veni vidi writey

Strange are the workings of the human mind.

2011-12-24T13:28:00.001+05:30

There are few reasons for a man to remain civilized in a city such as ours. Incessantly rising prices, rampant corruption, unbalanced legal system, traffic, people's lack of consideration, rude neighbours, annoying kids, I could go on with this for a lot longer, but I shall not. Belligerent TV news anchors and Arun Lal. Right, enough of that. In all this, a meek and 'by-the-rules' person just cannot survive... or so we convince ourselves. I used to be a meek, and 'by-the-rules' kinda guy. A long time ago. Somehow, somewhere along the way, I changed. Whether because of circumstances, peer influence, or just my own damn evolution, I do not know, nor can I reasonably guess. I am now, no longer, what you may call a timid person. But that's not entirely true. At least not all of the time. There are times when there is no need for force, intimidation, abrasive behaviour, and at such times, I am the very image of the smiling buddha. As serene as a placid lake in the gardens of Eden. But when faced with a confrontation, the facade drops, and things start changing.

Its all very primal, almost animalistic... all the major muscles tense, the body threatening to explode into violent action. Volume levels rise, vocabulary range gives way to semi-coherent grunts and roars... Eyes glare and nostrils flare, all of this a reaction to some inane provocation or perceived slight. There appears to be some proportion between the cause and the magnitude of the reaction, although it would be nearly impossible to quantify this.

Usually, this is just a brief period of insanity between states of serenity. Unless it escalates from the verbal to the physical, and that would be unfortunate, for everyone involved. When eventually the adrenaline payload stops pumping into the already raging system, the machine that is the body, goes back to a calmer and relaxed state. It is truly just as if the body was recovering from a coughing fit, or a sneeze. The mind, however, is forever altered by the experience, the sudden surge of activity, the insanity. It automatically analyses the entire incident, marking the key points, the reflexes that worked favourably, and those that did not prove advantageous. All this, while the body has slumped into inaction, or subconscious reaction. The mind rages on, demanding more, screaming out at the futility of the episode, proud, ashamed and disgusted all at once.
Strange are the workings of this human's mind.

Test post from blogger app on android

2011-02-25T17:56:00.001+05:30

Test.

When we were Kings.

2010-06-28T17:39:00.004+05:30

It always amuses me when older people work in anecdotes about their heydays into conversations with me, always with a contented grin on their faces, as if that particular memory in itself was enough to justify a lifetime of otherwise non-newsworthy happenings. The fact that they are able to obtain pleasure from remembering that small bit of silliness or mischief they were part of, so many years back, consistently amazes me. All of us have had these conversations, where the Elder goes off on a tangent about that first long drive into the mountains when his car broke down and he had to push it uphill while carrying his firstborn on one shoulder, all the while getting drenched in the rain and still singing 'Yeh dosti' from Sholay, or some such occurrence. Many of these memories exist in such vivid detail inside the Elder's head, that he can spend many hours reliving them while pretending to take a nap on that easy-chair. The events themselves may be largely insignificant, but when described by an enthusiastic Elder, tend to bring about a nostalgia-induced stupor that threatens to distract one from the present, however briefly.

Is this then the true benchmark for labelling ourselves as older persons? Are we then to assume that once we begin reminiscing about our glory days, they are all well and truly in the past, with no hope of any of them occurring again in our lifetime? Or am I over-simplifying a theory by ignoring its other possible interpretations. I myself have fallen prey to such day-dreams about when we were Kings, that final year in Engineering College, that 10th Standard farewell party, that first date, that first heartbreak, that first long trip, so many of these memories stand out from an otherwise banal existence that the mind craves to relive them when it is otherwise unoccupied.

Can we interpret the mind's craving to relive colorful memories as a call to arms? Is it a signal from the consciousness to drop whatever mundane routine we have setup and do something memorable? Or am I again over-simplifying it and accepting the first, untested interpretation as the answer to this puzzle. It is quite clear that I manage to out think my own theories, and discredit my own interpretations. Will I remember this 10 years from now? more importantly, will I regale my younger companions in the future with this conundrum with a wistful look towards the skies. Only time will tell. I pray they at least pretend to listen to me then, as I pretended to listen when I was in their position.

An inevitably, unavoidably long and morose post.

2009-11-05T20:23:00.002+05:30

Inevitable. Unavoidable. Age-appropriate. The normal progression. Any discussion between a late 20's man and his family/friends/associates inevitably and unavoidably drifts into his marriage plans, more specifically, the lack thereof, and always advocates getting married as an age-appropriate and perfectly normal progression of events in said late 20's man. Not to forget, inevitable and unavoidable. Alright, I think I used them enough already too, I just wanted to emphasize how often, repetitive and boring these discussermons become, and you would probably register this point by noting that I have created a whole new word just for it.

The fact remains, that every walking, breathing, earning man in his late 20's is perceived by our society to have an expiry date tattooed on his forehead. And a countdown timer, much like those in game show's, hovering over his head, making louder, more threatening sounds as time goes by. There is a deep rooted fear that once the timer reaches 0, or in this case, 30, this man is done for. The neighbors will talk! What will people say! How will we find him a suitable wife? And other such drivel seem to justify his family's need to get him married, or as they say here, settled in life. Free will continues to remain a theory best left discussed as objectively as possible, inapplicable to all men in their late 20's. And it isn't fair on this man. He got through college, and many of his friends got married the minute they had graduated. He had to endure their weddings, and his parents incessant grumblings about when he'd get 'settled'. Then he was recruited, and started contributing to society by paying taxes, even though TDS is hardly voluntary. And how did society repay him? Even more friends of his got married, those who bit the bullet earlier, as they graduated, even had the gall to make babies, and thrust them in his face. The parental grumbling had by now made way to their pointed barbs, some 'random' remarks about cousins getting married, distant relatives getting the pleasure of holding their grandbabies in their arms, and playing with them in the park, you get the picture.

Then, the unthinkable happens. Our late 20's man decides that he's had just about enough of all this nonsense, and get's himself a girlfriend, to distract him, so to speak(feminazi's please pounce, I might get a date out of it). Not to be confused with all the prospective wife talk that we did earlier. Said girlfriend is now known to all in the man's family, as 'that' girl. As if her character is somehow in doubt, her origins disturbingly suspect, and her very presence in his life akin to stage 4 cancer. Of course, all of this makes our hero(see how I mould his character and make you feel for him) very, very sad. In his despair, he argues with his family, and weeps on 'that' girl's shoulder. The consequences of this arguing and subsequent weeping please his family to a very great extent. I should explain that now, you see, when late 20's man, or as we now know him, our emotional hero, weeped night after night on his girlfriend's shoulder, while she did the decent thing, and massaged his emotions, what she was really after was a very different kind of massage(now its getting weirder). And some fun in the sun, shopping, weekend trips and..., you know what I mean. So, after a while, she get's tired of washing the saline smears from her shirts(tops, is it?), and tells our hero to buzz off. In the most delicate fashion, of course. We wouldn't want people to think she was in it only for the fun, and expose her shallow outlook, deep seated insecurities and overall 'just not cricket'-ness. Hence the pleased-as-punch parents, who have since renewed their search for the 'suitable' wife, and, who are certain that their son was saved from 'that' girl's evil charms only because they fasted every Thursday, and spent every waking hour praying to a whole battalion of Gods.

What they fail to realise, is our hero, and be rest assured, he is one inspite of all that has befallen him, is now an angry, bitter, cynical man. Angry at himself more than anybody else, for his failure to control how his life has been treating him, and where his life appears to be headed. For that is all that a man in his late 20's truly desires. Not a girlfriend, not a suitable wife, not a huge house and fancy car, not anything else. Our hero lives in a world where his earning potential should be peaking, or at least pretend to be. A world, where his peers are constantly one-upping him by getting married, making babies, moving to foreign countries, sending him endless picasa albums of said foreign countries, commenting on his facebook profile about married'y things, or about babies, about the different tax saving mutual funds he should consider, about real estate opportunities that if missed, will surely be the end of the world, and everything else under the sun. Our hero, who is quite angry, but doesn't show it, who is now determined to storm silently and alone into the darkness that his future appears to be, is quite literally, a lonely man in a crowd. And his way of handling it is to further isolate himself, and keep all interactions with other people at a bare minimum. When he returns home, his only words are a 'good night' here, and a 'food was great' there. When he finds himself in an event of a social nature, he finds solace in his smartphone, a dark corner and a glass filled with whatever poison appeals to him that night. He does shake a few hands, make the rounds and make sure people remember he exists. But, after a while, he is always alone. Sometimes, he feels the need to reach out to old friends, but then remembers they are probably making more babies, or travelling to other foreign countries, and as rapidly as the thought of reaching out came to him, he shift-delete's it from his mind.

I don't know where I am going with this account of our hero's life. I don't know because, our hero hasn't told me yet. Remember, he is now intensely addicted to being alone, untouched and unbothered by the rest of his world. So much so, that he has even stopped listening to that little voice in his head, that tries occasionally, to get him to shrug away his fears and walk amongst those who have inevitably, unavoidably done so themselves. It being a very age-appropriate thing to do, and just a natural progression of events. Bah! Why do I even bother.

Disclaimer: Remember people, this is fiction, it has no reference to any living man in his late 20's, and is certainly not a self-potrait, however much your mind may try to make it appear so.

The Harley Indian dream

2009-08-28T10:41:00.002+05:30

The Hog's are here!!

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The Harley Davidson Motorcycle Company has finally launched a series of motorcycles in India. They intend to find and tie up with a dealer network around the country and start delivering their bikes to Indian customers sometime in 2010. Good news? You're damn right! Its about time we got some Hogs around here! Give me a fatboy over an R1 any day of the week! The coming of the V Twins is a time to rejoice, a time to reconsider your priorities, because they are all simply wrong. These motorcycles represent the very best things in life. Someone asked me why there is so much hype surrounding the Harley's. He had never seen one, but thought they were bad performers, and looked absolutely garish! He went on to speculate that when compared to the Yam's Hondas and Suzuki's, they were inferior and anyone with a Hog bought it simply for snob value!

My reaction to him was from the heart. It goes like this. A Harley is not just a bike, its an experience. Its the sound of life getting bigger, of your daughter running out at midnight, of a V Twin kicking life into shape, of the boys who you won't let your daughter date, of a midnight ride that lasts 3 days. There are those who will feel the call of the Hog, and then there are those who won't. Why should a bike be built just to be the fastest, or most effecient, or best to lean into corners, or anything else? Why can't a bike be built from the heart. Logic, economy, practicality be damned!
Comparing a Harley with a Japanese will not make any sense. They are different beasts altogether. A Yamaha R1 will get you to the finish line quick! But the Harley will get you there in style. Style forged in metal workshops by grease covered men wearing overalls with a cigarette hanging from their lips and a monkey wrench in their hands. Men who are not afraid to walk that dark lonely road at night alone. Men who live to ride, and ride to live.

Jeep Alert

2009-08-11T11:49:00.006+05:30

The image in this post is of a Mahindra jeep. One of the old one's that shares its genetics with the great jeeps of the past. A jeep that came to be associated with either Hindi movie police or with hill station-roaming romantic heroes. What do people think when they see a jeep like this? What are the first impressions, the first reactions to a machine like this. If you ask today's yuppie, hatchback loving, ipod toting youth, they'd sneer back with a sarcastic, demeaning retort that would include adjectives like old, obsolete, rust-bucket, ugly and may even suggest a one-way trip to the junkyard. These demeaning words would be a by-product of their conditioning. They have been accustomed to farting around in their petrol hatches, which they adorn with decals, aftermarket exhausts, spoilers and whatnot. Their ideal dream car would fall somewhere between a Bugatti Veyron and a Porsche 911. Splendid as these cars may be, they are objects that one can only desire, with no hope to own or drive them. When anybody (me) even suggests that a jeep like this is a beautiful machine, one that I am saving up to buy, one that gives me goose pimples every time I spot, one that I feel looks more beautiful than a bikini-babe in the Mid-day, the immediate response is one of utter disbelief. Parents, friends, strangers all unite in the collective debasing of this worthy machine with no respect to its heritage, its practical and no-frills outlook and its completely delectable looks. I may be mad, but I know when I am right.

A jeep like this is a work of art that was created in an automobile factory by men. Its the ultimate weapon that men built against bad roads, potholes and traffic. Its a throwback to the times when men drove machines built for real men. Men that understood that power steering and air conditioning were for the weak. Hard tops, doors, lumbar support, and soft suspensions were overrated. Aerodynamics, sensors and ECU chips are for aircrafts, not cars! Men drove these jeeps with the canopy down, the wind in their hair and the rest of the world would look at them and go "there goes the Man". Compare that to the cars we see today. Most of them are silver or grey, low, sound like an electric shaver, and try their best to insulate the driver from the wind, the sun, the cold and everything else in Madam Nature's handbag. Many others are either pink, green, aquamarine and every other colour that Maybelline lipsticks can dream up. People lose sleep over things like losing their car in the mall's parking lot. Simply because there are so many similar cars around that they cannot identify their own. What does this say for an individual's identity, "I drive around in the same car the rest of the world does". Why this need for uniformity, for blending in, for being well adjusted and for being recognized as "normal". Is it really that difficult to imagine a world where you drove a car that you could instantly identify as your own? A car that you spent the whole of Sunday tinkering with, and cleaning, and polishing, then ruined the entire effort by going for a joyride in the mud the next morning? A car that does not offer the comforts of your bedroom. No reading lights for the passenger, no music system to drown out the voices in your head, no drive computer, no power windows, no roof for God's sake! I'll tell you why. Because we are all sheep. Yes. You heard it. We will do what the sheep next to us in the herd does. We will do it without giving it a moments thought, because that is what sheep do. We will eat, sleep and die, just like the sheep around us. Pathetic, really. I'd rather be that sheep who got eaten by the wolf when he ran out of farm at night chasing butterflies.

