Interpreted...Not Compiled...

Meenakshi Pattinam

2011-10-28T00:47:00.001+05:30

For all those who didn't know and were not astute enough to guess, I grew up in the 'Temple City' of Madurai. Raised amidst the temples in the temples city, I once believed that there is no world outside this city and its Gods (and its eternally reigning Goddess). That was when I had barely seen ten winters (For the astute reader: this is a Classical English style of declaring your age, notwithstanding the fact that Madurai does not have a marked winter). As I continued to see more winters, I could not help but accrue a different set of perceptions about the place. Honestly, the city (or pattinam as it is called in Tamil) did not morph much, but I metamorphosed.

If you pick a few random Maduraites who live or live not in Madurai now, (but have spent atleast a couple of years in the place in a bygone era) and inquire for any three spotlights of the city, and compute the statistical modes of the answers, you are likely to get - Meenakshi Amman temple, Malligai (Jasmine flowers - All women in Madurai love flowers), Azhagar Aathu thiruvizha (the festival where Lord Kazhagar (a form of Lord Vishnu) is brought from a neigboring village to witness the celestial wedding of his sister, Goddess Meenakshi, a day late on purpose, and consequently immersed into the Madurai river in disappointment and despair). If it is not evident, Madurai is replete with Pandyan history and the 'thiruvilaiyadal' (Roughly translated as the celestial games played by the Gods) of Lord Shiva. The movie Thiruvilaiyadal has not left much to imagination.

If you ask me to pick "my spotlights" of the city, I would simply refuse, for the city and what it offers is too close to my heart to be partisan to a select few. The city is associated with childhood innocence (read as ignorance), a largely uncomplicated life, exam-fearing school days, petty girlie squabbles with girls and tomboyish battles with the boys, mom's vengaya sambar, the continual common colds, family doctor visits, the Vaigai super-fast(?) train, town buses like 73A, manned tea-stalls, fresh milk and vegetables, and .... As the astute reader can guess, the list is pretty much bottomless. The top of the list is however - Meenakshi Amman and Her marvelous abode. It is said that every question about life , Universe and everything gets answered in a quiet few minutes inside her praharam.

Life in a city like Madurai is blissful as long as one stays put in the same place - probably a state of unconscious bliss. When one steps out to see the larger world outside, the pedestal of expectations, anticipations augments and eventually despondency ensues - a state of conscious perturbation?. It is also likely that one might fall out of love with their roots in a quest to branch out to the sky. Seldom does one realize that one can attain a soulfully successful state, one should stay in frequent touch (at the least) with one's homeground. Visiting the place I grew up in after some stints of the "outside world", was what I would call a "religious experience" in the true sense of the word. I beheld Meenakshi amman with a new sense of wisdom, held the people of Madurai closer to my heart and appreciated the purer air and fresher vegetables, better.

The "outside world" makes one expand horizontally, face brittler rocks, and surge ahead materialistically while I believe that one's homeground makes one grow deeper within onself. I had many an emotional moment when I was visiting the school where I first learned the alphabet, the house where I spent my innocuous years or the Pillayar temple at the corner of the road which I used to frequent. That the old school bus drivers could recognize me even after a two decades and enquire my wellbeing with the same childlike enthusiasm, made me humbler. I had a newfound respect for the "outside world" which I believe made me endorse my roots more.

As I strode across the Meenakshi amman temple corridor, reflecting on many little somethings that I had demanded from Her then and the few big nothings that I pray from Her now, it occurred to me that I had aged across the years, but not the Goddess, nor the city.

"Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale
Her infinite variety"

How true!

A Passage to China..

2011-09-13T00:30:00.004+05:30

As the astute reader of this blog would astutely guess, this blog is not replete with travelogues. Not that I don't get to travel, but I was afraid I would not be able to provide a comprehensive recount of the details of all things under the sun (things-to-do, things-to-eat, things-to-see, things-to-travel-by). However a recent trip to this mystic land (China) incited me to narrate my emoted experiences during my journey into this another part of the Orient.Another reason why I decided to key down my experiences is that I realized that China, in spite being an immediate neighbor of India is not as frequently frequented by Indians as the North America or Europe is. We must afterall 'love, atleast check-out thy neighbor' before falling in love with a stranger.

As a kid, I had conjured up a few things about China in my mind's eye - yellow skinned thin-waisted ladies with thinning eyelids wearing long highly intricate silk dresses and sporting a nice hand-fan, a very difficult-to-decipher, but easy-to-recognize script, some very different names, the Great Wall, the martial arts, Communism, statistics like the largest population in the world, some rank for the biggest area in the world, cute looking kids and good athletes. As I grew up, I also had a privilege of working with some Chinese folks as well. But what really expanded my knowledge about this Oriental land was my marriage to my dear husband, who had spent a good couple of years in China, managed to stay vegetarian, shape up a better character and fall in love with the Chinese people. When he was traveling to his first-visited-country again, it was pre-destined that I join him for a vacation.

As I was preparing to travel, I've to admit that I had slight apprehensions about the language and the availability of vegetarian food. But the urge to see another man-made wonder of the world and more generally a country as ancient as my motherland is, took over, as I boarded the flight to Beijing. The flight journey was unfortunately uneventful (it wasn't a long flight from Delhi to Beijing), save a lone incident, when I chose to have the Chinese tea for a drink, instead of the American coffee or the Indian masala chai (having been inspired by the green-tea-fads in India and having been fascinated by the tea-tasting culture in China). The air-host gave me a second look, before she gave me a yellow liquid which I could not ingest beyond a sip, inspite of self-assurances about its anti-oxidant benefits. It dawned upon me later that the Chinese drink the Chinese tea (with a lot of herbs) sans sugar and sans milk, instead of plain water to hydrate themselves. And that was one of the first secrets of their good health and youth !

As I landed in China and boarded the Airport express to reach my hotel, I tried to reconfirm my route (and stops) with the local Chinese co-passengers (inspite of detailed instructions from my husband, lest I meander along a different tributary). It seemed to me that the Chinese had difficulty in 'parsing' English, as my Japanese friend would often phrase, and yet when any of them is approached with a query, one can be rest assured that it is answered either in parts of English or through more direct means of communication like hand-gestures and smiles. If needed, people flocked together to help each other to help us out. The Chinese are a benevolent kind of people , and could cross over the language barrier to go the extra mile to make their guests feel at home. It was only when we flipped through a book of Beginner's Chinese, that we realized that the Chinese language, pictographic that it is, does not have a direct correspondence with the alphabet. It is a more effective communicating medium, and that the Chinese people are constantly decoding and encoding while cross-communicating in another alphabet based language like English. Take a bow, people!

The best part of the China trip was the looks of admiration that we gathered as we tread along the streets. I was truly glorified when a woman sitting next to me in a local train complimented me with a perfect smile "You're so beautiful" :) and this was when I had just landed from a nocturnal flight and had managed to drag myself and my luggage into a coach. I had a inimitable emotion that I was being appreciated for what I was, not for what I wore or how made up I was. A lot of young girls wanted to take pictures with us, that was when the girls tried to cling on to my husband to get a picture of a lifetime and I was also invited to the party, as a gesture of true good-will. I didn't mind a bit, the Chinese were making us feel like ourselves (superstars that we are :) ).

No trip to China is complete without a visit to the Great Wall. There are a few places in the world that leave you admiring, a few places that leave you gasping, but there are only very few places that take your breath away. The Great Wall is one of them. It seemed to me like the Wall was a bit like Lord Shiva - there didn't seem to be a beginning or an end to the Wall (these cannot be found in a day, apparently). The Wall is a testimony to the fact that the Chinese used a simple, yet persevering and resilient technique to defend their homeland, so much like them. What make the Wall even more attractive are the scintillating mountain ranges and fresh-breaths of pure air that one gets to inhale while on a trek across the Wall. The writing is clear on the Wall - It is a man-made master-piece cutting through some majestic mountains masterly crafted by Nature.

