 24: Blue Pill:
Level 25: Google your way with the obvious clues.
Level 26: "Turn or something". Put a CD to a different use. Get the riddle, solve the puzzle.
Level 27: What is a diamond also called as? What does it have to do in windows? Why does the title say PLAY? And who made it first? After all, its a solitary diamond in a window.

Level 24: Red Pill: They say memory should be good, for these kind of games.
Level 25: Think Rings, but not olympics. See the face, but find the location. Connect, Google, Voila ... Translate ... Voila ...
Level 26: Its a line, but also a circle. Concentrate on the lines, and the colours. Bunty was not nicknamed just like that.
Level 27: This is my favourite. Think comics, Think heroes, and their friends. Fantastix.
Level 28: Flags for signalling...do some decoding...and some changing...Ironically, you would win, if you skipped this.

... and you are on your own hereafter.

I hear Amit and Co are adding more levels to Klueless. Waiting eagerly for it.

Will keep you posted.