Mobile blogging: a first attempt

2009-06-04T15:23:00.000+05:30

It seems funny that an auto meter made in pune, in an auto body whose design is stolen from some Italians, and whose driver is on some mad cocktail of tobacco, speed, and crack cocaine can combine to form the deadly rickshaw.
Sent on my BlackBerry®

Male pattern hostility.

2009-05-11T20:48:00.000+05:30

Go ahead, I dare you. Try it. Lets get it on. Make my day. And the list goes on. Angry, defensive and neurotic they may be, but these words are heard often enough during the course of any day. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but my bones will heal, and get stronger as a result of the break. Not so with words. Once out, there's nothing you can do to get them back. No amount of regret, however sincere can erase the effect of that pointed jibe, that uncalled for slur and most certainly, there is no known retraction for the verbal attack. That, as they say, is definitely that. It stands to reason that if chap A passes verbal diarrhoea on chap B, upon which chap B takes offence and challenges chap A to back up his talk with something more, both chaps A and B have reached the point of no return. Chap A can't back down from chap B's challenge, he risks ridicule and humiliation. Chap B too, now must realise that he has forced chap A's hand, and the resulting reaction will surely be anything but conciliatory. Enough about those chaps, you may say, they're both testosterone spewing neanderthals who need therapy, and some tranquilizers, you say, and you're probably right. After all, you've been hearing Dr. Phil, Deepak Chopra, and every other new age "expert", as well as reading the latest issue of the Readers Digest and Health magazine, where anger management articles, the evils of losing your temper, the hidden killer that is rage and a bounty of similar drivel points you to your assessment of the situation chaps A & B find themselves in. I think its about time I rain on your parade. You're oh! so wrong. You have no clue how destressing it can be to walk up to your favourite punching bag(not literal, henceforth called YFPB, for short), unleash the mother of all rages on him, all the while allowing him to counter your every punch(again, not literal), spot the chink in his defense, allow the adrenaline to fuel your cruel barb and thrust deep into the inky poison that is his ego. Definitely more interesting than a tennis match, and less dangerous than say, the Moto GP. There can be one of two results to such an encounter, result A and result B(I know, whats with the A's and B's, but bear with me). Result A is when you get your rage on and manage to demolish YFPB, reducing his self esteem to lows never measured before, all the while racking up points on your own rage meter, sometimes making a high score that surprises even yourself. This is particularly useful in future encounters of the same kind, where you can boost your performance by recollecting a particularly offensive slur, or a supremely demeaning turn of phrase. Of course, result B is the less preferred of the two. So supremely positive and irreverently mocking of negativity are we(chaps A, B, and such like), that we shall not dignify result B with even a briefest of mention.

I am very much one of the aforementioned chaps. Not A or B specifically (I'd hate to steal their thunder), but a decidedly like minded neanderthal nevertheless. I will, on occassion, gnash the teeth and roar with positive conviction. It will hurt your eardrums, and drill down to the tiniest places in your soul where you're still a little child, scared of being punished by the Headmaster for missing assembly or chewing your fingernails. I will then proceed to strip every defense that age, ego, testosterone and watching Rambo movies has afforded you, and tear you limb from limb with only the exertion of my tongue, uvula, larynx and respiratory organs. It will therefore not astound you when I reveal that my rage meter is sufficiently well endowed. And by that I obviously underplay its stupendous magnificience. All of this may seem rather self aggrandizing to you, but no doubt, you may notice the complete lack of any stress, anxiety, self-pity or similar weakness on display. Chaps A, B and the rest of us barbarians, live free of these chains that civilisation uses to enslave our meeker colleagues. We do not tolerate political correctness, and will not hesitate to go to ridiculous extremes when provoked. We are the guys you are afraid to borrow money from. The guys you won't let your daughter date. The chaps you are most reluctant to invite to your cocktail parties. We are also the guys who shall inherit the earth. That other saying was just to screw with you. Go ahead, tell me I'm wrong.

The memory of her.

2009-01-26T20:37:00.000+05:30

It was 10 AM on a Saturday morning, and as his eyes opened, they instinctively scanned the bedroom doorway. Force of habit, paranoia, whatever they termed it as, he knew and trusted his instincts. It wasn't his luck that brought him this far. Every closed door had been either broken down by steel-toed boots or forced open by inevitability. He showered, dressed himself and as he walked out towards the living room, his nostrils caught the slightest wisps of a once-familiar perfume in the air. The muscles in his jaw involuntarily tightened, as if in protest against the memories the smell brought with it. Memories of a time when those same jaw muscles would smile more easily and often than frown. His body, as if pulled toward the source of the perfume glided toward the balcony, from where the scent seemed to emanate. As he moved past the furniture, his limp lifeless arms and legs clumsily bounced off them, breaking some of the items they collided with. The noise from their breaking jarred him from his reverie, and he awoke as if from a dream. The first thought in his head was unpleasant. He chided himself for day-dreaming, and reminded himself that people like him are seldom allowed the luxury of fantasy, living in a world of facts, of decisions, of pressure, a world that not only demanded performance, but the very life in his limbs. The next minute he spent in clearing the damage, and loudly berated the inherited blood in his veins that drove him to passionate action, making a mockery of the quiet, deliberate nature that he spent a lifetime cultivating. He got himself a cup of coffee, and made his way to the offending balcony, determined to train his errant emotions, a determination that he completely abandoned when the scent hit him a second time. This time, there was a face to go with it. His memories painted a young, pretty enough face, that was lit up by a cheery smile, flanked by bangs of dark hair running shoulder length. His breath left him as if he taken a punch to his stomach. He could feel the heart beat in his temples, and had to grab the rails to keep his balance. Slowly, he slid down the balcony rails, to the floor, his body had the look of a defeated man, crumpled and withered, but his eyes were still sharp, still bright. How could they not be. They were being shown a picture, that came from another lifetime, that he had hidden away in the dark recesses of his past. She was not the most beautiful woman in the world, and both of them knew it. But she was the only woman who had understood him...completely. She knew of his forced calmness, of the vivacious mind behind the slovenly exterior, of the beating heart in his chest, that demanded adrenaline as much as could be had. She loved that he would whistle the notes to her favourite songs while he showered. She loved that he would pretend to be asleep after she was awake, to jump at her and grab her as she walked by. She loved when he pretended not to be affected by that emotional moment at the movies, and she always pretended not to notice him wipe the solitary tear that he couldnt stop. She loved that he filled her life with his presence.

As his eyes slowly came back into focus, he could feel the heart beating steadier, his breath approaching its usual rate, and his strength flowing back into his limbs. It was as if he had been knocked out by that memory of her. He remembered exactly the moment that the memory had been from. He had been away from home for a week and a few more days, and had returned home by the last train. He remembered having to walk the 4 kilometers that separated the train station from his house, every step taking him closer to her. He remembered the moment as if it had been just yesterday. She opened the door to his knocking, wearing the smile that could thaw the coldest heart. He remembered her welcoming eyes, her wavy hair, and remembered best of all the perfume that she wore. It wasn't overbearing, but it always defined his memory of her. The years they spent together were littered with many such memories, these memories were all he had left, to remember a time of his life when his step was light, his heart danced and his very core shone with a glow that could only be attributed to contentment. He lost her to time, to the inevitabile sequence of human existence. From the very beginning of his association with her, he had debated what would become of him should he lose her. And each time he had prayed he be taken from this life before her, to escape the loneliness and devastation her loss would bring. And each time he would pray the universe ignore his last thought, for the thought of causing her sorrow by leaving her alone instantly made him regret his words.

Now, he said to himself... I am getting what I asked for. I am living with the ghosts of our past. With the vast emptiness of the current, while the memories remind me of better times. I am happy she does not have to experience this emptiness. And as he walked out into the world, his lips involuntarily whistled her favourite song.

The fight

2008-10-17T19:55:00.004+05:30

Have you ever been through that phase when you feel you need something exciting to happen, some landmark event that changes the way you deal with life, that forces you out of your comfort zone, and lands you right in the middle of chaos, with only your wits and your MacGyver-ish instincts to lead you into the light. If you are as old as I am, you probably cross yourself immediately and pray the universe was too busy to process your rogue thought. You have been there and done that already, and lived through situations that demanded more than you thought you had, and you don't want to willingly put yourself through that turmoil ever again.

In this immediate regret, you probably realise that you are simply tuning in to the self-preservation instinct that all of us have built into our psyche. It is this very instinct that both holds you back from doing something stupid and potentially dangerous, while also forcing you to hold yourself back from taking up anything that is challenging and beyond your current capabilities. How does one decide between the former and the latter. While it sounds easy to spot an opportunity for disaster versus one that opens you doors of learning and challenge, I personally cannot distinguish these for myself, and am forced to let fate throw whatever it has at me, while I battle away, picking up more scars than platitudes. Is this the fate of everyone else? Does everyone else on this third rock from the sun allow the universe to decide what their next battle will be, whether they will gain from the fight, or simply be crushed by its random, unpredictable cruelty?

All we have for reference is celebrity. Records of famous persons battling with circumstances, suppression, violent retribution and sometimes plain old hatred. For instance, Muhammad Ali was stripped of his boxing title, and banned from competition for some years. Right at the peak of his physical form. What did he do? Screamed, shouted and raised hell, but bore the punishment out, came back to the ring and still wasted his opponents. His career then slowly declined, and the inevitable enemy of age caught up with him. But he fought the good fight, and survived it. Did he gain anything apart from the adulation that we shower on him? Did he personally change for the better after battling adversity? I do not know. All I know is that he lost out on some of the best boxing years of his life to live by his principles. Perhaps that seems like a huge price to pay for the rest of us, because we may not be as rigid in our own principles as him. Who knows.

The 'greatness' factor comes into play at this point. What qualifies someone to be termed as one of the 'Greats'. Is it simply talent and performance of his physical body, strength of mind and character, his personal triumph over his personal demons, or collective good that came from his personal struggles? Why are there just a few of such 'Great' people. Are they simply better people to begin with? Or do they adapt and change and achieve 'greatness' over a period of time. Or is it just that the opportunities that life dealt them to exhibit their strength and prowess were not available to the rest of us. In our hubris, we'd like to think this is the case. That given the same opportunities to right hook and upper cut our own demons, we'd always walk away with the Gold. But it is an open question, and will remain so always. Each small battle fought leaves its scars, and adds a little toughness. During the course of each battle, there have always been negative thoughts weighing us down, pushing us to take the easy way out, to give up. Each battle has many smaller fights with the self to defeat the defeatist mentality, and persist. There is always the hope that given enough time, even we can fight our way out of this mess. Of course, there are many battles lost for every spectacular victory won. And after all the fighting there is just the one result...survived or dead. Leaving you nothing to hold on to. Nothing of the fight that you can turn back on and scrape for some confidence. A part of you aches to fight some more, just to be in the fray, and live out the madness. Another part fights against you, hoping you will take the easy way out and continue living without the madness. That is the one true fight. The fight for control on your own self. We have not yet won this fight, it never ends... it is played out each time an opportunity presents itself. Let us begin again, and let us end.

Stella

2008-10-15T21:09:00.002+05:30

At the end of a tiring workday, I was really looking forward to a traffic-free ride back home on 'Stella'. Yes, you heard right. I name my bikes. The bullet is Bull and the yamaha is Stella. Cue snickering, finger pointing laughing. I dont care, I just like them to have names. I dont overdo this naming business, my guitar is a Hobner, my laptop is a vaio and my desktop is a plain old desktop. There have been others who have gone that bit too far, and crossed the threshold....but thats another story.

So, Stella rides like a dream, she's crazy fast, can turn on a coin, and can give these electric shaver contemporary bikes a run for their money. I ease my way through the crowded Bandra roads, turn out of Dharavi's slum, out of Sion and onto the Eastern Express Highway. For those of you who live here, you would now realise that after the 25 minutes of crawling traffic until this point, everyone who hits the highway just cannot resist its wide openness, and will break the speed limit, very quickly. So no prizes for guessing what I did. Stella's throttle is like a dream. She sounds like a couple of mad rottweilers thrown into a tube, and God! can she fly. I did the superman thing for a little bit, until I hit Ghatkopar's traffic, cue entrance music for the villain of this piece. This other yamaha screams past just as I slow down for the tangled mess of cars ahead of me. I must mention, the rider had on a skull cap and a beard, not that I have a problem with that, I'd just have preferred if he had on a helmet and the beard.

It is difficult to explain this feeling to people who have never ridden bikes, more specifically, people who have never ridden bikes the way they were intended to be ridden. Stella, is primed for speed. Every inch of her is built to be strong, light and fast. I have customised her, throwing away any un-needed metal, with tyres for better grip and lean, with an engine that is spanking new, and well run in, with a free flow muffler and with a mad balls-out fearless jackass on top. Given all of this, it just didnt seem right that the other yamaha flew past, leaving Stella behind. This sort of thing could ruin her confidence. Shake her self belief. Badly injure her prestige, while insulting her racing pedigree. She'd have nowhere to show her pretty face. Her peers would run her out of town. Maybe I need to stop rambling. Ok, I will. Next paragraph.