A few other nice things in China - I learnt to sharpen my bargaining skills (not that I had any while in India) in the Chinese markets (Silk market, Pearl Market in Beijing). We were also treated to a gracious vegetarian dinner in an ancient Chinese restaurant by my husband's colleagues. And we loved the Chinese kids (not to mention, the beautiful ladies), bubbly, blemishlessly skinned, ever smiling and hanging around with their grandparents. It was good to see another country that preserved the grandparent-parent-child tradition.The ancient Chinese temples, dress, food and culture were all enthralling to us. It was also heart-warming to realize that we did share some of the culture - like Buddha, the prince-saint from India who had spread the the spiritual knowledge amongst the vast Chinese and Indian population alike.

So my dear Chinese brethren, this post is dedicated to you all. Thanks for being truly yourselves!

A Train to India

2011-07-18T16:07:00.003+05:30

I was born in an Independent India, so the astute reader can decipher that I am not too old. I was born in an India whose economy was still Nehruvian. Now, my dear astute reader can deduce that I am neither too young. I was born in an India when Indian Airlines was the only airline operator covering the "major cities" of this country and when the Indian Railways covered the length and breadth of this land through one of the largest rail networks of the world. Now, a couple of decades later, Indian Airlines might not be the only airline operator in the country (thankfully), but Indian Railways is statistically the fourth largest rail network in the world, which my dear astute reader, has many implications and explications.

           This post is not about the analyzing the track records of the politics and economics of the Indian rail, it's more about cherishing a few romantic dates with it. True, the first railroads of the country were laid by the 'developed' rulers, in an attempt to travel the country in the same blue-blooded comfort that they enjoyed in their motherland. Not unexpectedly, this is one legacy that has been fostered and held high by every Indian even after the friendly foes departed. Every villager loved the passenger train that passed by the railway 'station' in his remote hamlet, even if it did not care to stop by. Every middle-class Indian knew the 'railway time tables' of all the major 'Express' trains that departed and arrived in their city , truly 'by heart'. Every high-class 'government servant' wanted to travel first-class in a train, just like his saheb putting his LTC allowance to good use. The rail was an integral part of many an Indian's life.

        The railway-crossing (manned or unmanned) in a village was always a rustic Keats sight. Picture this: bullocks and the carts, men and the tricycles, womenfolk with their burden( of all kinds), half-naked kids with their fun-games, all waiting eagerly to steal a glance at the all-powerful passenger train that passes by. If it was in a city, trains seemed to enjoy retrogressive popularity at the crossings. One can see the impatient busy office-mongers trying to kill time looking at each others' frustrated faces. Some mathematically-inclined ones try to count the number of coaches in the train (especially if it was a goods train and had nothing better to offer than a few mundane-looking coaches). Kids spent their time at the crossings either preparing for some surprise quizzes or making some eleventh-hour attempts to finish a pending homework.

        A lot of India still lives in its villages.If you would like to discover the country, get onto the trains. Get onto the second or third class of a long-distance train, if you want to experience the "real India". You would experience a lot of unpleasant and unethical occupation of your berths or seats, chances are that you might be pushed out of the window by a dirty looking woman and her two "healthy-looking" daughters-in-law. It is also highly likely that you might never want to answer any of nature's calls in your life again , after having taken a bio-break in a loo in the compartment. You might also have to forsake a couple of nights sleep, either because of an uncle in the upper berth who didn't stop snoring or because a few cranky kids who didn't stop crying or because a couple of couples who didn't stop bantering.

And yet, my astute reader, if you observe, you are completely entertained. As the train moves across the states, the transition in the languages, the attires of the local population, the complexions of the kids, the manners and demeanor of the people might befuddle you, and yet, everyone ethical gets the same kind of ticket to board the specific class in the train. Isn't it a startling case of Unity in Diversity ? Not only does a train journey give you enough time with yourself to ponder over your mundaneness, but it also shows you a rich heuristic display of colors that make you realize that the country is much bigger and much more stronger (strength coming from its diversity and adaptability) than you had ever imagined.

The Indian rail might not be on time, might have unfriendly staff , might have not-so-healthy food to offer, might even collapse or burn once in a while, and yet, it brings out the best in you! A train in India is certainly a train that takes you through the journey to the heart of India!

The Truth is Out There..

2010-12-17T15:54:00.004+05:30

This is not the Truth about Life, the Universe and Everything. Neither is this truth about the extraterrestrial 'X files' that is out there. Nor is it the Truth about some layman's doleful life that, when dared, gets intriguing. This is probably the truth about the Indian State and one of its Estates. This is about how we as a state, are capable of manipulating the truth about what transpired beneath the tables, and between the cables, as well as the The Source could create the all-fooling Matrix. And this is also about how a sect of people called themselves the fearless media, go to the limits of the Source to extricate the Truth. The question is - Is their quest for the Truth ethically and philanthropically justified ?

Consider the recent furore over the breaking news that seems to break every other minute in the assorted news channels. The anti-corruption wave that has swept the country and the consequent actions/reactions/inaction by the state has brought many camouflaged faces into the much longed limelight and has parallely put many millions of heads into a melanged state of fury, inquisitiveness (over who's next and what's next?), helplessness and probably hopelessness. There has been an overload of not-so-good information making it impossible for the average Indian's brain to process them, making the brains less efficient and completing a vicious circle.
Is this really necessary ?

Does the media really break the breaking news in a quest to bring the crooked to books ? Always ? Or do they have less noble intentions? Money, PR ratings, getting there first, makeup, flashlights, power to influence the votes, gambles with governments or hypnoses with the human minds - you name it and they got it. Should I surmise that the fourth estate or the television channels let the dirty cats out of the bags just to enlighten or educate the public ? And what use is the information to the common man if he is not vested with powers to act on them? Junk ? And what use is of the information if it causes him distress? Let me know if you know.

Again, don't get me wrong. Am not saying that the corrupt must be let to thrive. The fact that they exist and propagate like malignant beings in the state is a symptom of cancer in the system. Am just imploring the media on the right treatment to root it out. Investigative journalism is truly commendable, but it must be handed over to the right authorities for arbitration. When broken to public in bits and pieces, it just creates a complicated jigsaw puzzle along with some pandemonium. Infact it alerts the wrong-doers to fix their leaks before its too late.

And the ethics of new making and news breaking - Well, is there any ? If there had been ethics, there would have certainly been some love for the fellow countrymen or the larger mankind. I do not think there is room for any of these values in the news business. They mean business. The cables of the Wikileaks were pretty amusing to say the least. It gave us mere mortals, the true opinions of the heads of the states, behind the screens, at the cost of their embarrassments. And yet, were they right in leaking the information ethically speaking? To leak or not to leak? That is the question!

There is a lot of hidden truth that mankind has made up - Truth taken to the volcanic mountains lying dormant for years, or to the depths of the Mariana Trench, laying unexplored. I laud the journalists who risk quite a lot to get to those places. But please dear media-men, make sure, your ends are noble enough to justify your means. Please break the right news at the right time in the right way. Democracy has given the fourth estate a few additional powers and sacred responsibilities to shoulder. Please, have good heads over those shoulders.We are afterall your fellow countrymen and earthlings, I guess it doesn't take much to love us.

Queen of Sciences?

2010-11-25T00:56:00.002+05:30

Yes, it is Mathematics. I am pretty sure that to the astute reader of this blog, this mathematically knotty question of 'What is' the 'queen of sciences' is a no-brainer. How about 'whosaidit'. That's Gauss. That wasn't bumpy either. And now field this - Why did this great German mathematician call it the 'Queen' but not the 'King' of Sciences? Or why not 'Father' of Sciences? Well, am aware of many such conflicting phrases and sobriquets that extol one gender against the other(you don't have to spin-doctor against me), but not all of them have the same grounds of explanation. So what is the plausible elucidation to the original question in specific reference to the context of Sciences?