So I down shift into first gear, tuck in to offer less resistance to the wind, find an opening in the traffic, and let Stella do what she was built to do. From 5 kmph to 25 in first, upto 35 in second, 60 in third(she's screaming by now), shift into fourth right when she's at her loudest, and fly away at 95 kmph. All this while, I've gone past a whole herd of commuter bikes, about 20 yuppies in their cages, and a pathetic pulsar who thought he could keep up with Stella. I havent really seen the other yamaha that triggered all this madness. Then I hear it behind, struggling to keep up. This situation just had to be utilised. I had to rub his nose in it, right? So I did. Downshifted to third, tucked in again, flew away and left him for dead.

In all this madness, not once did I risk kiling myself, or anyone else (or so I'd like you to believe). I was simply riding faster than the speed limit, and in an almost straight, predictable line, easy enough for others to avoid, but impossible for them to ignore. Its not often that you see someone as big as me, tucked in flying past everything else on the highway. It's probably likely that you thought you saw me, but you cant be sure, cuz I was just so damn fast :) He He. Forgetting all the insult, the chagrin etc, I decided to be a little lenient with the other yamaha. After all, the guy probably tried all he could, and is related to Stella. So, I slow down a little, let him catch up, and signal for him to overtake us, smiling all the way. He moves alongside, folds both hands (yes they're off the bars) in a namaste, bows his head, and leaves the highway at the next exit. Smiling all the way. What a ride, what a ride. The pleasure is just too beautiful to describe. Doing it again tomorrow.

The workshop

2008-09-14T21:00:00.004+05:30

It's five pm on a weekday, and your palms are already greasy, your shirt sleeves rolled up, forehead (ample area there) glistening with sweat, as you wrestle with the spanner to tighten that one last nut that holds the engine head to the block. The bike is shimmering in the evening sunlight, it's potential energy aching to convert and escape as kinetic energy. The carburettor has been cleaned with petrol, the control cables have been checked and double checked, the oil level in both oil tanks is at the maximum safe level, the battery has been charged, the wiring harness is brand new, the CDI and plug also sparkling new. The painstaking attention to detail in the design of this bike, and the thought applied to its paint job, the chrome and detailing is bordering on ridiculous. For all this, it's a very sober looking piece of machinery. Black where its not chrome, and chrome where its not black. Not a very complicated design you would think....and you would be far off the mark. From the deliberately askew positioning of the speedometer(angled just right to flow seamlessly from the headlight to the handlebar), to the matte black paint job on the wheel drums, to the wicked sparkly red on black petrol tank and the agonisingly chromed engine head and buffed fins, this bike has been rebuilt from the ghastly piece of machinery it was, to a no-nonsense thrilling speed machine.

The exhaust note is distincive, and promises to scream out in fury when the throttle is opened up. That though, is a month or so away. Running in this new engine will be a labour of love, and will teach you patience. For now though, you need to scrub off the grease and oil from a day at the workshop, head back home, and patiently wait for the day your bike is ready to run.

Update: This is actually related to an earlier post (thanks ArKev) where I posted about my new (old) Yamaha. Find it (with pics) here.

I killed a crow...

2008-09-12T15:11:00.003+05:30

Before any of you scream murderer, let me tell you that it was neither avoidable, nor intentional, nor did I gain any satisfaction from the event. I was riding my bike, easy as can be, in moderate traffic, along the divider. This crow, scavenging something on the divider, decided to fly straight into a rickshaw, about a foot and a half above the road. It smacked against the body of the rickshaw, hopefully rendered unconscious, and bounced off, belly up, wings spread, right under my front wheel. Now for people who dont know which bike I ride, let me inform you that it is a heavy, ponderous creature, very resistant to sudden direction changes.

My first reaction was self preservation, the thoughts running through my mind were, in the following order:

1. Hope it is unconscious, or its going to feel a world of pain

2. Hope its claws/beak dont puncture my tyre.

3. Hope there is no blood splattered on the underside of my bike/ trouser legs.

4. Hope I don't feel guilty all friggin day.

I didnt wait around to find out whether it survived, the chances of that happening are very remote, because I felt both front and rear wheels roll over the poor beast. The speed at which these events happened totally absolve me from crime, human reaction time is after all, restricted and regulated by the laws of evolution, genetics and physiology.

I do wonder though, did the crow intentionally fly right into the rickshaw? Was it suicide? or plain bad judgement. I've now run over a cat(it escaped), a dog's tail and finally, this crow. Wonder what/who's next...

Google and your privacy

2008-09-08T15:18:00.002+05:30

To jump on the conspiracy theory bandwagon for a bit, I stumbled upon http://masterplanthemovie.com/. The site simply hosts a small movie, which you can either download or stream. The theme revolves around a brief history of Google, its founders, its reason for existence, its access to information, and its idealogy to make this information easily available to everybody. Yes, that means your data, my data, and my neighbours data. All available, all the time, to everybody. Considering that Google plays a huge role in our online life, search, mail, blogging, ads etc. The amount of information they process per individual is staggering. To imagine that they would store all this information in the form of a dossier, not unlike the TOP SECRET files you see in spy movies, is a leap of the imagination, but is certainly possible. What they could gain from this, is anybodies guess. I guess the whole issue boils down to the fact that the information in question is of a highly personal nature, and the control over its distribution should remain with the owners rather than the publishers/service providers, read Google. Whether this is wishful thinking, or legitimate demand, I cannot compute.

Google Chrome

2008-09-05T13:42:00.005+05:30

My first post from google's new open source browser, Chrome.

Built using the Apple open source webkit framework, and with a snazzy javascript multi threaded processing engine, with promises to increase page load speeds by just implementing multi threaded rendering and processing, this browser aims to conquer. They can do no evil, they stormed the search engine world, their labs are giving Bill Gates nightmares, and they will rule the internet with the launch of this browser. It is honestly much faster (16x faster javascript processing than IE7, Sun sider told me). It comes with loads of builtin features, sandboxes individual tabs, makes blogging/bookmarking/googling super easy and is by far the cleanest UI you will see.

Go for it here. The auto updates, and google's rights to data mined from your internet usage should not deter most of us from installing and using chrome. After all, "They can do no evil".

Update: Sucks that chrome cant load logmein.com, but i'll live with it till they update. Oh and btw, chrome auto updates each time, without asking ya.

The browser's Terms of use are also pretty interesting, and have been updated now, go read about that here.

Invaded on Sunday

2008-09-05T13:05:00.002+05:30

A rainy afternoon, a cup of coffee, a pen and some papers, comfy chair. All the ingredients to kill a few hours, recharge some batteries, ignite a few neural pathways that were once demonically active, or actively demonic, whichever you like.

Truth be told, this time it is my only escape from a house teeming with people, who although share my genealogical traits, are as unlike me as can be. Forced to flee from my own house, I hit the nearest coffee shop, my pride dented and bruised by the sheer decibel level of a bunch of kids, and some septuagenarians. Oh! How the mighty have fallen!

What drives people to spend weekends away from their own little homes, out in the rainy day, in someone else's home, invading them on a Sunday, shattering their oh so carefully created little bubble of peace and tranquility. Are our weekends not sacred? should we not treat them with more importance? with more respect!

How many times must one be made to endure an ear splitting scream, or a noisy brawl in one's own house before it is permissible to take up arms against the invaders. Kids may be the most guilty of this, however the adults aren't blameless either. Since when did conversation and logical debate equal out shouting the other person, as if the sheer amplitude at which a point is vocalized somehow converts it from inane drivel to proven fact.

Is all of this indicative of anything? Does this behaviour deserve Freudian analysis? Well, in my opinion, its all a complete waste of time, and thats a polite estimation of the pointlessness of it all. They will never stop taking your time for granted, they will always try to ride rough shod over your protestations, they will continue to act as if what they are doing is in your best interests, and you have no option but to squirm uncomfortably, while they walk all over you. Or do you?

There is something that can help. Hostility. Plain, undisguised, malevolent intentions. You know you feel these emotions. Well, let them out. Indulge them. Allow them to become part of your aura. Soon the same relatives that tried to walk all over you will hesitate to even talk to you. All you need to do, is to cultivate this perception. And believe you me, it works.

Enough ranting for now. I have exhausted my capacity for caffeine consumption, hearing the weird couple sitting behind my table(totally different story, for another time). It has also stopped raining, and it is time I reclaim my home from the invaders of this Sunday.

The return

2008-08-13T23:16:00.005+05:30

Accepted, all 10 of you who irregularly frequent this blog, you're all right to be annoyed that the last post was three months ago. What have I been upto since then? Well, lets see...oh yeah..work! A month long stint to the UK for work, some crazily packed workdays before and after, and my inherent laziness to convert my writings from paper to bits and bytes, all of these have made this blog a little stagnant. It has been one hell of a summer, and the rains are equally tough work-wise, leaving just enough time for some extra curricular action. Although, I have rediscovered my love for poetry, I've gotten used to Sunday afternoons at the local cafe, which is damn near deserted at that time of the day(suits me fine), where I can down a couple of vegan shakes while reading my favourite book(the book shop is across the street from the cafe), or penning down whatever is rolling about inside my head. It is a routine that I hope I can stick with, because it is just so satisfying to laze about in a coffee shop, play my own music there, read, write, think....it's almost as good as riding around aimlessly on my bike(s).

Ah! I almost forgot to mention, I've managed to get my hands on a Yamaha (thanks Shiv), it's an RX-135, 4 speed, pocket rocket! I've been spending the last few weekends rebuilding it. The frame and other metal parts are stripped down, cleaned and painted. I've spent some time and money on accumulating various parts like the tank, some lights, sprocket's, hub's etc, and the bike will be reborn very soon. GS, who blogs here, has been kind enough to land me parts from his various contacts. Once the build is complete, a week or so of running in the new bike, getting the new piston and block all set for regular use, some oil changes, some tweaking and soon(read 2 weeks), I'll be tearing down Mumbai's roads, using the fantastic power-weight ratio that the good old Yam's are known for. My first bike was a Yam, moved onto my Bullet, which is still the bike that I'll never stop riding, now I have a Yam again! It never fails to make me grin like a madman. The two stroke goodness of a Yam is to die for. So it burns excess lubricant, releasing hydrocarbons in the oil into the environment, so it's not exactly fuel effecient, go talk to all the SUV owners, or Hummer morons, and then come to me. My carbon footprint is miniscule (all things being relative).

Riding in the Mumbai rains teaches one many things. Caution, appreciation for street lights, an overall increase in blood pressure and heart rate everytime the rear wheel misbehaves, and a whole lot of patience. I've been riding in the rain for many years now, and all I've learnt is, accept the rains, be prepared, have a Plan B, you'll smile. Oppose it, crib about all the little pains, and you'll hate every minute of it. Riding in the rain is the best antidote to boredom and depression that anyone could think of...try it, you'll love the ride.

Birthday

2008-04-28T01:16:00.002+05:30

So, its my birthday....and as usual, as per tradition, the guys showed up at my door at midnight, with cake, smiles and wishes. Every year its the same thing....last year D got a dholak and woke the whole building up at midnight, banging away like a crazed bongo player on meth. This year he got me a fedora hat...or at least the closest you could get in India. Madness. So the cake is all ready, i blew out the imaginary candle, and cut it...then A gets ready to feed me a piece...only problem being, he smears my face entirely...well, I guess theres a first time for everything. I like cake...but not as moisturizer for my face...the smell itself is enough to give me a bad bad headache. So I do the only logical thing...get out my Drakkar Noir aftershave, and apply liberally till I stop smelling like the gingerbread man, and start smelling like the Marlboro man :) R slept off instead of coming to my place..and called me just now :) I guess she had a long day. So I am planning to go to work in the morning(ummm afternoon more likely), and as it is a 4 day week anyhow....I'll probably end up swamped in work until the weekend when we'll all go out for dinner. Every year, every birthday, all of us do this...midnight madness with cake, drums, wild hooting, a lot of laughs. I love it, and I love them all....my friends are completely insane, totally irresponsible, and extremely lovable. Whatever would I do without them.

Ice Cream magic

2008-04-25T01:00:00.005+05:30

He walked towards the buffet spread, leaving the noisy, smoky table behind him with the guys from work. It was a fun evening, with much banter and he had enjoyed the food and company. He needed an excuse to leave the table, and decided to get some ice cream with the chocolate syrup on top....an indulgence that he felt he deserved. As he reached for the ice cream scoop, he ended up grabbing her hand, as it got to the scoop before his...women, they're much faster than men in general, but this one looked like she dropped straight out of heaven. The palms of her hands were decorated with intricate henna patterns, and the curls of her highlighted hair had probably given many men sleepless nights. Before he could apologize, and he was a little wary of the situation already, she smiled, revealing perfect pearly white teeth and just a hint of a twinkle in her eyes told him, it was all fine, and there was no reason to panic. As he waited for her to scoop out some ice cream, he couldn't help but notice her perfume...it smelt almost like almonds and honey and all the nice things in life. He awoke from his brief reverie, to the sound of her voice asking him, " I can't seem to be able to work this damn scoop! The ice cream just wont fall off...". He couldn't help but smile at her predicament...and leaned forward to help her. In an instant, he realised that if he used the scoop, and got it right, she'd be embarrassed at her own plight...in the blink of an eye, he pretended to fumble the scoop, and dropped it to the ground, smiling sheepishly at her, as she threw her oh so pretty head back and laughed. Before she could react, he reached for the nearest clean spoon, and scooped a big lump of ice cream into her plate, while using his other free hand to offer her the chocolate syrup..saying.."I know chocolate syrup is your favourite...". With one upturned eyebrow, a cheeky little smile and a slight tilt of her head, she looked straight into his eyes while scooping spoonfuls of chocolate syrup onto her bowl. Those 3 spoonfuls must have taken less than 10 seconds, but he was aware of each millisecond, and could hear his heart thumping loud inside his chest...almost afraid she could hear it too! As quickly as it had all begun, it ended with a waiter walking between them, and breaking the spell that had been cast. She remembered her family and friends waiting for her at her own table...looked back at him, and gave him another tender look that seemed to say..."hmm I wonder who you really are, I wish I could find out", but her lips mouthed "Thanks for the help" instead, and he nodded at her..watching her leave him forever.