I do not know the correct answer. And I cannot possibly find out from Gauss either. Maybe he liked women in a good sense.Maybe not. Whatever it is, this peek into the transcript of a letter that he once wrote to a prominent French female mathematician is certainly a clue:

"But when a person of the sex which, according to our customs and prejudices, must encounter infinitely more difficulties than men to familiarize herself with these thorny researches, succeeds nevertheless in surmounting these obstacles and penetrating the most obscure parts of them, then without doubt she must have the noblest courage, quite extraordinary talents and superior genius. Indeed nothing could prove to me in so flattering and less equivocal manner that the attractions of this science, which has enriched my life with so many joys, are not chimerical, as the predilection with which you have honored it."

Not unexpectedly, this was in an era when women were banned from studying the subject even in Europe. The revolutionary crusader who was the subject and predicate of Gauss's letter was Sophie Germain. She was so committed to the science, that she contributed to it by corresponding with eminent mathematicians (including Gauss) under the false identity of a male. Her nom de plume was Antoine-August Le Blanc. There are more revolutionary stories of women soldiers who fought for their love of the quintessential truth that is - Mathematics.

Apparently, that is a pretty long list of female mathematicians that matter. My question for this post is however, larger than that long list. What percentage is this list in the large realm of mathematics? It is certainly quite humbler than the male contribution ratio. If you need more stats for women in math, you could take a look at this. The causal factors for the lower turnout of women in this field, if not obvious, are cultural and gender based demarcation. But that's certainly antiquated.

What about now? There is quite negligible gender discrimination, and yet why hasn't the stats leveled up as yet? Girls seem to outsmart the boys in math in high school, however the boys have the last laugh in PhDs (in the 'Queen of Sciences'). Is it that the average genius-woman loses charm in the queen of sciences and prefers to be an adept obstetrician or an enterprising engineer or a satiated home-maker? Is it that to the above-average woman who loves colors and spices finds math quite devoid of them both? Does mathematics appeal to a woman's feminine senses at all?

One of my friends points out - "Statistically true, but what I have observed is , women dont like them (Maths) much easily. for what ever reason.. but once they like it, there is possibly no difference that one can say between men and women in this subject".
Before you embark on a journey to ponder about femininity and mathematics, here is a cue - Florence Nightingale, best known for her nursing accomplishments, was also an adroit mathematician. This page has more details.

So the number discrepancy question cannot be answered by just the stats that are enlisted. And you know what I think about stats, don't you? The fact that women mathematicians existed and exist is a tribute to the dexterity of women in this Science. I'd like to give the last word to my friend in this context. Once a woman finds beauty in infinity, there is no stopping her, infact we know that she can turn into a male if the world wants her to.And going by the number of battles that a woman fights in whatever era, Mathematics is definitely the "Queen" of Sciences.

Family Doctor

2010-04-24T22:38:00.006+05:30

Are you someone who takes some common pills for common-cold? Do you love to look more feverish than fever itself when you have one and flaunt your flu? Do you atone your once-in-a-while restaurant sins with 'Digene' or 'Eno'? Or are you someone who does not prefer those extraneous antibodies and depend on your own body to corroborate its internal police force and resurrect itself during those "minor, 'mostly harmless' injuries" ? - Or maybe, one of those 'home-made organic medicine' lovers. You could be one of these categories, or a few of these, or even none, and yet, there are fair chances that you would have had a family doctor, for atleast a while..

A family doctor is not that just that doctor at the clinic in the corner of the road who treats your occasional childhood wounds. He (or she) is someone who you grow up with, someone whom you can talk to about your favorite cricket player or your most-hated school teacher, as he checks your throat and pulse, someone who can see through your 'little too detailed' or 'rather skimmed' description of your physical problem and diagnose (and prognose ) with a knowledgeable nod, someone who does not 'blow up' your frantic symptoms or 'play down' your insignificant secondary references. Simply put, a good family doctor knows how your body and soul work.

Quite often, the family doctor is a physician, who practises general medicine. Of course, there could be specifications and specialization - for each listed and unlisted organ of the body. Largely, the family doctor caters to many or all families in the neighborhood. He is someone, whom old friends can visit together in an evening walk to get their blood pressure checked or get a minor new nuisance treated. Habitually, the doctor prescribes the same set of medicines for a specific illness for a specific patient(unless he has more medical-representatives than patients waiting outside his door, with newer formulation of newly discovered compounded medicine), and there are a few smart patients who could map the medicine to the illness with data-mining from past history, and yet, to get the family doctor's good old touch, they go see him.

I grew up having a good family doctor. I vividly remember being a 'patient' patient waiting outside the doors of the clinic, looking at the various poster children and re-reading the phrases - 'Sshhhh...Doctor is in....', 'Silence' and 'Doctor is in/out' hanging. There were a few diagrams of some colorful part of the body and some interesting parts of the skeleton. I tried to concentrate hard on a few of them associating them with my biology lessons and explaining them to my beaming 'patient' parents. If there was a new illness explained with some symptoms, I correlated them with mine circutitiously and concluded the worst. I was that kind. It was then, that my dad decided that he should discourage my becoming a medical professional. He was more concerned about the benefit of the society.

Our doctor was a petite person, and greeted everyone with a broad mustache and a warm smile. He did not talk much, but made some quirky comments when he found my rattles medically funny.Atypically, he had a good handwriting and even a layperson could read his prescription. I'd like to believe that he took a special paternal interest in me, and my rather 'scientific' queries. I have just a couple of words for his treatment. It worked. It still works. I first call him up whenever I have a medical issue I cant ignore - and he responds with the same quirks followed by his prescription. Inspite of a huge personal loss, he still caters to the needs of his patients and has permeated the lives in so many households.

Thank you dear doctor, I think you are one of a kind..

Pretty Woman

2010-03-08T22:43:00.014+05:30

Its International Women's Day. Frankly, until last year, I hadn't found the logical grounds of celebrating "Women's Day". I mean, what were we supposed to celebrate? Womanhood? And what does it actually mean? Celebrating the biological characteristics associated with the gender or the sociological fashion quotient or the political cry for equality? I had always considered myself to be an impartisan specimen of the race, rather than a tendency towards my gender emancipation. One of the good things about growing up is that what seemed incomprehensible becomes less fuzzy and likewise the contrary. I grew up..

Don't get me wrong, it is not that now, I want to celebrate Woman's Emancipation or Equality or cheer-lead the Women's Reservation Bill. I have no reason to do so. It is just that these days, I sense the essence of womanhood better. I can comprehend the whys and wherefores for celebrating womanhood - its quite irrational a rationale, for the woman epitomizes the emotional part of logic. She is the yin of yin-yang philosophy. It is this emotional acumen that helps her pave through the familial maze seamlessly. And the intelligence to discern when to give in and when to stay put that aid in decisions and the vicissitudes of life. Not to mention the ability to multi-manage (or micro-manage) different manageable material at home and workplace..

More often than not, the power of the woman lies in her ability to submit herself. She gets an inscrutable invincible power when she gives in. It is with this power of submission that she has the last laugh.

So who is this pretty woman? Let me try to elucidate..She is the chef of her own kitchen and the mistress of the spices. She is both the warden and angel of the house. She gleefully goes through physical pain, and still stands them - petite and proud. She is a heroine not oft-noticed. Cosmetics accentuate her looks, Kancheevaram and Pashmina adorn her wardrobe. Gold and the stones emblazon her somatic curves, gray matter floods her neural curves in the brain. For generations , the age-old cliched forward about the multi-roles played by the woman from being a daughter to a friend to a wife and then to a mother and parallely a careerist and the tenderness and justice rendered to all the kith and kin involved is usually networked across, during these times. It is still being forwarded every year because, womanhood has stood the test of time. She has made it happen!

There could be quite a few differences between that apple alluring Satan inspired Eve and the modern-day pretty woman of today. And quite a few similarities too. Just like any race or a part of it, women have evolved over time. They have broader views of the society, taller peaks to conquer, and tougher paths to tread. With the right support-system ,her strong will and that emotional acumen in her little grey cells, the pretty woman is set to march on to newer frontiers...with the head firm on her shoulders and heart tied to familial roots.