Tradition

2008-04-23T22:36:00.003+05:30

They wait until the sun sets on each Friday to meet. Its a tradition that has been meticulously followed for 14 years. Every friday evening, they meet at the local pub to discuss the week's news and events. Not for them the petty gossip that the wives spread around. They speak of matters of great significance. Global warming, the outsourcing debacle, the occupation of Iraq, the violence at Chechnya, the Israeli conflict, the Iranian question, the killers in Sudan, and other similar issues.
Over the years, their numbers have dwindled. There were 11 of them at the very beginning, 14 years back, when each of them had retired from the army. The best times of their lives behind them, each with memories of friends lost in battle. They survived wars, they survived youth, and middle age. Each now faced the evening of their lives, with equanimity. Each has a colorful story to tell, each has his own heroic tale, his own romance, his own tragedies and his own accomplishments. All water under the bridge, as they tell me. Today, the youth remember nothing, respect nothing and revere nothing. Their own progeny seem lost in the maze of consumerism, of petty urban oneupmanship, squabbling amongst others of their own generation, their lives amounting to nothing but credit card bills and mortgage payments. Each one of the 11 has been forged in the battle of life, has scars from their struggles with poverty and their life long duty of waging war against the nations enemies. Each one recognizes the value of life, and treasures every living moment. Each rememberes the ones that fell behind in the war against time. There were 11, and now there are 4. The 4 that remain still stand tall and proud. I salute you, Gang of Four....you know who you are.

Relationships.

2008-04-23T22:04:00.002+05:30

Its 7:30 AM on a cloudy July morning, and She waits by the window, her fingers forming a delicate, elegant hook around the bars. She waits for him to turn around and wave goodbye, to give her the smile which she cannot live without. He walks on, seemingly oblivious to her eyes boring holes into his back. His immediate focus only on the wet puddles on the road, how he hates getting his shoes dirty! She's lost in thought, though her eyes still follow his every move, noticing his crisp ironed shirt, and lanky gait, taking pride in his casual elegance and beauty. Then with a slight frown on her brow, She reminds herself to keep the neighborhood girls away from Him. Her eyes sharpen, and she breaks out of her reverie, almost physically feeling the jolt of reality. Soon he will be out of sight, and out of her domain for the rest of the day. The thought of being without him for such a long time is enough to drive her to despair. She can feel the claws of loneliness digging, deep into her heart. One step, two steps more and he is almost gone.She cannot bear it any more, and runs out towards the front door...where she is met by his happy, smiling, 7 year old face...saying "Amma, why weren't you at the window....I came all the way back just to say goodbye".

The new barber

2008-03-15T14:04:00.003+05:30

Boys and Girls, this is a true story. You may not know (i hope), that I have changed my barber in the last eight months. I used to go to one guy, now I go to another...lets leave it at that. Well, the new barber, whose shop is a little farther away from the home, is a very talkative, prying little chap who thinks he's as suave and smooth as Georger Clooney in the Ocean's 11. Every time I visit his 'saloon' for a trim, I usually have to wait a few minutes for my turn at the blades. In this waiting time, I hear some of the most intimate, personal and troubling information pass between the client and this barber. It never ceases to astound me that men, grown men with kids of their own, spill their heart out to this, this...barber. I may not be the most sociable of people, but surely there must be some limit to the sharing of personal information! How many of you go about discussing the intimate details of your life with your barber? I bet, very few. That kind of information is normally shared with family, friends and the occassional lamp post, when you're staggering home after a few rounds at the pub.
Yet, everytime I wait for my turn at the blades, I overhear all this information, and if you thought this post is weird now, it only gets weirder after this, I promise you. The third or so time that I visited this saloon, I was greeted like a returning customer, with a smile, a wave and that greasy little pretention of familiarity that you could expect from this barber. I thought to myself that he has probably identified me as a returning client and will no doubt, now try to extricate some personal information from me whilst he wields the blades. With this troubling thought bouncing around the insides of my head, I took the seat, and settled in for a haircut, that would likely be much much more than just a haircut.
The events that followed, however unlikely and fictitious they may seem, are the complete truth, so help me god. The barber, while covering the front of my torso with a huge and brightly patterned bib, started to speak to me. He went, "Aur kaise ho Shetty Saab! Bhabhi aur bachhe kaise hai! Pitaji aaj kal walking ke liye nahi jaate hai kya? ". Translated it reads "How are you Shetty Sir! How's the missus and the kids! Don't see your dad these days, has he stopped his walks?". Now, to put the record straight, my name is not Shetty, I am very surely single, and equally certain that I have not fathered any children. After the barber so casually made such frightful allegations, I had no other choice but to deny them, and deny them vehemently. Which proved ineffectual. The man positively did not listen! He could not be convinced. I'm a relatively big built person, and am a little more aggressive than I need to be at times, but no amount of threats, cajoling or outright screaming would convince the idiot that I am not who he thinks I am. What would you do in such a situation? Do you storm out of there, with one half of your head trimmed, and the other half like a birds nest? or do you calm down, and play the game till you get a decent trim and can prevent any public embarrasment?
I chose the latter route. I surrendered to the situation, and to the immense stubbornness of the idiot who was wielding a sharp blade in the vicinity of my neck, ears and facial area. Yeah, I said to him. The wife's fine, she's spending a lot of money shopping. The kids are very energetic and dont sleep untill 2 AM. My dad doesnt walk in the evenings because of the pollution and prefers his early morning walk. To this, the idiot grins and nods and interjects occassionally with an ummm or an ahhhh or achaa.
Last weekend I visited this saloon again. I am now a part of the inner circle, as far as the coterie of familiar clients and the barber are concerned. I have long conversations with the barber about how my dad had to wear the neck brace for his spondilitis and how my pet labrador is sufferring in the heat of the city. He recommends the herbal oil massage therapy for my dad's aches, while instructing me to use only the herbal hair oil that he sells on my children's scalps. I play my role to perfection everytime, and am a little scared that I am so good at it. In facy, very soon he expects me to get my son in for a haircut. Wait a minute....I dont have a son, do I! Ah! will have to get him transferred into the boarding school out of town.....the wife will be devastated, but children need to be disciplined.

A Long time ago in a galaxy far far away.

2008-02-26T23:40:00.004+05:30

A long time ago, in a galaxy far far away, there was a guy who had 3 free email providers.
Today, him and everybody else uses gmail. Gone are the days when having rediff+yahoo+hotmail mailers were accepted as a necessary indulgence. Its probably been a long time since anybody checked their yahoo/rediff mailbox. He made the mistake of browsing through his old (ancient) yahoo, and stumbled upon so many emails written and received many years back. Its like a time capsule in there! Mails from people he has forgotten, people he tried really hard to forget, but who still crop up in his mind at the worst and weakest of times, people who've moved on to other countries, other last-names and other paths of life. Apart from the usual bunch of messy spam, subscriptions and forgettable self-forwarded reminder emails, he see's a whole bunch of nostalgia inducing stuff that if read at a weaker period of time would induce bouts of severe depression. There's the first email from that girl who was interested in him, that first set of one-liners, yucky mushy stuff, photos, poetry and whatnot. Too bad her last-name changed. Then there's the more serious stuff, mail trails from the guys who he calls his friends even today, and meets on a regular basis. The history of his association with them is detailed in the emails he sent and received, and all of this in one convenient mailbox, waiting for him to remember the password and take a trip into the past. Its funny how much of his life and times can be gathered by simply reading a set of emails. Its not so funny, however, that the same emails will turn him into a depressed, nostalgic ninny for the rest of the week....lets make that until Monday. With a promise to IMAP/POP all these emails into his thunderbird, he signs out, wistfully wiping an imaginary tear from the disaster zone that is his face, and makes another promise to never look back into the rediff mailbox(bad memories).

Staking a claim!

2008-02-23T15:15:00.005+05:30

Maybe its just my imagination, but when was the last time any of us ever went to a field, to a pristine beach, a temple carved inside a cave or even just to a weekend getaway without reaching there and panicking about the loss of cellular network. Technology, IT has been feeding us our daily bread for a long time now, and it is very likely that the same technology that was once heralded as the thing that will set us free is now taking a big chunk out of our daily lives. Theres a popular saying in the IT world....80 hours a week? no biggie, lemme just refill the coffee IV drip here. Why do we accept that the very technological advances that promised more effeciency, quicker turn arounds and better quality, is now eating away into not only our personal time, but our sleep, our thoughts, our very psyche seems to be controlled by the very technology that should be working for us, instead of the other way around.
Sure, the economy is driving many of the problems with the workspace. The recent dollar devaluation situation is not helping any either. Companies are being forced to make their employees work harder, longer and under greater stress than ever before. But is any of it really worth anything. I used to be proud of the smallest piece of code that I wrote...considering it a small piece in a huge machine that is doing its bit, and doing it as best as it could. I wrote code for an IVR product, you know the likes, you call a contact center, and a digitally recorded voice asks you for your account number, and then tells you how much money you have in you account, then while wishing you a very nice day (even at 2AM in the morning), it'd leave you feeling weird that you just had a conversation with a machine, in whicn the machine decided when to hang up on you. So getting back to the point, the company I wrote code for, sold the product to some other company, who hired their own bunch of code monkeys, and now my code is sitting in some other office, doing what I intended it to do, only doing it now for someone else. I am not jealous(that would be a little crazy), but I am feeling a little cheated. I wrote that code, I spent many nights perfecting it, spent a longer time trying to improve it, and now its somewhere else, and what do I have to show for it? a couple of lines in my resume. Compare that to a work of art, why art, compare it to this very post in this blog, and the glaring difference appears. I still spend more than 60 hours a week writing code for some company, putting my thoughts into some one elses property, which I could never stake a claim for. And the realisation that all the work that I do, however great it may be, however brilliant, or pathbreaking or perfect it be, will still be some one else's to have. Well maybe thats why I started this blog in the first place....to stake a claim for what I create, and to let that claim be know to all.

The script

2007-10-19T20:34:00.000+05:30

Today, like every other weekday, he woke with a start, perspiring, cursing the power cut, and cursing the 8 am shift. He had 20 minutes to shave, shower and get dressed before the company jeep would take him out to the site. He was the shift operator for the earth moving equipment that the British company had specially brought over to India by sea. The job was one of great responsibility. He was the only Indian who was given a key to the inventory. The crane was built by a company in an unheard of European country, and he could only understand the images in the user manual, the text was all foreign.

To add to his worries, his wife was carrying their second child, a daughter this time, he hoped. The 2 year old boy was proving to be a rascal with no scruples. Must have got it from her side of the family, he cursed again. She was a tease, he thought, as he trimmed his mustache. If only my wife was as attractive and intelligent as her, he mused. As he picked up his freshly pressed uniform, he noticed the new button stitched into the cuff which the washerwoman had broken the previous week. He paused for a moment, and the usual guilty thoughts ran through his head. His wife was a conscientious, pious woman, who never asked for anything, and never questioned him about the running of his house. He wondered if his fling with the British supervisor's daughter would land him a place in hell, forever. He had even converted to Christianity to appease her. Their concept of eternal damnation, was a very scary thought. The priest never failed to remind him that all his fellow pagans would spend eternity in the arms of the devil.

The cold water washed away all his musings, and jolted him back into reality. He would be late if he did not rush to the corner Post Office, the arranged pick up point for the jeep. He dreaded his daily commute, as it would mean sitting alongside that arrogant ass Romeo. Romeo Chettiar was a constant pain in his side, never failing to highlight that his family converted to the faith a generation before. And was always needling and taunting him. It was all his own fault really, he never should have let Romeo see him with Stephanie. But she was aggressive and independent. She wanted the whole world to know about them. How would her father react! He would be summarily dismissed from his post, and even thrown into jail. She would be sent away back to England, to cure her of her insolence. His whole existence was threatened, and he knew exactly how much trouble he was in. If his wife's relatives knew of this, he could be ostracized from the community completely. He was already in trouble after the conversion. With so many things to worry about, his wife found the perfect time to get pregnant again.

His thoughts began to make his jaw tighten into a frown so dark, he was scared of his own reflection in the mirror. Enough! he thought. Today I will make amends. Today, I will cut off everything with Stephanie, and return to my wife, my family. Even if he was thrown out of his job, he would not care. This constant worrying was driving him insane. The consequences be damned, the whole world be damned!

As I excitedly turned the page of the writers first draft, I could not help admiring the plot line. It was brilliant! An Indian family man, honest and scrupulous, burdened by responsibilities, a family, a stressful job, a British mistress! The time was pre-independence, the atmosphere was buzzing with anti-British sentiments, and the lead of the story was living right in the middle of it all. I couldn't wait to read the entire script. Of course, it would need editing, I may even have to add or remove a few characters, or exaggerate their roles according to my creative opinion. But the movie would be a super hit! The critics always loved these scripts set in the colonial past. The film would have a very decent International audience as well. Music releases, Premiere shows for the glitterati, press coverage, the Muhurat shot! The producers would pour indecent, nay vulgar amounts of money into this! Who should I get for the lead role? That tall star-son, with the super star father, and the drama queen wife, or that ridiculously popular mega star, who loves to stutter, with a violin in one hand and a sweater draped over his shoulders...Decisions, decisions, decisions.