PS : If you think this blog post is poetically cliched and unwarranted, you should probably grow up too...

Logically Emotional - A Eulogy

2010-01-25T00:16:00.007+05:30

I've never completely comprehended what the sixth sense means, despite belonging to a species that is widely acclaimed to possess it. Is it the ability to "think" or the sense to emote or a sub-conscious prowess to interpret the mystic, not so obvious thing or is it nothing at all?? In any case, the human species is quite capable of all these, manifest in different degrees in different specimens. There are humans who are more logical and there are those poor emotional creatures, who react and not respond, and there are those salvaged souls who supposedly connect with their "inner selves". For a healthy mental state, one would do well to adopt a melange of all these variants of the sixth sense, in the right proportions.

Quite often, the brain is associated with thought, while the heart is associated with emotions. I don't think I need to provide examples to illustrate that, there are far too many movie dialogues than there are IEEE papers to counter them. The biological truth is that, it is the brain which controls both. The heart probably pumps slower and faster when one emotes. When a human emotes, the logical path of the neurons in the brain are turned off. In short, we stop thinking when we are emotional. And thus the "emotional fools" continue to exist ever after...

Logic is quite well defined. Simple math or science! 2 and 3 give 5, when added and produce 6 when multiplied. Problems are easy to solve logically, when the formula is known. The tougher part is variable definition and formula derivation.Emotions, on the other hand are quite complicated, for the math involved, if at all any, is quite differential. The tougher part is problem solving. They are at times productive too..at times of fright, fight or flight, (the classic case of running away when one sees a snake rather than thinking mathematically on how to handle it). Human relationships are founded on emotions.. joy, sorrow, pain, anguish, ecstasy, embarrassment, humiliation,sarcasm, sympathy, empathy. And logically speaking, emotions also force the brain to consider the untried track.

I like emotions for an unconventional reason though - without them, there wouldn't have been art, in specific such a rich World Literature. In Wordsworth's words "Poetry is a spontaneous overflow of emotion, not the emotion of the actual experience, but the emotion recollected in tranquility". As can be seen, there's quite a lot of emotion out there...A eulogy, in particular is usually replete with sorrow, hope and probable abstract beauty (if you are fond of words and their connotations). It was a surprise indeed, when I first saw this particular piece of eulogy. The poet seems to be quite rational while expressing the sentiments beneath..illuminating the all potent choice that is bestowed on to the race.

"You can shed tears that she is gone, or you can smile because she has lived. You can close your eyes and pray that she'll come back, or you can open your eyes and see all she's left. Your heart can be empty because you can't see her, or you can be full of the love you shared. You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday, or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday. You can remember her only that she is gone, or you can cherish her memory and let it live on. You can cry and close your mind, be empty and turn your back. Or you can do what she'd want: smile, open your eyes, love and go on."

How I wish the species discerned this subtle choice and handled emotions with the right logical elements. The world would then be a better place to live in..Is it an emotional wish?

Grand Paa

2009-12-16T18:45:00.019+05:30

You might have heard it quite a number of times, and if you are a female, you should have probably heard yourself say it, quite an extra number of times - "A father-daughter relationship is special" ! Indeed it is..I am a female specimen of the species and I have been fortunate to be blessed with a beloved father. And quite understandably, I know that it is as special as it can get. Quite understandably again, I cannot experience the other side of this divine relationship..I cannot fathom what physical or chemical reactions take place inside a male specimen, when he fathers a female offspring. Having grown up from being a boy to a lad to a gentleman, a father might not completely understand what is going on his little daughter's head, as she grows up from being a girl to a maiden to a lady. And yet, (or probably thats why), he adores her..And the doted daughter in most cases, dutifully reciprocates..A father-daughter kinship is probably an equivalence relationship.

This post is not about "hence proving" this graceful relationship. Its about illuminating yet another subtly beautiful companionship - grandfather and a granddaughter, specifically in reference to my context. As a young girl, I bonded well with grandfather like older gentlemen , in particular, my maternal grandfather. As I picture him as my grandparent in my mind's eye now, he was a fair gentleman, characterized by the walking stick, a couple of slokha text books and his medicine kit. As I try to picture him as a young parent, he was a towering personality,a seasoned musician and a pious brahmin. A graduate of the yester-yester-years, he had quite a command over the English language, it was pretty much Queen's. He had a penchant for music and poetry, and had performed in the then popular radio programmes. I particularly remember his voice for his bhajans adept with devotion, that he rendered in praise of the lords every evening in the pooja room.

My grandfather had a night-shift government job. Inevitably, his metabolism had muted immutably to stay awake most of the night, every night and sleep most of the day, every day. His physical self followed that routine until his last day. He loved connecting with people, especially his grandchildren. As my grandfather progressed to 'second childhood', his communion and conversation had more instances of child-speak in them. The bard was damn right!!

I visited my grandparents at Pondicherry only during my school term-holidays (which I looked forward throughout the term, inspite of the then seemingly tedious 7 hour journey). I was probably a little special, since I was visiting grandchild as against the in-the-city grandchildren. I loved bantering with him then, both sense and nonsense, both gossips around the streets and international news. One of the fondest memories of him that is etched in my brain is the story-recital session I shared with him. I forced him to storytell (in his own words) the stories from Chandamama and Champak. He gleefully obliged, and added spice with some animated DTS effects to those recital sessions.

He was proud of my academic achievements, little though they were. He thought I was a super-kid, How I wish it was true. Maybe every grandparent perceives their grandchild to be one, while parents are likely to be a little more realistic. Just a varying probability again! As with a parent-child relationship, the grandparent-grandchild counterpart seems to me to be mystic. A parent directly contributes to an offspring's genes, while the grandparent's genes are indirect, probably divided. Am not sure why the 'grand' affection seems to be multiplied though. Maybe it is some sort of inverse relationship!

My grandfather is not alive today. Today is not his birthday,nor his anniversary day. It is just another beautiful day, beautiful because I recollected some fond memories, and etched them to possible eternity, which would have otherwise perished with me.
I love you thatha!!

Bangalore and Beyond...

2009-10-11T00:16:00.006+05:30

I landed in Bangalore as a Chennaite..a rather rustic looking Chennaite, with rugged bags, unaware of the local language, unsure about the people, uninformed of the details of my new workplace, but yet, quite undaunted in spirit. Not sure why..Probably I was born not fearing the unknown, or more probably because I had a self-esteem (bolstered by my life's past conquests of fears) large enough to combat this new fear, or more plainly, I just didn't think about it. Of course, I had the backing of a brief tenure in an unknown land in the recent past to buttress me, or rather illusion me into thinking that "I shall handle anything, I am afterall, myself..." That was probably what they call the state of "unconscious incompetance".

Sure enough, I did handle quite a lot of things , just that none of the them were what I had anticipated..Life has a way of forcing itself on you, when you least expect it.The beauty of life lies in its mathematically and otherwise unpredictable vicissitudes or the high and low tides, probably on full moon days. You have to outlive the low tides to ride the high ones that follow..or retreat to the shore before you reach the point of no return. I refused to retreat, until I reached the point of no return. Unconsciously, I moved to the state of conscious incompetence and subsequently learnt to withstand the low tides..Its not too difficult, you just have to stand and stare ;
As my best buddy Divya points out, this city gave me a "taste of life".

Bangalore also taught me to walk on the roads without fear (but with a watchful eye in your back) even in late nights, to cross one-way roads judiciously and audaciously, not to be ensnarled by heavy vehicles, (which is not a great samaritan quality, but something that I am proud of for the sake of fearlessness it gives me) or more generally, not to be stunned if lost in a new place..I learnt to find my way through..I learnt to travel cattle class as a lone sheep..I learnt not to hate the world when I was sick and to take charge of my physical self, mentally.
The city made me a sovereign individual.

The city changed me cosmetically too..I metamorphosed in the fashion realm from someone who wore "just something" every morning to someone who makes sure the sartorial finish is decent when buying/stitching new clothes. My mind's eye for fashion has been rather jaundiced to get attracted to what I would have considered hopeless, a couple of years ago, and likewise the contrary. I had a quite a few unofficial designers in friends, who were considerate enough to "stand" someone not quite contemporary, and advise this fine art. Advice in art, is not always easy, as one might think..Thanks folks..
I guess Bangalore does this to every woman, if she is truly one..

Of course this city has many "bads" too, the irksome traffic, the overzeal to overspend and a fast deteriorating fused amoebic culture. Its a cosmopolitan melange of people from different parts of the country as much as it is a mix of the good and the bad, (and the ugly), .It is a global city..where one learns to see an eagle's eye of the world. I'll miss this city, the 100 ft road, the Subway, Jute Cottage, Khadi Bhandar outlets, the Saturday evening meditated walks to the neighborhood temples, and of course, the people who have made a difference in my life , in this city - friends who have stood by me during my low-tide times, friends who have added sugar and spice to my life and a few good men, who redefined human values and taught me to look beyond the barriers set by one's native society.

As I stand prepared to bid adieu, with a reformed look and better looking bags, I realize that I "can handle anything, I am afterall, myself"! Thank you, dear Bangalore..

As the crow flies...

2009-08-02T19:52:00.008+05:30

I am terribly attracted to a crow these days, a one-eyed, one-legged black fowl which visits our window-sill on the dot at noon during our daily lunch. It is probably some sort of modified conditioned reflex, just that its my mother who had stimulated the trigger instead of good old Pavlov, and that it is the crow, instead of the standard fat guinea pig or the poor pretty white mouse.

It all began on a customary note. It is an ancient practice with South Indian families to feed a crow with the daily delicacies (even a simple delicacy like white rice). The passed-down reason quoted is that the crow symbolizes the ancestors ("pithrukkal") and that feeding the "pithrukkal" was as pivotal as feeding the existing mortals in the family. There is usually no dearth of crows in this part of the world, so it wasn't any surprise when a bunch of crows lunged at the pithrukkal-feed on the first day. They pecked at a few morsels, ingested the food, exchanged deja-vu looks and flew to the other window-sills to sample the neighboring feeds. The major portion of our feed lay on the window-sill, unfinished. Maybe the pithrukkal didnt devour the modern-day rice and vegetables, I'd rather blame it on the fertilizers!

And then,one day, after the usual bunch were done with their routine, the one-legged crow flew in, alone. He (or she, not sure which one) was a little too wary of humans, maybe because of the handicap. He (lets assume so) first nibbled at a sample, looked up at me and my mother who were witnessing the act from a distance with great expectations, sort of winked at us (I swear I saw the one eye wink) and eagerly gobbled large portions of the feed. Encouraged that the offerings have been gracefully accepted, my mother added a couple of complimentary starters like vadas and special rice to the intial feed , which were also ardently feasted on. He nodded to us (slightly though) before flying away. Some polite ancestor!!

Since then, he flies in everyday, and is now an inspiration for my mother to try speciality food. He dosen't seem to mind delays or breaks (when we are traveling out of the city) and can patiently wait for half an hour , perched on a nearby tree branch. His favorite dish, my mother has gathered , seems to be well-prepared curd rice, especially with the green chillies. It was also recently discovered that he prefers plain rice to basmati rice.

I had not particulary noticed crows until then , probably because of their abundance in my neighborhood. They weren't remarkably good-looking birds, nor did they have sweet vocal chords deep down those beaks. And I wasn't an ornithologist or a birder. Crows reminded me of "Sani Bhagwan" (his "vahana" was supposedly the crow) , mythological tales (when it actually lost its one-eye to a curse from Lord Rama, when Indra's son Jayanth impersonated the poor crow and tried to play tricks with Sita)and the proverbial fables (Aesop's fable when a resourceful crow manages to drink water from a deep pitcher) and the South Indian "paati sutta vada" fable, where an unthinking selfish crow loses its stolen vada to a shrewd fox giving in to a plot-praise. Interestingly, the crow is portrayed as an intelligent creature in one fable (Aesop's fable) and as a sort of dumb one in another. It is rather difficult for humans to arbitrate on the intelligence quotient of the bird, especially considering Darwin's evolutionary complexities. And am not sure if the crow is actually one-eyed since the days of Rama's curse. Hopefully the crow knows better.

Things changed after I met the one-legged friend. I notice crows keenly these days. I look forward to meeting my friend (and that eye-encounter) whenever I am in Chennai. Not sure if the feeling is mutual though, for when I was taking an evening stroll today on the terrace, I saw him perched on a branch which looked like a rendezvous in the trees, with another crow, oriented rather closely. Good Luck, dear friend!!

Pink Blues...

2009-05-16T12:37:00.011+05:30

I am frequenting a gym again..The "signs" were out there for quite some time..And I refused to acknowledge them for a while...until this friend who has a naturally sharp eye for these signs, acceded their presence..The pounds were probably visible to the extraneous naked eye...notwithstanding the camouflages and concealment. So, there's no time to lose..the inches have to be lost...There is this new women's fitness center in the neighborhood - Pink (Fitness One's initiative). I enquire, I go and I enroll, for a quarter-term.Its after all a few inches...and wouldn't a few months do?

Habitually, I look around and evaluate the gym (after footing the bill).. The gym has a good-looking receptionist and even better looking models, smiling with their shining teeth and half bitten green apples from the posters. And some more disporting those hour- glass or water-glass figures in various positions (exercise positions), flaunting their biceps and concave abs, and shapely (or shapeless? ) obelics. I take a keener (and sadder) look at some of those...and instinctively conjure up a few images of myself amongst them, and with brightened hopes, I vow to return the next morning...On my way back, I motivate myself, getting a few "branded" workout apparel. All plans laid, I go to sleep, dreaming of those figurines on the posters..

Day One - Now, waking up in the morning is not what I do best everyday..I force myself into thinking of those focal naval concavities in an attempt to impel my senses...and move myself out of bed (The first Move It...). I prepare a cup of hot tea and gulp it down with a few cookies..well, you need energy to work out, dont you ? I change to the conventional workout appearance, and set out on my fifteen-minute-intermittent-jog-walk to the gym, greeting and evading a couple of stray dogs in the course of my journey. The day break is a pretty placid scene..a few sleepy middle-aged men in apparently what seems to be their nightwear sent to the milk booths to fetch the milk packets for the morning tea, the road-side shops half-opening their shutters to call it a day-break, and of course the co-gymmers and joggers with their sneakers and ipods.

I reach the gym on time, congratulating myself on a well-walked journey. Am welcomed warmly and introduced to my trainer. She is a petite female, not one of those figurines , and has her sins well obscured (you know what I mean!!). She asks me to walk the treadmill again. "But I came walking for 10 minutes.." I try protesting, and embark on my physical adventure on the treadmill. I take a well-deserved break after the first 5 mins of peregrinating on the treadmill, and use the break wisely to scrutinize around. There are definately more amusing goods in the gym, than the banal digital meters and the run-on-the-mill machines.

I see women of all sizes and unique fettle. Some look exquisitely young, until you get to notice their faces, dedicatedly running on the treadmills and performing some wierd acts like hand-grinding a non-existing hand-grinder, rotating the arms centripetally. In the yester-years, these were called manual jobs , while in this newfangled era, these are called exercises. There was a particularly compelling character, who looked quite made-up in her evening-attire, who walked in with a cute handbag, and a big fat book, switched on the fan, planted the handbag, ipod in their respective sockets, started the slow pedalling of the cycle, whilst concentrating on the book and the music. I am shaken off from my trance by my trainer. "Move It", she orders and I dolefully go back to my run on the mill.

The next morning, I cant't force myself to think of those figurines, and even when I do, I can't move myself out of bed. I steal a typical another 10 mins of precious sleep for the next 30 minutes, and end up late in the gym, inspite of the auto-rickshaw ride. I "move it" for about 20 minutes in the various stretching machines, joggers, cycles and treadmills with sporadic intervals to sneak out under the A/C. Not-to-mention the abs-exercises in lying positions for "toning up" and the weights for "lean muscle building".