2007-09-10T20:57:00.001+05:30

Test rode the Pulsar 220 dts-Fi. Loved it. Awesome bike, loads of power, good torque delivery at moderate revs, perfect balance, rear discs are beautiful, looks good, not too gaudy, not dull either. The showroom guy tells us they have a waiting period of 2-2.5 months. That really sucks. The bike doesn't. If I had 90k to spend, I can think of no other bike to spend it on.

Karma on my side

2007-09-05T14:37:00.000+05:30

So I'm on the bike, heading to work, on what seems to be another routine, uneventful daily commute. Bah, you smart alec's out there have already decided that it wasn't an uneventful ride, just after reading the first sentence, haven't you! I'm tempted to spite you and stop writing now just to aggravate you. But I won't, that'd just be letting you get away with your smart-ness.

So...riding my bike in the rain in Mumbai isn't the most stress-free experience of all time, but it generally is uneventful(no prizes for counting how many 'uneventful's' I'll use..). I'm in the left most lane, going at a fairly brisk speed, it is the highway after all, and I see a brown Qualis ahead to my right. I'm pretty sure that he's climbing the approaching fly-over, so I don't slow down, and head to the service road under the fly-over. Just as the flyover is about to begin, our friend in the Qualis decides he doesn't wanna drive on the fly-over, and so he swerves left, almost side-swiping me, and when he does see his attempt failing, brakes like a maniac. Imagine the scene....tyre's screaming, people screaming, I'm screaming, I swerve at 60 kilometers per hour, brake hard, skid to evade him and eventually regain control a few horrible seconds later.

At this point I should tell you that I'm probably not the most understanding, calm guy around. And I do have anger management issues. So, I stop the bike, get off, take off my helmet, and come towards the Qualis with very bad thoughts running through my head, like breaking his legs at 3 different points and shoving the handbrake lever where the sun doesn't shine. As I approach the Qualis, the driver gets a very nasty surprise...remember, he's now between the entry ramp of the fly-over and the beginning of the service road, in short, in the middle of nowhere, with his rear end facing traffic that wants to climb the fly-over, and his front facing the service road. So I'm walking slowly, deliberately towards him, he stays inside the car, and a few seconds later, karma kicks in. An 18 wheeler behind him hasn't noticed that he's stationary. He He He :) The 18 wheeler brakes a little too late, and smashes into his rear end! If you have ever seen 2 vehicles smash into each other, you'll know how horrible it is. Metal against metal, grinding twisting and emitting noises that remind you of aliens in a sci-fi movie. The Qualis is smashed from the rear. The rear entry door literally bent and mangled into scrap metal!

Now any normal human being watching this would run to the driver and see if he's hurt or not. Not me. I almost pointed and laughed. Not that I'm proud of it, but in hindsight it does seem a bit mean minded. But at that point in time, I'd narrowly missed getting hit by his car, and lets just say I wasn't feeling any sympathy for the man. So as slowly and deliberately as I was approaching him, I turned back to my bike, rode to work grinning like an idiot...happy that for once, karma was on my side.

My mind's stuck in a time warp

2007-08-22T11:47:00.000+05:30

A quick post after a while, the standard excuses apply, too much work, no time to breathe, its been like hack, hack, hack, breathe, breathe, blink, hack, hack, blink...you get the drift. However, I'm excited. My friend is getting married this weekend, and his bachelor party is tomorrow. How can that not be fun, eh!

Its funny, because I've known this guy since school (thats more than 10 years back!! damn time flies!), and I have this impression in my head that we're still as young as we were then. It's something about friends that you've known for ages, every time you're with them, you feel like you're still as young as you were, and that life is still out there waiting for you. Too bad that its all an illusion. Time has gone by, making a swishing noise...like when someone pulls the metaphoric carpet from under your feet...swish, that second one was just for effect. It's weird when you see your 20 year old friend, and instead of seeing a smart, well-adjusted, pretty young woman, your mind tricks you into seeing that bespectacled, slightly nerdy school girl in the red and white checkered uniform, with pigtails and braces. This kind of thing happens all the time to me. My perception of some of my closest friends remains stuck in a time warp. And I have to kinda pinch myself to wake up, and realize the facts for what they are. I have to force my mind to sort of create a new save-point for a lot of these characters in my life, explicitly remembering their current status in life.

So you get what I'm saying right. The next time you meet that old buddy from school, don't start acting and thinking like a 15 year old...remember you're a lot older, a little wiser, and so is he or she.

Do you hate your mom's best friend's brother's son-in-law?

2007-07-09T22:36:00.000+05:30

The way the world works is, you work like a dog until your very last ounce of energy is exhausted, but your rewards will seem insignificant as compared to your mom's best friend's brother's son-in-law who managed to hit the jackpot with some enterprise, speculates on international stock markets and lets his money earn more money for him, while he sips bloody pina-coladas under the californian sunshine. And after you ask the almighty, 'Why him...why not me? I am an expert at doing nothing! I've got it down to an art form!', you curse yourself for being a tad ungrateful. After all, you're living the good life as well, at least the middle-class version of it. So you can't afford that lexus just yet, so a third of your salary is all you're able to spend on yourself, so your social presence won't exactly be missed at the upcoming grammies or emmies or whatever thingummies. You belong to that respectable class of today's youth, who have everything they need, and most of the things they want. But does this knowledge make you feel any better? I bet it doesn't now, does it? Thats the trouble with being, er..umm...,
a normal, mature, independant, almost well adjusted, middle class youth in today's society. Everybody and his dog wants to soar through the proverbial skies, land in the sands of prosperity, or some other such poetic metaphor that induces voluntary regurgitation. Well, you also dream of better times. But along with those dreams, you are pretty certain that you're gonna achieve said dreams about 80% of the time...the other 20% you'll put down as...er, well...shit happens, or some such non-poetic resignation. So what is the only sane, rational thing to do...not ranting on about how life is unfair, or why shit happens, and more specifically, why its happening to you more than other people...all you can do is keep sweating, keep working..keep doing what you think you must to survive. And then maybe, just maybe...after a while, people will bitch about you as being their mom's best friend's brother's son-in-law who's doing so well and making all of them look and feel like pond scum.

the last train home

2007-06-29T14:21:00.000+05:30

The last train is never on time, he waits at the station, in the company of a few stray dogs who barely acknowledge his presence. And he waits. The usual suspicions stir inside his head, am I late, was the train canceled? but no, the indicator still shows that its expected...bah! since when have the indicators been 100% correct! He cranes his neck to see as far as he can without toppling over the platform, but cannot see the headlight of that oh so anticipated train. If he misses this train, he'll have to either stay on the platform of this merciless city, or risk spending some hours trying to persuade cabbies to take him to his destination. Faced with awful odds, he decides to walk out into the city. As if on cue, he hears the train rumble into the platform, just as he has stepped out of the station. Rushing back to the platform, without considering the risks of running up wet stairs, and dodging sleeping dogs, and then running down more wet stairs, he reaches the platform just in time to wave goodbye to the guard at the back bogey. No point cursing the rains, or his decision to leave the bike at home. Looks like he'll have to camp out at the office one more night. He wonders to himself, thank God he has spare clothes, a bar of soap, deodorant, toothpaste and his brush in the second drawer of his desk, and then something hits him so hard he stops breathing...why am I so well prepared for a night at the office?

here comes the pain...oops, sorry rain

2007-06-26T18:33:00.000+05:30

Its funny when you think about it. The MET department and the BMC predict heavy rains, thundershowers and gusty winds, send out sms's to every body and his dog, warning people, making them think twice before leaving home to get to another workday, threatening them that the next 48 hours will make you wish Noah was still around building that wooden floating vehicle. And the next two days go by, with just a few scattered showers, barely inconveniencing anybody except ants and pavement dwellers, and everybody criticizes the BMC and the MET department. Calling them names, making rude jokes, the works. The BMC goes around beating its chest and making statements like 'We are ready', last time was a fluke occurence, which will only be remembered as a one-off spike on the historical graph.
The average bombay chap now doesn't know what to think. He's seeen the worst weather and knows what can go wrong, there is no visibility from the authorities on our level of preparedness. He's seen a few roads blocked because of the first rains already, and it is completely reasonable if he gets anxious. After all he and his city have been through in the last few monsoons, the doomsday predictions suddenly don't seem all that trivial.
I for one know that the city is not ready for a repeat of the previous monsoon's fury. If it were to happen again, the city will pay for its laziness with human lives. Some enterprising mumbaikar would probably see this as an opportunity to earn some moolah by stocking body-bags to transport the victims corpses. The civic authorities will shift the blame to lack of funds, bureaucratic red-tape, mismanaged projects and anything else you can think of.
I hope I am wrong, and I hope that we will not pay as heavily as we did the last time around, but hoping does not translate into real preventive measures. Even if our disaster-management division is confident about its ability, I'd prefer if it never got the chance to actually prove itself. Mumbaikar, trust no one for your safety this monsoon, not the authorities, not your fellow man, just carry a spare set of clothes and get insurance coverage.

Quarter-Life veteran

2007-06-18T13:11:00.000+05:30

So I'm on the way home to my office, riding through heavy traffic, 66% probability of rain, and 70% humidity, in the blazing sunlight. I get here, switch on the two computers that I have to work with, and the Issue trackers on each of them are overflowing with things that I have to do, or get done. Its 10 am (ok 10:45..I woke up late, so sue me), on another Monday morning and the weekend that passed has only served to aggravate me. Monday, bloody Monday! Server's are dying, mails aren't being sent, logs are filled with errors, I forgot to recharge my cellphone, the bike's making a weird clunk every time I shift gears, and I realize that I'm another victim of the Quarter-Life crisis.

Some people whine continuously about how easy life was back when they were young, and I'm assuming they meant their mid twenties. I seriously doubt whether that will apply to our generation. The mid twenties for me seem like a horrible race to get to some unclear finish line, which I am not really sure exists, and if it does exist, I don't really know whether I want to get to it. Adding to this the fact that there are numerous obstacles along the way, and my fellow competitors seem more than able to decapitate me anytime they wish to.

Engineering college never prepared me for any of this. I kept my head down, reading those books, passing those exams, and after years of hard (last minute) work, got the darned degree. Coming out of college with that degree felt like I was a gladiator armed with many weapons, ready to face whatever was out there. I guess I was misinformed. Getting employment was difficult in itself, but once I did get a job, I kept finding myself overqualified for it, while the juicy stuff was passed on to guys with a few more years of work under their belts. Now that I happen to be one of these guys, I can understand the compulsion to pass on seemingly critical work functions to those who have demonstrated prior ability under similar circumstances. I find that I have to force myself to think without a safety net, and just let people make mistakes. The fact that I must correct those mistakes to get things done on time does irritate me, but reminding myself of the big picture, and punching the wall a few times helps me get over it.

None of this however helps me understand where I am, what I am doing, why I am doing it, or where its taking me. Sleep deprivation, continuous pressure, horrible financial condition, family forgetting my name, friends becoming distant, social life fading into oblivion...ah, the heady perks of being a quarter-life veteran.

Aerosmith!!

2007-05-31T19:50:00.001+05:30

Palace grounds Bangalore...here I come!!!

Its raining in B'lore, and we'll probably be drenched while listening to Aerosmith...but I don't give a shit, its AEROSMITH!!! theres a nifty little countdown timer on the blog sidebar, reminding me how much longer I'll have to wait...javascript is fun :)

Dead man talking.

2007-05-20T22:16:00.000+05:30

So I was in Hyderabad last weekend, and returned on Tuesday. Friday, news comes in of a bomb blast in the Mecca masjid, right opposite the Charminar, right where I was standing. There I was, with a bunch of friends, innocent and vulnerable, hardly aware of the risks we were taking just being there. A narrow escape, very narrow. Two days before the blast, I was standing right opposite the Mecca masjid, trying to bargain with a roadside vendor, for something he called a rose stone, which looked really cool. I found out that the stone was priced at over 300 bucks, and I'd offered the guy something like 30 bucks for it. And while we were haggling over the price, and he was trying to explain the processes involved in shaping and polishing the stone, neither of us knew that in a couple of days, the Charminar area would be in the news for all the worst reasons.

Over the years, I have found myself in situations that promised great bodily harm, and yet I have escaped unhurt from almost all of them. When I was in primary school, I'd gotten lost in Kurla station, and a neighbor of the family ran into me walking on the train tracks, towards chembur station(at least my sense of direction didn't fail me!), so she got me home sans any mishaps along the way. A few years later, the terrible mumbai riots happened, and I managed to get stranded somewhere on the Matunga railway station bridge, with a violin case in my hands, and no idea of why people were running around screaming. I don't remember much of what happened, but I remember walking all the way back home, thankfully in one piece. I remember the neighborhood watches that were organized after the riots, with people taking turns standing guard on the terrace of our building, armed with loud whistles, hockey sticks and all kinds of assorted weaponry. Wish we had some guns back then, I was probably the most qualified to use guns, because of my encyclopedic knowledge of the Clint Eastwood/Kirk Douglas/John Wayne westerns that I used to watch. Gunfight at OK Corral...ah, those were the days. But I digress.

Phew...thinking back a few more years, I was in an auto rickshaw, with a cast on one leg, coming home from the hospital, and the local rickshaw union thugs declared a sudden strike. They were stopping autos forcibly, pelting stones, using hockey sticks, etc. I'd almost reached home, when a group of said thugs tried stopping my auto. Being in the state that I was, there wasn't much I could have done to stop them from tap dancing all over me, but I remember my auto driver swerving at the last minute and reaching me home. More recently, the train bombings, and the BEST buses acting as remote controlled explosives, all are adding up to the dangers that we are forced to deal with.