It's been a month and a half now. I earnestly check my weight on the digital machine hoping for a loss of a couple of pounds...And Lo and Behold, I've procured 200 additional grams ..."Its metabolism", the trainer explains..."yours is unique"...Well, I am probably special in every pound of flesh that I possess.

History is His-Story

2009-02-28T21:43:00.008+05:30

Somebody in my commute shuttle made this rather observant observation the other day - "India seems to be dazed with potential confrontations from neighbors on all frontiers - east, west , south and the north" ( or any of their angular permutations)....And that seemed to half-open some fatigued mind's eye in my mind.. Another somebody in the same shuttle nodded dispiritedly (his spectacles notwithstanding the nod) and posed this rather oft-repeated , but seldom-answered philosophical pointer - "What is your suggestion offered as a solution to all these world issues?"... I happened to be the unfortunate creature sitting opposite to this another somebody, and consequently, my eyes met his, just as he completed his nugget. And that eye-encounter completely opened up my half-open mind's eye - I blurted out loud - "India should inculcate spirituality to its citizens and the rest of the world"..Was that something close to 42?

A quick and so possibly inaccurate analysis of the root causes of the state's issues delineates the following - religion, ethnicity, simple economic or social freedom or more profound political hegemony. These, in reality in most cases, are not the causes, but alibis. Nine times out of ten, offenses seem to be committed in the name of these causes, supposedly for these causes, and by the torchbearers of these causes, but on another astute look, these are committed to satiate the voluptuous animal-instinct-driven desire to "even-out" the previous offenses. It's all in the individual's mind...the human ego is the most dangerous entity in the world...If that is brought under considerable control, some (and a considerable some) of the prevalent issues might be addressed.

Getting spiritual, in the exact sense of the word is a daunting (maybe a little fatuous) thing to ask for , to the happy-go-lucky youthful citizen of the state. Not many would remain tongue-tied or limbs-tied when confronted in a nasty verbal duel, but most folks, can circumvent the start of any verbal duel at all, with just "some tolerance to the supposedly extraneous elements of culture and brotherhood".

Thatz the keyword - tolerance. If the slum-dwelling or bungalow-residing citizen of the state understands that there is a world much bigger than their biggest slums or bungalows and which has interspersed cultures and societies that have evolved in much similar ways as theirs, and learn to tolerate the non-congruent pieces of the similar cultures, and realize the folly of expending their seemingly infinite energies on frivolous diminutives,would certainly bring down the number of emanating bitter broils, if not control all the existing feuds.

Am not indoctrinating complete obeisance to injustice or infiltration, a state and its societies ought to be bolstered by a daunting defense system, that dosen't attack at the drop of a gun. Not to trike back when struck, to disobey and to disregard the opponent are, in my opinion, more powerful weapons, that those emerging from the nucleus of the atom, for they miniscule the more threatening entity - the human ego. However, it takes a great deal of maturity of the mind to practise non-violence. Considering India's Independence story and the great soul who championed non-violence, it is seemingly not totally impossible in India. That calls for another pedestal of mind though, and more surmountingly, another Gandhi. Nonetheless, tolerance , the first step toward non-violence is quite probable. So, let's look within before we leap...

Child is the Father of Man!!

2009-01-30T22:11:00.006+05:30

Paradoxes are prepossessing...paradoxes in people or paradoxes in proverbs..The beauty of a paradox is perhaps its quizzical complexity or the challenge it offers in unwinding the wired "usual" perception of things in general. This one (the title paradox) is no exception...When I (the average human blessed with average intellect) try to discern the paradox, it fails me at first attempt..How can a child become a father, of any man or mankind? How at all would one elucidate this statement - biologically or religiously or spiritually ?

Most times, the most intricate knots are unwired only to unravel more intricate knots, at times, they unravel some nascent truths, naked to the human eye and yet, nebulous to the human intellect. The title paradox was romantically nebulous to me for a long while (romantic because it had been stated by the most romantic poets of all times - William Wordsworth), until recently, when I chanced to watch this Tamil movie 'Abhiyum Naanum'. I've never been a great Tamil movie buff, but this one stands out among other pluses, in its silent yet potent explanation of this paradox..Man becomes a complete Man, when he fathers a child, biologically, emotionally and intellectually...So its a child that maketh a man..Child fathers a man...Child is the Father of Man...

This explanation, has its own fallacies since, it is quite circumscribed by the capacities or incapacities of my limited intellect and its interpretation. There could be several other plausible explanations..Afterall, its poetry at its romantic best..its left open to the reader's interpretation. There's another exegesis, which I'd like to believe is credible enough..Have you ever wondered in any typical "happy family setup", (say the Indian middle class family), how a child, initally as a infant and later as a toddler, depends on its parents for its physical needs, learns how to walk or talk from its parents, learns the first alphabet from its parents, submits atleast selectively to the parents' authority, and grows old? And when the child grows old enough, the parents depend on the child for their emotional needs, have to learn to use the latest technological necessities of the age from the child (and keep praying for the pedagogical patience in imparting the supposedly obvious tech-stuff) and submit to the child's authority during the generation gap quibbles ? As the child grows, the child becomes the father...the patriarch of the house...while the biological father evolves to his second childhood - sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

A child is a child while he is still growing...when Man is the father...Man speaks and the child listens...and when the child has sufficiently and relatively "grown up", the child speaks and Man listens...the child is no longer a child, he is the father...the patriarch

If you are able to discern the rationale in that exposition, you are probably as insane as I am :) , if you haven't or unwilling to accept the argument, I'd be pleased to hear your contentions...In any case, lets pamper the child in us...Its after all the enlightening hope to mankind...

Colonial Conceit...

2008-12-26T21:51:00.007+05:30

I'd rate Pride and Prejudice (2005 version) to be one of the finest movies ever made, not just for depicting an epic love story with a steadfast screenplay that captured most of the compelling narratives and conversational nuances of the book, thereby limning the quintessence of the truly outstanding classic that it is, but also for portraying medieval England naked, and yet beautiful - from its head to heels - from the 18th century English dance to the countryside gossip, the horse chariot to paper-ink-pen, English breakfast to the study, the ladies gowns to the men's boots.... and of course the ostentatious English pride...

The English are supposedly proud folks...not just the Knights and the Dames, but every English butler and governess was known to be proud."The Sun never sets in the British empire" is a well-known anthem that aptly delineates their pride...And honestly, they had every reason to be...They'd ruled almost half of the globe, they've given us some of the best literature of the world - Wordsworth or Shakespeare, Milton or Keats, and they'd produced some of the most abundant guns, germs and steel than many other continents...

Indians are a proud bunch as well, not just proud of our rich and varied heritage (you know where I plagiarized this phrase from - Our National pledge that we were supposed to rote-memorize in kindergarten), but also proud of our culture and literature..A parallel inspection of the customs of the peoples is baffling in its abundance of similarity, yet dearth of congruence..I find Mrs Bennet (mother of five daughters who cannot think of anything else but marrying them off to filthy rich gentlemen in Pride and Prejudice) so similar to Vadivamba (mother of Mohana, who wants her daughter to get married to the best men in town in Thillana Mohanambal) and Lady Catherine (the rich and arrogant English Dame who uses her power and influence to fix marriages in her favor in Pride and Prejudice) so similar to Madanpur Maharaja (the affluent king who uses his authority to allure Mohana in Thillana Mohanmbal) . The medeival English obeisance and the erstwhile Indian greeting of namaskaram, the English womenfolk gossip and the Indian wedding gossips /complaints, the English afternoon tea and the Indian evening filter kaapi, Hamlet's soliloquay "To be or Not to Be" by Shakespeare and Hanuman's in Sundara Gandam by Kamban are all nuggets of a parallel study in contrast...