Now before you come to some absurd conclusion that I am some kind of ninny, paranoid schmuck who's permanently looking over my own shoulder, let me get to the point that all these events intend to support. All these events could have potentially ended my life. Add to these the fact that I've been biking for as long as I have, and the conclusion stares me in the face. I've probably outlived my projected life expectancy. In a city like mine, in a country like ours, we can kid ourselves forever about economic growth, political stability, the triumph of the democratic process, blah blah blah. Nobody talks about how meaningless the loss of a human life has become. The sanctity of human life has been eroded to the point of no return. People survive natural disasters, and do not complain when so many of their friends and relatives are washed away. Human beings orchestrate terrible events in the name of religion and freedom, killing their fellow countrymen in the hundreds...nobody is surprised. After all, whats the loss of a few more lives. This is India, after all. People are used to dying meaningless deaths. The administration is hardly troubled by news of yet another disaster, that claims even more lives.

Enough ranting. The words that you read now, are those of a man who in all probability should be dead. By pure chance I, and so many of you, have avoided becoming statistics, victims of some utterly senseless disaster, one among many. Forgotten when alive, only to be remembered by some over zealous news correspondent, in death. Make of this what you will, just don't get all depressed about it. I intend to live forever....so far, so good.
(Steven Wright..you da man!)

Hyderabad heatstroke

2007-05-15T10:23:00.000+05:30

I've just returned from a trip to Hyderabad over the weekend, and it was bloody hot there. When I say that I was umbilically attached to mineral water bottles throughout the trip, I am not exaggerating. It is unreasonably hot there, and I cannot for the life of me, imagine how the locals manage to carry on with the weather this bad. People were biking around in temperatures above 45 degrees, buses were packed with mid afternoon commuters, life went on as usual, with nobody even mentioning sunscreen lotion, or air conditioned naps...Suicidal. Theres no other word to describe it.

I spent most of the time in the outskirts of Hyderabad attending a wedding reception, which was good fun, and as usual the wonderful slowed-down pace of life totally rubbed off on me. I never rushed to cross a road, no hectic commuting from point A to points B,C,D, all in the same day, hardly any anxiety (except when I had to fight the urge to check email!), and blessedly both water and electricity were so abundant, that I took them for granted. I must mention the roads there though, they were brilliant. Not a single section was dug up, hardly any potholes, and traffic was at its best behavior. I even commuted standing on the back of a cargo vehicle, a Piaggio ape, which kinda reminded me of the bahubalis in Omkara. Commuting is easy in Hyderabad's interiors, 7-seaters, auto's, buses etc are ridiculously inexpensive and readily take you to your destination in exchange for less than 10 rupees. A stark contrast from the situation in Bombay, where similar distances would cost well over a 100 rupees to cover. Only now I realize the impact of urban cost of living as compared with the semi-urban and rural. If I were offered the kind of work that I am currently doing, with the kind of compensation that I am getting now, I would readily relocate to any of South India's semi-urban or rural areas. No doubt about it. If there are any cons at all, apart from the heat, it'd be the distance from my friends, and the lack of a night life. The day ends at 10:30 pm, and police patrols roam the streets after 11, making any midnight excursion for cutting chai and pav bhaji a dangerous proposition.

We did visit a few places, Ramoji Film City, and the Charminar. The heat made it impossible to even think of any further exertion. The film city is a sprawling 2000 acre establishment with guided bus tours ferrying visitors from point to point. It is beautifully maintained, and the staff there is very professional, leaving no room for complaints. Charminar was a bit of a let-down after Ramoji Film City. The film city really raises the bar for every other tourist hot spot, with its superb locale and beautiful gardens. The place is so huge that it takes visitors an entire day to experience all its sights. My favorite section was the Wild-west area, complete with a mock wild west town, stunt show (desi-Chiranjeevi type stuntmen in leathers), saloon, stables etc. Only tumbleweed was conspicuous by its absence. I even bought a cowboy hat(erm, more like a forest ranger hat), and pretended I was Clint Eastwood sans his trusty steed. My six shooter was actually a bottle of water, which was replaced with fresh chilled ammunition every so often.

We returned early Tuesday morning by the Husain Sagar express, and after a quick shower, I find myself in the office earlier than the earliest birds, dozing and pining for my vaio, which is probably missing me too. Its got vista installed on it, with a lot of bloat ware, all of which I plan on removing...just as soon as I make a recovery disk :)

PS: I didn't get to see Banjara hills, and hence did not keep my lunchtime appointment with Sania Mirza. Hopefully she and Tabu will forgive me for ditching them...it was the heat you see...

Its a Vaio!!

2007-05-11T13:21:00.000+05:30

Spending spree!

2007-05-10T17:56:00.000+05:30

Woaahhh.... I'm spending more money this week than I've ever spent, heres a listing:
1. Hyderabad trip on Friday night until Monday (probably 4-5k)
2. Sony Vaio VGN-C25G/B laptop (70k) Woo Hoo!!
3. Air tickets to Bangalore and back for the Aerosmith concert (5k) Aero Force One!!! here i come!
4. Concert tickets (2k)

Grand Total: 82+k, all in a span of 3 days....headspin happening!

Pics of the laptop will be in the next post, concert snaps later, and am gonna be grinning from 7 pm tonight for a loooong time cuz my next post will be from the vaio !!!

Blame it on the love...of bits and bytes!

Ok let me stop before I start sounding like a nerd on a caffeine OD.
Sane posting shall resume in a week or so..once the headspin wears off...

A programmer's point of view

2007-05-02T22:19:00.000+05:30

My job forces me to deal with a lot of question marks. I write code for a living. So I have to constantly ask myself...will this code change screw up something else? am I understanding the requirements completely? will the response times get screwed by this teensy weensy change? are the servers healthy? what is the meaning of life? where do I fit in to this jigsaw puzzle also called the universe? did I have lunch today?

Most engineers are forced to study theoretical computer science, so that they may apply those concepts to actual work situations and reduce the number of unanswered questions. Unfortunately most engineers never paid attention to these theories in college. Even if they did, I doubt they'd be any better equipped to answer these questions. The problem with taught logic, is that it simplifies everything down to the duality. There is true, and there is false, and nothing but either of these two. Logic does not leave room for for uncertainty, which is unfortunately a major part of every software implementation decision. Hence university prepares the programmer for nothing, and when thrown into the wilderness of commercial software development, he is like the proverbial bunny facing the headlights of an out of control tank with a maniac at the controls.

So where does that leave me (and most engineers)? Emergencies. Every issue that comes up is an emergency, consequently, any efforts to prioritise tasks, go down the veritable toilet. If you have a fire to your right, and a fire to your left, and one to the front, and one warming your ass, how will you decide which one to extinguish first? Apart from these, you have the other little tasks, like designing modules, bug-fixing some minor parts of your system.. etc.

Management loves these situations. For them it becomes an exercise to assert their superior skills and exhibit their charting/graphing abilities. They'll decide which fire to put out first by simply considering how much money each fire is burning up. It doesn't matter that your ass is being roasted, you still have to put out the fires in the sequence they decide, while they explain their decisions with a lot of meaningless statistics and pretty pictures. Alright, maybe I am exaggerating a little. Maybe, the fires weren't really life threatening. But the intricacies of software development, leave the poor developer with very little margin for error.

There's a story I read somewhere. A big company has its industrial floor, and something is causing a complete shutdown in the machinery. Nobody knows what or where the problem is. So they call in a consultant, he walks about for a few hours, fiddling with knobs, reading meters, doing what consultants do...and then walks over to a boiler, takes a piece of chalk and marks a tiny X on the inlet pipe. He tells them to change the pipe, and almost instantly the problem is resolved. Then arises the problem of paying the piper. Management argues that the exorbitant sum demanded by the consultant hardly matches his actual effort. All he did was put a tiny X on a pipe. The consultant broke up his billing charges as 1$ for actually drawing the X mark, and 49,999 $ for knowing where to put it. This story may or may not be true, but it helps explain my point.

Commercial software development works much in the same way. Everybody and his dog can write code. It requires a special breed of programmer to know what's wrong, and how to put out the fire. It may be as simple as turning a switch on or off...but knowing which switch to toggle only comes from long hours of painful debugging, many cups of coffee, and many missed family dinners.

The point I am trying to make is this. Software development may be touted as a logical, systematic method to translate business requirements into finished product, but it is rarely logical, and even more rarely systematic. Problems never come unaccompanied. They arrive in multiples of 1024, and always on the morning after that late night which has you yawning throughout the day. Solving these problems needs a combination of exceptional judgment, time management, unbelievable skill and dedicated, painful manual labour. Trust me...programmers earn every last dime of their salary... the hard way.

In a future post, I will attempt to redefine the stereotypes associated with the programming fraternity. Some of these include the alpha-developer, his trusty hard-working sidekick, and his reason for suffering..the rock-star programmer.

Confessions

2007-04-30T16:15:00.000+05:30

Confessions...
I make sure my gmail inbox displays 42 items (the answer to life, the universe and everything)
I always get on my bike from the left side
I do not use alarm clocks
I hate wearing a wrist watch
I use the mouse with my left hand, but the mouse keys are aligned as a normal right handed mouse
I hate email
I do not own any formal clothes or shoes(jeans and t-shirts-u gotta love em)
I love Mozart's violin concerto's
I hate boy band music
I really hate boy bands
I love big band music
I hate listening to music with the ceiling fan turned on
I have to read a book before I sleep
I carry around a tiny notepad and pencil...everywhere
I hate talking on the mobile
I like sms's
I think shaving is a waste of time
I hate shave gels..prefer the brush and soap ritual
I sing in the shower
I love goa
I hate madras
I forget...every date/appointment/event and need somebody to remind me...always
I remember... the first time i rode a bicycle
I write poetry
I love my bikes
I hate cars (coffins on wheels)
I hate mumbai traffic
I curse..under my breath
I think men and women can never learn to get along
I think i should stop here...

Unreasonably illogical. Guilty as charged...or am I?

2007-04-23T20:31:00.000+05:30

Aargh...If you want your brain handed to you, scooped out of your head with a red hot metal hook,look no further...all of this past week 'He' has been bombarding me with useless rhetoric,
boggling logic and maddening wit. 'His' latest question goes this way...

Say you gave your final exams yesterday.
The results come out tomorrow.
And you have the opportunity to win a free trip to Switzerland/Goa/whatever tickles your feathers.
The offer expires today.
But you do not know whether you will pass or fail in the finals.
Would you take the opportunity, and go get that free trip anyway?

Then, without waiting for me to answer, he stubs his cigarette out, (I see a maddening lecture
on logical reasoning coming here, but am helpless to escape it...) . He assures me that I will
not accept the free trip. That I, being the conscientious individual that I am, will be
unwilling to commit a hundred percent to that vacation, without being sure of the outcome of
those final exams. And he says, while wagging his bony finger at me,
that I am being unreasonably illogical here.
(Stay with me..this head spin wont last more than a couple of minutes...).

Now, he changes the question. He asks me what if I was sure of the result.
I am sure that I have either passed, or failed.
Now will I take the free trip?
Again before I can mumble, he cuts in and stoically states..Yes you will.
If you have passed, you will party in Goa, and if you didn't, well, you'd be inclined
to go there anyway as there is nothing to be gained from not going.

While I scratch my earlobes, he offers to explain where I was being unreasonably illogical.

In case:1, he says, you did not take the trip, simply because you could not separate the
consequence of one event(exams) from the decision necessary for another(trip).

Now, in case:2, it is clear, that had you either passed, or failed...the only two alternatives,
he assures me, you still chose to go on that trip. Hence, your initial decision was
completely void of logic. You did not have the reasoning ability to visualize that the
consequences of the first event, would have absolutely no impact on the decision necessary
for the second.

Also, he tells me, that such obstinacy on my part, saddens him, and he wishes I'd get my act together.

As I trudged back inside, something nagged me like a vulture gnawing away at a carcass...
why didn't I answer the first question correctly?
Grrr... I didn't answer at all did I...
He tricked me again didn't he! Hand me that hammer now will ya...I'll return it to you, a little bloody but otherwise undamaged.

Blogger code of conduct...by and for retarded, slack jawed, smug, condescending s-o-b's

2007-04-18T17:33:00.000+05:30

Tim O'Reilly, smug, do-gooder that he is...has come up with the "first draft" of the blogger code of conduct. He wants bloggers to put up badges on their sites, indicating that they comply with the blogger code. Wow. This is neither wrong, nor stupid...just criminal. The code of conduct implies that somebody somewhere decides what is and what is not acceptable expression on a blog. It implies censorship, even though as yet no governmental authority is enforcing it. For all I'm concerned, its the first step to enforced censorship....I mean, what the fuck! Tim O'Reilly mourns that the blogosphere is not a safe place for all, that theres discrimination, derogatory language, obscene content, violence etc...hence not a safe place. Well, the internet is not a safe place. The world we live in is not a safe place...and inside my head is also not very safe at this point in time! And badges? don't get me started on those badges...! I will not conform...not to this shit. O yeah..and if you'd like some laughs..go read about the code here

Here's my own personal code...

I'll write what I want to write here (no civility enforced).
You go ahead and comment whatever you want to comment (no civility enforced).
If I like it, it stays;If I don't, it doesn't (my way...no other).

Not writers block..I swear...

2007-04-16T19:12:00.000+05:30

I had a post ready last week...well almost, but the whole of last week has been spent in working long hours, studying the rest of the time, and on the side, a sequence of events have er...well bamboozled me..if ya know what I mean....So no posts, but on the brighter side of things, the week did provide ammo for future posts, a lot of ammo!

Live to ride...Ride to live

2007-04-04T21:07:00.000+05:30

Its dark outside, as it usually gets this time of the day. But the wind is unusually strong, and his jacket flaps violently against his torso. He walks out of the elevator, of the artificially illuminated, climate controlled prison building that is his office. And is greeted by a smile and a nod from the security guard.

He feels that old, familiar pinprick of excitement, as he spots his motorcycle from a distance. He walks over to her, straddling the seat, as the anticipation builds within him. Its almost as if she's urging him on...to kick start his freedom. his hands move almost automatically, and he begins the old routine. Engage the decompresser, half a kick to get the oil moving, disengage the decomp, give her a second to breathe in some air, shoop..! a light kick, buda buda buda buda, her engine awakes after so many hours of rest, and the rhythmic beats bring a smile to his lips. She's ready to hit the road...more than ready, eager, desperate even. As he shifts into first, she surges forward, now second, here's third, and finally fourth. And he cruises past the sluggish traffic to begin the stretch of highway separating the suburbs from the city.

For a few minutes, he's stopped thinking about her, thinking instead of the events of the day, he winces as if in physical pain...a day in that office is not easy, not for the best of men. Suddenly, he is brought back to reality. A red light. That old enemy. Why they ever put up traffic lights on a highway he cannot understand. His first impulse is to ride through it, and she agrees...unwilling to slow down, let alone stop. He hears the annoying voice inside his head, that one with the nasal twinge...(there are others!), threatening him with the worst consequences...imploring him to stop. He rides through it...its late and theres very little traffic on the highway, and he's reached the limit of his patience.

To soothe his anger, she responds as soon as she feels him tug at her accelerator. With all the power of her 350 horses, she surges forward into the night, the gusts of wind blowing away all his negative thoughts . He smiles again. He can feel his heartbeat rising, almost matching hers. The wind in his face feels good, makes him feel alive. Every second on the bike diluting the awareness of his own fragile mortality. The fear evaporates, his senses are razor sharp, and his eyes lock onto the road ahead. He teases her by slowing down a little, but before she can object, tugs hard at the accelerator, pushing the needle past 85, now 90, here's 100! His escape from reality is complete! Nothing worries him now, he is free, and his freedom comes at a 100 kilometers per hour, with the wind tearing at his face, the open road at his feet, and everything else momentarily meaningless.

But it cannot last forever....he's reached the end of the highway, and now faces another 5 boring minutes of sluggish commuter traffic. Those yuppies in their chauffeur driven coffins-on-wheels, sending yet another email from their laptops (may their batteries explode!), the college kids on their electric-shaver-ish, pathetic excuses for bike's, and the lazy buses lurching and straining against their loads. None of them will ever feel the ride, not in the way she makes him feel it. They are consumed by their commute....getting from A to B, thats all that matters to them. Not him, though...as he turns off her ignition, he has to force himself to do it. To leave her in the garage, and resume functioning as a normal human being. She makes him feel like a God, with unlimited power, speed and no concept of fear. As he walks away from her to step into another elevator, he looks back, almost guiltily...but her silhouette promises to make him a God yet again, promising a wild, violent escape from reality...the next morning.

Bike pics

2007-04-02T18:47:00.000+05:30

The stripped bullet is Mario's (mechanic at Bandra reclm) work in progress. He's just painted it and shortened the swing arm, removed all unnecessary cabling, shortened the front fork angle, removed the front fairing and headlamp assembly, trying to give this bike an old school chopper look.

The red devil is Vicky's RD350. This dude has a spare engine at home to pull parts from, and somehow managed to break his gear-lever, and was trying to convince me that the bike has automatic gearing...April fools and all that...too bad it didn't work, it might have on someone else.
I like both bikes...but Mario has an old bullet, single seater,100cc,hard tail 1919 model...which I couldn't take a pic of, but I will soon....you see, I intend to own her.

Here are my own beauties, my Bull and her city cousin- the Kinetic GF 125.

Reservation?, forget that...Hear Pentagram's Voice

2007-03-30T17:00:00.000+05:30

I love this song...Pentagram's latest offering coupled with Channel V's "Shot By You" initiative, that lets people send in their video clips, to compile the video for this song, is an absolute treat.

The link for the mp3 hosted by Channel V is here
Rush to get it, I don't know how long it'll remain hosted there.

The lyrics can be found here

A YouTube video with the anti-reservation theme for this song can be seen here

Are you anti-reservation? Are you pro-reservation? or Are you unimpressed by the hoo-haa, and would rather let those insane monkeys in parliament beat themselves up over vote-bank politics, while the SC tries lamely to discipline them.

I don't know how reservation in educational institutions and private sector companies will benefit anybody. Whatever happened to the merit-based selection process? Hasn't this process ensured that the cream of the crop gets into the IIM's and IIT's? Hasn't this selection process proved itself successful over the years? Why fix something if it aint' broke? Is Arjun Singh the most persevering politico around? he's been in quota mess for as long as anyone can remember!

Word on the street is that the govt will squash all attempts at resistance....both from demonstrators, and the Hon'ble Supreme Court.

Somebody told me that reservation (she called it affirmative action), will work only to divide society. I told her not to worry...our society is already so fragmented, one more won't even be noticeable.

What do you think? tell me...

Brainbench Personality Evaluation.

2007-03-22T21:32:00.000+05:30

I love taking tests, sometimes it delights me to see how badly i fail..:)
A certain busybody asked me to get my personality(huh?) evaluated by Brainbench. I figured, might as well post the damn results here...here goes nothing.

PERSONALITY EVALUATION:

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Trait |<--|---|---|---- Range ----|---|---|--->| Trait
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Introverted |..........X.............................| Extroverted
Candid |..................X.....................| Considerate
Impulsive |..X.....................................| Cautious
Excitable |..............X.........................| Relaxed
Practical |..................X.....................| Imaginative
Concrete |......................................X.| Abstract
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
|<--|---|---|---- Range ----|---|---|--->|
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your Social Boldness: Introverted VS Extroverted
------------------------------------------------------------
You are moderately introverted. I bet you hear this a lot,
"You are so nice." That is because you do not have a
brash, bold personality, instead you are warm and friendly
and a pleasure to be around. You are not into the wild,
crazy nightlife scene. To you a nice social atmosphere
tends to be a quieter, more comfortable place where you can
spend time with good friends. Your cooperative nature is
especially pleasant in a group atmosphere where decisions
must be made. You may not always be the person who
initiates conversations or talks first in a meeting, but
when you have something important to say you are willing to
share it. At times you can be shy, but this does not mean
that you are being standoffish, just that you are cautious
and need time to assess the situation.

Your Agreeableness: Candid VS Considerate
------------------------------------------------------------
You are slightly candid. Social harmony is important to
you, as is evidenced by your cooperative, generous, and
helpful nature. If someone asks you what you want to do,
you may reply, "whatever you want". That is not because you
are indecisive, rather you genuinely want the other person
to be happy, and so whatever they want to do is fine with
you. In general, you are straightforward and sincere with
others, which makes you very likeable. People always know
where you stand. You regard others positively - you trust
people and feel they are honest, so you have no problem
responding in kind. No one will accuse you of being
arrogant. Your self-esteem is just fine, but you do not
think you are better than anyone else. Your desire to help
others is seen in your altruistic nature. You enjoy helping
others and you do not expect anything in return.

Your Self-Control: Impulsive VS Cautious
------------------------------------------------------------
You are very impulsive. You are an independent thinker. You
do not need a book of rules to tell you how to behave - you
know inside what is right and what is wrong and you act
accordingly. You are able to live life spontaneously,
because you are able to make decisions without endless
deliberation. In fact, when you and another person are
making a decision, you are able to reach a solution fairly
quickly while the other person has to cautiously plan every
step. Eventually, they will agree with you, which is
frustrating when your first impulse is usually the correct
one in the decision-making process. You tend to be a little
more casual, and you do not feel out of sorts when your
home or office is not perfectly neat. In general, your life
is pleasurable - you know how to have fun and will never be
accused of being staid or stuffy.

Your Anxiety Level: Excitable VS Relaxed
------------------------------------------------------------
You are moderately excitable. In trying situations, you
feel somewhat stressed and frustrated. At times you are
able to overcome these feelings, but other times you feel
overwhelmed. This could run the gamut of just being in a
bad mood to experiencing anxiety, anger, or depression. In
general, you prefer a stress-free existence, so that the
possibility of negative emotions would not be a factor. You
tend to be somewhat self-conscious in social situations,
and are worried that people may judge or criticize you. You
may react emotionally to people or circumstances that you
find threatening, because you want to protect yourself.
Every so often you cave into urges or cravings. Sometimes
you feel a little guilty about it, other times you are just
fine with your fun streak.

Your Openness to Change: Practical VS Imaginative
------------------------------------------------------------
You are slightly practical. It is apparent to those who
meet you that you are well educated. You are able to speak
on a complex level to one audience, but adjust to a more
basic level for another. You are bright and capable of
thinking logically. On one hand you are down-to-earth and
traditional, while on the other hand you are creative and
imaginative. Sometimes you feel more comfortable with
familiarity and routine in your life, other times new and
novel experiences are more enjoyable. You are not afraid to
try new things. You tend to like to do a variety of
different activities, so you do not grow bored.

The way you Think/Reason: Concrete VS Abstract
------------------------------------------------------------
You are very abstract in your thinking. You tend to be
quick to grasp ideas, are a fast learner and intelligent.
You possess a hallmark of intelligence that potentially
separates human beings from earlier life forms, the ability
to think about future consequences before acting on an
impulse. Your reasoning activity involves contemplation of
long-range goals, organizing and planning routes to these
goals, and persisting toward one's goals in the face of
short-lived impulses to the contrary. You also have keen
interests in intellectual matters and love to play with
ideas and think theoretically. You tend to be open-minded
to new and unusual ideas, and like to debate intellectual
issues. You often enjoy riddles, puzzles, and brainteasers.

---ends here..the rest is all me...

Oh, and one more thing...Brainbench tells me...

Please keep in mind that scores on a personality assessment are neither good nor bad. As with any personality inventory, scores and descriptions can only approximate an individual's actual personality. Questions about the accuracy of your results are best resolved by reviewing and discussing your report with people who know you well.

So if anyone wants to review or discuss this report of mine....bring it on...

He, She and your's truly

2007-03-22T14:56:00.000+05:30

He: It takes him a couple of seconds to decipher the code....but this time theres no mistaking it. She definitely smiled at him. He drops his gaze and almost violently pores over the menu card, pretending to read those items he knows almost by heart. Too afraid to look into those dark brown eyes. Afraid of encouraging even the briefest bit of conversation. Its a defensive impulse. He's been here before. The memories still make him wince, as if in physical pain. But he does not let these emotions control him. He has stored all those feelings neatly, behind closed, locked drawers in his subconscious. Although he is sometimes forced to frown, angered by their presence, clouding his otherwise expressionless features. Maybe this time it will be different? Quickly, his conscience shoots him down. Fool! optimistic, romantic, pathetic fool. He quietly accepts the inevitable negativity, and resigns himself to stay alone....unhappy maybe, but unhurt, and somewhat alive.

She: She cant believe what just happened. She just smiled at that quiet, serious looking guy at the corner table. But this guy did not react like the others. She saw the ghost of a frown on his face, and his blatant rejection, as he buries himself into the menu. What is his story?, she thinks. Is he damaged-goods?, a broken hearted, pessimistic ex-romantic like herself? Maybe, just maybe, he needs someone like me, who better to understand that pain, than a fellow sufferer. She recognizes his instant rejection as a product of his strong instinct of self-preservation, further enhanced by the sorrow's from his recent past. But why risk it, the hell with him, he doesn't know what he's missing...She consoles herself by ordering her pasta, and to spite him further, seats herself facing away from him.

Me:Too bad, neither took the leap of faith. Both so well entrenched in their own troubles that they never gave coupling a chance. And both found themselves trapped in that inescapable black hole of self-pity. Too bad. They would have been perfect together. But who am I to comment...I was too busy pretending to read that damn menu...

The window-sill visitor

2007-03-16T20:31:00.000+05:30

He sits by the window, waiting, watching for the little bird to make its way past the towering buildings to his window-sill. There is a strange relationship between them. He whistles Mozart's Violin Concerto No.4 in D Major every morning at 9:30, and the little bird comes to peck at the pieces of bread, sipping at the small plastic bowl of water that he keeps at the window-sill. This routine has been going on for 20 days, and he sits as usual, behind the half-drawn curtain...waiting for his friend to come visit him. It takes all his strength to shoo away the pigeons and crows, so that his friend can have a pleasant breakfast....unhurried and uninterrupted. Today though, he cannot whistle the tune, his lungs have been eaten away by cancer...and even a whisper sends him into paroxysms of pain. But the bird doesn't seem to mind the lack of music, it still feeds on the bread, and seems to thank him with a few chirps and a flap of its wings from time to time. Soon, he knows he won't be allowed to come to the window, the needles intravenously confining him to the hospital bed. With a sigh, he drops his head, and at that instant the little bird looks at him questioningly...perhaps sensing his sadness. In a few months, the doctor said, he would be on life-support...meaning his worn-out lungs would be no longer capable of even the strain of breathing. The thoughts running around in his head cause even him to laugh out loud...that deep, booming laugh which used to echo around the house, today comes out more like a wheezing cough...instantly frightening away the little bird. He isn't thinking about his impending death, nor about the wife and children he's leaving behind, he's wondering who will feed the little bird once he's gone.....

Decisions Decisions Decisions...