There are definately disparities arising from geographical, climatical and economic differences between the peoples, but yet the similarity is striking...Thats why I love Pride and Prejudice as much as I love Thillana Mohanambal...and I like the English countryside lake as much as I like the Indian pastoral temple kulam..Both instigate poetry in a romantic soul...
But the similarity ends there...I love India more...

I forgot..There's another furtive reason why I'd rate Pride and Prejudice one of the best movies ever made.....I love Mr.Darcy :)

Who would bell the Elephant??

2008-12-06T22:36:00.011+05:30

This blog post is a digression...this is about my beloved bleeding country - India. Until a few days back, I'd been one of those unpatriotic, if not disloyal Indian taxpayer, too busy in quotidian qualms (like tax calculation) to be worried about the Indian state. To me or my "techie" associates, Indian politics or any banter bordering it, served as a contentious lunch-time discussion, and was comfortably forgotten on returning back to our qualms. This Nov 26, a few young men changed it. It's been more than a week now, the Mumbai episode and the sad state of India continues to plague me. Public memory is supposedly short-lived, mine is shorter-lived, and lest I forget, here's the post...

There were terror strikes...lives were taken away in a way that was not supposed to be... feelings of apprehension, gloom and anger ensued amongst the Indian diaspora... a few political positions were re-arranged ...and with the mundane necessities of the lives that exist, amidst resting resentment, we are bouncing back with the usual "indomitable spirit". Anger is of some good, only if it gets translated to actions, bolstered by a rationale to retrospect on what went wrong...

What breastfeeds such terrorism? Is it the usual fallback factor - religious fanaticism or a deeper psychological phenomenon of vengeance of an offended community or a more economic reason of indigence or is it some burgeoning business somewhere? None of the above? Or all of the above? Or any of the above?Answers please!!!

Whatever it is, it would do us good to discern disdainfully that a state has no complete control over terrorism especially if it is emanating from a land outside its jurisdiction. But it does have complete control over its own defense and the intelligence feeding it. So, it is every Indian subject's (taxpayer or tax calculator) expectation that his government would defend him against terrorism with its daunting defense and would foil the best-laid plans of terrorism with its inate intelligence. So what went wrong this time?

No, dont blame just the politicians again..Remember the bureaucrats ? Politicians may come and politicians may go, but a bureaucrat goes on forever...Together, with their actions or non-actions, politicians and the bureaucrats have let the average Indian's expectation down..yet again..Is it because the men in power didnt act or the men who wanted to act didnt have the power? If so, is there something fundamentally wrong with the system of the "largest" democracy in the world? Afterall, we do not choose our leaders directly, India is an indirect democracy...representation is indirect, power is distributed, and so is accountability..

Well, there have been a few success stories of the bureaucracy too..Railways for instance, as quoted by a friend.The same friend barbs "...The politicians must leave the able bureaucrats to themselves, give them their space and time..and the results will ensue.." True, how many politicians do that? And how many "able bureaucrats" exist in the system today? I dont have the statistics, (Statistics are like bikinis, what they show is suggestive, but what they conceal is vital), but the vital picture is not too appealing...

So what do we do to make the picture more appealing? Given that we are bound by the vicissitudes of this existing system, the best the average Indian could do is to raise the class of the average politician and the average bureaucrat. So would you, the above-average reader of this post, quit your white collared or collarless job and become an above-average politician or bureaucrat? Would you bell this supposedly wise elephant called India?

Good Time to Read This?

2008-09-06T22:25:00.014+05:30

Before you proceed, stop right now and answer this question - How superstitious are you? 0% - bad, 100% - worse, 50-50 - well, no comments..If unable to answer that direct question, answer these auxilliary pointers - Do you believe that your prayer would be answered the way you want it to be, when a gecko chirps (what do you call that irreproducible sound that geckos make) ? Do you check the Raahu Kaalam of the day when you kick start a new course? Do you wear the same dress that you wore on a successful interview, for every damn interview you attend, even if it is unkempt? Do you believe that the ring of a bell (be it a bicyclist's bell or a telephone bell ) asserts an event that you are discussing then at the precise moment? More generally, do you associate events and happenings in the present with the signs of the past and more importantly, do you predict the future with the signs and superstitions of the present?

My Superstition Quotient (Its a new word I've coined skillfully, dont look it up, Its not there yet..) is a peu pres __ (secret). For quite sometime, dating back to almost quarter of a century, I was raised to be superstitious. Someone, somewhere told me that superstitions are God's own way of sending signals to humans and it was upto to us mortals to decipher those scrambled signals. Well, that was food for thought for the miniscule rational part of my head. The rather overly observant part of my head continued to look-out for encrypted signals from God, I would have deciphered them correctly, just that there was too much of an inter-signal-interference (or simply noise).

So as you may have guessed, nine times out of ten, my signal-reading is incorrect. - Nine events out of ten prove them wrong. And yet that one (out of a ten) event, that I may have predicted correctly (and for which I take undue credit) , makes me continue to infer signals. This signal reading got accentuated after I chanced to read 'The Alchemist'. You are preached to follow your dreams and believe in superstitions to attain the glory you are destined for..

Ok, herez the deal - Let us give it to God - He does send some signals which we term superstitions . Lets assume they are valid...God for some indecipherable reason, chose those signals to be in encrypted form, so when the ordinary mortal , with all his fallacies and limitations tries to interpret them and (assuming he is as intelligent as I am), gets them wrong? Is it glory he is destined for or doom? But what if he does get them right - Does he end up with the treasure as with the shephard in The Alchemist? Or do you have to hire an Alchemist for this?

Another paramater in this analysis that usually causes misinterpretation of signals is wishful thinking. The human head is far more likely to interpret signals in a way it would to please its lady-love - the human heart. Afterall, it can't even interrupt when the heart says something..forget displeasing it..

So the question is - Do we have to interpret signals (and superstitons) and go after glory (while we may be actually treading along doom's way) , or not interpret them at all, go neither to glory nor to doom? If it is 50-50, where do we draw the line?

The Mistress of Spices..

2008-08-01T22:11:00.009+05:30

No, this post is not another rave review of the recent film, nor is a critical analysis of the book by the same name, nor is it about Aishwarya Rai, the lead actor in the film. This post is about every Indian woman who happens to command the kitchen, be it sugar or spices, carrots or coconuts, halwa or their husbands who linger around longingly.....this post is dedicated to that Indian Woman...The Mistress of Spices....

Everybody loves their mother's food. A mom-made sambar is way better than a McDonald's burger or even a Subway sandwich and healthier too...simply because of the spices or the lack of it...more because she knows how you'd like it..
I love my mom's food too...I grew up savoring the various delicacies, be it idlis or mysore paks. Yes, I did call idlis a delicacy. Its after all, mom-made..I can go down listing all my favorite recipes that my mom does, extolling her above all creatures, but I curtail myself, not just because of space constraints, but because, every mom 's recipe becomes the kid's favorite, espcially after the kid sets out to experiment and satiate his quest and curiousity for the multi-cuisine food available outside..and reproachfully retreats to the mostly harmless home food.

My semantic teammate would understand, I was pretty finicky about food and the accessories(side dishes) that went with it, I wanted only the ellu mulagai podi with mom-made idlis, while I preferred (and still prefer) the sambar and the medley of colored chutneys with the idlis at the restaurants..I simply refused to mutate this simple association, guess its been injected into my DNA...slowly..and I cant fathom how or why.

Speaking of restaurants and DNAs, the one place that has been intertwined with my DNA strands as the restaurant, is the preeminent 'Arya Bhavan By Night' at Madurai, the city where I grew up. Those were the days, when my dad used to take me there, we waiting and groping for seats for at least about half an hour, ravenous with hunger, lustfully looking at the food being carried around to serve desirous mouths..And all for that plate of a couple of sambar vadai's and spiced thayir vadai's...Bangalore restaurants offering multi-varied cuisines from different geographies, food courts in malls, fast food centers in airport lounges have done little to detangle that nostalgic DNA strand.