2007-03-16T12:56:00.000+05:30

Buy this, or buy that, do this or do that, go here, go there, or go elsewhere....heady is the power of the decision maker. And such power is as likely to create the stress of responsibility as much as it can create that nagging question, should I have done that, should I have waited a little while longer, will this decision come back to bite me in the ass! How do we make out decisions. What instinct drives us to select option A over options B or C or D. Is life always this sort of multiple choice test, firing questions without any warning whatsoever?

Or am I unprepared. Where is the README file for life. Where can I look up my Questions for hints and feasible solutions. Or am I supposed to just shoot off the hip. Small wonder that I end up missing the target entirely, on occasion.

Ok.. so I make the usual newbie mistakes, I then learn from them and learn to avoid repeating them. Now how to I maximize their impact? How do I ensure that every decision I make plays out to be the smartest, most profitable one possible. Instinct, that must be it. This is the key to decision making. The same instinct that drives a man to protect and a woman to nurture. We must overcome these genetically hardwired tendencies. For decision making needs a blend of both aggression and the instinct of preservation.

How does one achieve this synthesis. how does one subjectively analyze one's own thoughts to ensure this congregation of instincts. The answer probably lies hidden. Hidden in human thoughts, and in the collective human experience...honed over years of silent, sometimes expensive practice.

Where does one go, in order to tap this vault of human knowledge. Where can one access this zeitgeist, or spirit of the times that we live in. We cannot rely just on our peers, Their knowledge has not withstood the test of time. We cannot even rely on the advice of our elders. Their experience is limited by the circumstances surrounding their decisions. But we can, and must rely on History.

We have to study the mistakes made by legends of the past. It will be a long and obstacle ridden journey to attempt to unravel the faults of the great men of history. Though their successes are well documented, their failures and the lessons learnt from them are, shall we say, obscured. For history is written by the winners, the dominant ones, those who have vanquished their opponents and their own weaknesses. To ask them to detail their failures is to ask a man to betray himself.

Persevere, stick with the damn thing. Dig deep enough to uncover their mistakes, not in an attempt to discredit their legacy, but to only learn that legends that they were, they were only human...just like you.

So you learnt from their mistakes, and their ability to turn moments of weakness into occasions to showcase their genius, snatching victory from the jaws of defeat, as the cliche goes. This is where your theory lesson ends. I wish I could just as confidently tell you that this is where your practical experience begins. It is not so. Most men are not fortunate enough to be allowed to test the strength of their bodies and minds like the Greatest, Muhammad Ali. Generations of men have waited for the opportunity to test their fortitude while being under the stresses and circumstances of greats, such as him. That chance is only given to a chosen few. Only they can claim greatness, who have endured what the legends have endured, while still making their mark on history. How can we ever ascertain that our own untested skills and strengths will not fail us under duress. We cannot. We can never compare the reaction of a great with our own.

So what is left for us, just the opportunity to carry on, breathe, live, decide...but this time with the experience of legends to back us.

The differences between men and women.

2007-03-15T18:41:00.000+05:30

I just realized something. Before I share it with you I'd like to ramble on a bit, thinking aloud and trying to organize my thoughts...STOP !who am i kidding, I'm a man and my gender never thinks aloud, and never needs to organize its thoughts, they are organized logically anyway! Yep you got it, I've realized that though men and women belong to the same species, they are different creatures, with different characteristics.

It all started when I began analyzing my own parents. My dad with his quiet thinking, efficiency of words and actions, logical thought process, and ability to compartmentalize his entire universe without ever needing outside help, can never find that packet of biscuits in the kitchen. While my mom, with an incessant compulsion to think aloud, obsess over details, indirect communiques, inbuilt lie detector, her complicated relationships with friends and relatives, uncanny ability to predict who it is thats calling, or who's at the door when the bell rings...will be able to locate the packet of biscuits with little or no effort or thought. This is not to say that my dad couldn't have found it given enough time, and hunger as an incentive...but he'd rather ask mom about the probable location of the biscuits and then perform a sweeping search of the area, using the process of elimination to locate it. To him, mom's ability to swoop in and locate the biscuits with an apparent lack of effort or thought, will remain an unsolved mystery. Rather than analyzing her ability, he'd prefer to grumble about how she's always hiding the things he needs. There is a scientific explanation for these differences between men and women. Experts have suggested many theories, that women have better peripheral vision, hearing, sensory apparatus, a nurturing instinct , while men have narrower, more focussed vision, dulled sensory organs as compared to women, and an instinct to protect rather than nurture.

And yet, civilized society insists on proclaiming men and women equal. Don't get me wrong, I am not some kind of misogynist (or am I?), all I want to state is, society can shout from the rooftops about gender equality, and of breaking free of gender stereotypes, I will not be able to silence them, and do not want to either, because they speak(shout) the truth. But the fact of the matter remains, that we are not equals. A man is taller, stronger, loses hair quicker, dies earlier, will sooner go to war if provoked, than his female counterpart. She on the other hand, is of slighter build, less strong, more likely to express emotion, talks more, will live longer, would use retail-therapy to counter mood swings etc. These are differences visible to even the narrowest of perspectives. Then why the insistence of equality? Is it not evident that differences exist in the way each party functions, talks, thinks, moves, smells, listens, lives. Then why does the insistent society still proclaim their equality?

Society has evolved from the times of the cavemen. In those days, gender stereotypes were accepted completely, and were the reason for the survival of the human animal. The men hunted, and the women kept the cave clean while nurturing jr.caveman and little miss.cave girl. Everyone was completely at ease with their roles and were happy enough to procreate and survive for many generations. Then civilization happened. Men were no longer required to hunt for food, and women were more likely to venture out of their homes for basic daily functions. Slowly this shift in accepted roles became a part of society. And hence the argument for equality. We must however remember that when these roles were first identified, the early periods of human evolution were in progress. The early human was still evolving, and his/her role in that society was hardwired into his/her brain, and his/her genetics. The human brain has remained hardwired with these roles till the present, for the basic reason that human evolution is not in its nascent stages anymore, the mind and body are not evolving at that same rapid pace evident in the beginning. So we are left with a lot of hardwired genetic programming that seems obsolete to today's evolved cultural and sociological conscience. So where does that leave us? How do we erase genetic information or overwrite it to match with social evolution, rather than the Darwinian theory of physical evolution through natural selection? Get Darwin back here, give him a computer!

I believe that our equality has less to do with equal rights, abilities or anything else. It is instead more relevant to the continuously evolving sociological and moral aspect of civilization. Pure scientific reasoning will never support this claim of equality among the genders. And evolved morality will always defend it. Be that as it may, dad's of today and tomorrow, and the day after... will always be blaming mom's for hiding the biscuits...

No. I am sure...No goddamit NO!!

2007-03-14T19:50:00.000+05:30

Lets get this over with. I do not want a home-loan, no I don't even want it on zero percent interest, you see, I have zero interest in being in debt..! I don't want direct-cash, or any other crazy scheme you are pushing on me. You know who you are, you banks, insurance companies, dimwits! You think just by getting a girl to push buttons on a phone, stealing my number from some list you bought off a consultant, you can persuade me to be in your debt. Ha! there's no chance of that happening.

I remember the days when members of my family had to almost grovel at the feet of some bank manager to wheedle a loan of such minuscule proportions, at interest rates that would ensure that none of us got that new piece of jewelry or that vacation to the hill station. Now you blatantly pimp your services off the phone, and expect me to dive into debt. No. Yeah, you heard me...No. Stop calling me. I will abuse your employees, then I will demand to speak with their supervisor, so that I may abuse him, then I will send you a very vulgar email detailing every abuse, in some cases even translating them for your complete understanding. If that does not suffice, I will proceed to then pose as an employee of your own company, and when that oh so irritating call happens, I will wheedle out details from that girl. Details like-her phone number, where she got my number from, who gave her that big list, why doesn't the bank contact me directly, who does she report to in the bank, what is his phone number, email address even. And then I will reverse cold call you. You will be amazed at my lack of ethics, and in awe of my command over abuses in multiple languages. You see, I have been abused in many languages myself...but that is another story, for another time.

And another thing. This one is crucial. When I do want to talk to somebody from the bank, why do I have to sit patiently listening to MIDI music, purportedly Beethoven playing. I'm not asking you to respond quickly or any such sacrilegious thing! I merely request that you play me proper audio, preferably 128 bit encoded mp3, and not Beethoven, gimme Mozart.

PS: to all my friends working in outbound call centers and in those lousy banks...screw you too.

of watering holes and other musings...

2007-03-06T20:20:00.001+05:30

It is amazing what patronage of the local watering hole can provide. Complimentary snacks, the occasional tidbit of gossip, your favorite corner table, unlimited time to ponder the mysteries of the universe while being lubricated with your choice of liquids, aerated or otherwise. All of this in exchange for a few well placed tips and a smile here and there.

Now news filters through of a girl being assaulted in a taxi somewhere in Colaba. The waiters here are of the opinion that the absconding taxi driver was bribed for his silence. Amazingly the view here is that the Mumbai police know who is responsible, and fat bribes have ensured not just their silence, but complete cooperation. That being as it may, it is said of the Mumbai police that it knows in advance the details of most major crimes before they are committed, but are held back by forces not within the democratic process.

Forget all that, lets get back to the famous, or should I say, infamous watering hole, the subject of this post. "Ek taraf uska ghar..ek taraf Maikhana" - Pankaj Udhas' honey sweet voice lingers hauntingly inside my head . It is but the truth. Nowadays, the latest Bollywood tracks play in the background, forcing me to realise two disturbing truths. One, this generation's utter disregard for lyrics of any quality ; Two, the contemporary music director's complete understanding of this phenomenon and compliance with it. So what if the results are the often senseless lyrics that are frowned upon by the so-called connoisseurs of hindi music. This is after all pop culture, and complying with it surely is no crime...or is it?

And I digress yet again. What was intended as a post about the watering hole, has mutated into the kaleidoscopic equivalent of random thoughts pretending to be facts when they are in fact just...er umm...random. This is just the nature of the damn thing, or should I say place. Coming back to the topic, (I promise, no rambling this time ) . There is a clear hierarchy here, as in most such establishments. Let me start from the bottom, there is Gopal, the waiter's assistant. He gets you ice, spoons, tissues, your favourite brand of nicotine, and intermittently cleans your table - all with a smile if you are a regular, and a poker-face if you are not. A 10 rupee tip ensures this smile for eternity. Then there's Manoj, my favourite waiter. If you are a patron, he knows your usual by heart. But will also suggest other 'specials' for your dining pleasure. His special is usually the best dish you would have tasted in ages. So you ask him to bring it, like you ever had a choice anyway, and then he's smiling at you like a co-conspirator of some sort. Come now, lets look for where the buck stops. This is Sudhir, the resident cashier. His links with the local police and government are legendary. He never speaks to customers, and a nod of the head is about as agreeable as he will ever get. The king of the jungle is a faceless entity known only as 'Seth' aka Lucas Shetty. Him being the owner of the place. From a long line of Shetty's, his description fits the stereotypical gold-embellished, ultra-rich Shetty who signs every bodies paycheck. Apparently everyone and his dog here knows Lucas personally, though they may be embellishing on the truth a mite. Enough about him, he is best relegated to the darker side of things.

Of course, there are hundreds of such watering holes in the city, each with nuances that identify them, and yet unite them under the umbrella of their combine. They are all patronised by others, such as myself, and have never felt the need for any publicity or marketing. In fact their very existence depends on their ability to blend with the shadows of Mumbai's gullies, never disturbed by local authorities, unnoticed by the yuppie crowds who swear by the Barrista's and 'happening' lounges and eateries which usually have their own DJ playing the latest UK-Bhangra/underground genre of music...Yes, I detest them, those yuppies and their hangouts. I am paranoid about letting them pollute my watering hole, and will fight them till the very end...for now though... my favourite watering hole shall remain unnamed.

what doesnt kill you...

2007-03-06T18:21:00.000+05:30

hmmm, there is a theory that the body does not retain any memory of pain. Thank god for that. If only the mind was as cooperative now, there'd be no problem. But it isnt, is it. The damn thing insists on not only recounting painful episodes, but exaggerating their importance until they seem so tragic, that surviving them seems heroic and incredible. The hopeless optimists among us use these thoughts as inspiration; that they could survive some bouts of depression and still come out sane, diminished a little, but on the road to normalcy. Bloody idiots. What doesnt kill
you makes you stronger is their way of rationalizing their traumatic experiences.

How i would love for them to come look inside my own head. The amplification of past pain seems to be a favourite exercise for my mind. And there is no heroic ending here, nothing to support the idea that 'i've lived through it once...and can do so again!". There is only dejection at being exposed to pain, by circumstances entirely within my own control, and yet foolishly
persisting in activities that were guaranteed to encourage the process.

In hindsight of course, there is much rethinking done...many avenues previously unnavigated, or considered unnavigable, suddenly appear to be the sanest, most logical option. Well, in those moments of high passion and intensity, logic and sanity are both overruled by their lesser cousin-instinct. Yes, I have read all the heady stuff of gut instinct being the best guide,
to be relied upon by heroes of our time, to get them out of tight spots etc. Mine though, is not as fine tuned, as it turns out. My instinct somehow manages to pick the least logical, most unnecessary paths, and is terribly consistent.

My instincts though, have begun a marked improvement. In the sense that, those previously illogical solutions are now being replaced by shortcuts. Problems are being solved not by systematic logical analysis, but by looking for the least effort solutions. Of course most of these solutions are straining conventional ethics, but they are showing that trademark of innovativeness-daring. Going through with these suggested solutions is quite another thing.
But their existence in itself relieves the mind of its only fear-emptiness.