True, spices exist in other continents as well, the Greek cinnamon, Chinese fenugreek, Italian basils and oregano, Mexican jalapeno, Hungarian juniper berries, I've tasted most of these and like a few of them, but I love the Indian perungayam, ginger, elachi, mustard more...Just as how, cooks exist everywhere, but the Indian cook is special...Don't ask me why...I am conditioned to reflect that way...

Am not sure how healthy any of these spices are, I dont want to dwelve in detail into the chemical characertisitics of each. As long as tehre is thayir sadham (with the spiced pickle accessory) to support my digestive system, after a round of spicy restaurant food followed by the usual intestinal washup routine, I would continue to savor the spices...and the Mistress of Spices....

Probability is God!!!

2008-07-07T09:29:00.016+05:30

If you agree with this rather audacious claim, then you are either too wise to be reading this blog post or, you have probably read God's Debris and with the wisdom of common sense, you are willing to ponder about this statement, and its equally contentious converse - God is Probability!!!

I am, as you may have guessed with my previous posts, not too wise. I happened to read God's Debris, and I happen to be common-sensical , and I coined these propositions. Here is the inductional hypothetical base upon which I try to prove these..

Probability is based on the law of averages. The probability of getting a head while tossing a coin is (1/2). Does it mean that when you toss a coin twice, you are guaranteed to get head once and a tail once? Not really!!! It means that when you toss a coin 100 times, you are likely to get heads 50 times and tails 50 times, and when you toss the same Godforbidden coin 1000 times, you are more likely to get heads 500 times and tails 500 times. Probability tends to become an eventuality in the average case..Life's like that... It's a probability distribution...You can just maxmize the expectation of an event in life, you can never assure the outcome of any sporadic event.

Another interesting hypothesis in the book is the parallel drawn between the Normal distribution curve and Creation. Why is that a few folks are more intelligent than a few others? They are simply normalized to be smarter, they just happen to fall in the middle ranges of the curve, some are normalized to be dumb, they are toward the curve's minima. Intelligence, color of your skin, shape of your nose, length of your fingers, span of your life, every damn thing that is created is normalized. You could in some cases (not all), influence the probability the way you want by maximizing or minimizing it, but cannot control it..

So where does God come into this probability-creation theory? Well, God is often associated with the initial Big Bang energy that created the Universe. So it looks like that cosmic energy or God as I would like to call it , had a copy of Guassian Bell curve, while creating the Universe and its life forms, and continues to do that. So God did play dice with the Universe!!

Another stupendous corollary to reinforce the above hypothesis is that events in life are normalized as well. You are normalized to be lucky...You are bound to be lucky at times, and bound to be unlucky at certain other times...And isn't Luck synonymous with God? We pray for good luck and we pray to God to bestow good luck..in effect, when you pray, you maximize the expectation of an event's outcome...So, there is a transitive relation between Luck, Creation, Probability and God ...and an equivalence relation between God and Probability...

Hence Proved!!!
Probability is God and God is Probability!!!

A Thing of Beauty...

2008-06-25T12:35:00.019+05:30

"...Is a Joy For ever...". Am not the most ardent fan of this version of veritas by Keats, Am more fond of - "Beauty is just Skin Deep", but many a time, it is a little Deeper than you may expect, especially if you have frequented a beauty salon. The obscure truth that beauty lies in the twitching and twirling of the brows, waxing and waning of the limbs, thumping and thudding of the body (aka massaging), colouring and camouflaging the hair, becomes blatant, the moment you enter a salon.

Beauty salons are pervasive these days. You can't miss the Godforsaken parlour on your street or the branded salon round the corner. Its just a slight variation in the cost. Or a slighter mutation of species accosting you - the rather indistinguishable petite salon-hosts..The pain is painfully, the same. It is the same body afterall. The question is, is the pain justified? Wasn't Cleopatra far more beautiful (or atleast equally beautiful) than Aishwarya Rai with far fewer salons and artificial dyes around?

Beauty is a rat race today. If you are not a part of it, you are out by default.

I refused to enter a beauty salon for a considerably long time. Raised in a traditional suburb, I was led to believe that lipsticks and mascaras were for those underprivileged creatures who were not bestowed with "natural beauty". Wasn't I one of the "naturally" most beautiful of the race?...And I continued to look quite natural, and normal...until, I succumbed to the rat race as well..

Today, I can't exist without an eyeliner. Perceptibly, my connotations of beauty have undergone mammoth changes. I frequent a salon atleast once a month for the various routines .And I know not of a single female acquaintance who dosen't. And I know quite many male acquaintances who do. Well, it is extremely appreciable that males are learning to endure pain these days, though the pain is largely unwarranted, If only nature had contrived this when it had to choose between the genders for the ultimate endurance........

So, with all the endurance and encumberance, am I beautiful?? Not sure, it is best left to the beholder, (or beerholder, to quote my semantic teammate ). Though I cant help wishing that I had kept my distance from the beauty salons and stayed "naturally normal". It would have saved me a fortune if not anything else..

A thing of beauty is certainly a pain for a while, physical and fiscal, if not a joy for ever..

An Engineer's Apology..

2008-05-03T12:22:00.010+05:30

Prelude - Hardy's 'A Mathematician's Apology'. A one-of-its-kind essay which gives a sneak peek into the mind of a mathematician.

Excerpts from the book:

"The function of a mathematician is to do something, to prove new theorems, to add to mathematics, and not to talk about what he or other mathematicians have done. .......there is no scorn more profound, or on the whole more justifiable, than that of the men who make for the men who explain. Exposition, criticism, appreciation, is work for second-rate minds.. "

"Good work is no done by ‘humble’ men. It is one of the first duties of a professor, for example, in any subject, to exaggerate a little both the importance of his subject and his own importance in it."

Mathematicians are a rare breed...an extremely gifted hashset of specimens endowed with an insatiable ego...They contribute more Mathematics, prove conjectures and add more theorems , not because they want them to be practically useful to the world, but because of the "intellectual curiosity, professional pride" they derive out of their research..Euler, one of Mathematics' greatest warriors, is known to have expelled a student from the university for having questioned him for the practical usefulness of a theorem..

One of the most elusive theoroms to be ever solved in Mathematics..the deceivingly simple Fermat's Last Theorem, was considered romantic and honored by the entire mathematical fraternity, not because proving it found an antidote to nuclear reactions, but because of the sensational pride associated with cracking a three-century-old riddle..Andrew Wiles finally proved the theorem after a decade of reclusive work...
And thus, mathematicians continue to live happily ever after....

Engineers on the other hand, solve equations for the sake of practical implications they have...While a mathematician judges a problem by its difficulty, an engineer judges it by its usefulness..And many a time, the supposed usefulness of the solution overshadows the beauty of the very problem that demands it...

Engineering is more sensibility than sense...To make things clearer, how many of us write beautiful code as against working code? And how would one define beauty in engineering? It is best left to the reader to answer that question..In my opinion, there is very little that an engineer can do with his aesthetic sense to satiate his voluptuous pride...

I am not apologizing on behalf of the engineering fraternity...Probably they have more practical reasons to be or not to be than any other exisiting ones...Am apologizing to the mathematical egotist hidden inside every engineer, who is denied a chance to surface in this engineering whirlpool...Warm Regards to thee....

PS - An equally controversial blog post...

The Temple of Small Things.....

2008-04-18T23:26:00.013+05:30

Everybody loves Pillaiyar...I love him too...for many reasons...He is not-so-good looking, he is huge, he does not admonish you even if you scathe him, he grants wishes, big and small, immediate and mediate, (He is the God of Wishes!!!)and he is ubiquitous..every other street in an Indian city (and every apartment) is bound to have atleast one small Ganesha temple or atleast a perch, where he is blissfully poised...

I frequent a neigboring "Pillayar kovil" everyday, its a small temple neatly architected, and beckons me with its mystic silence..After a hectic day's running around with bizarre intellections, I try to spend about ten minutes in this temple to oraganize the random thoughts... Maybe if this recollection is done in the presence of the Elephant God, He would erroneously assume that I am dreaming about Him and only Him, grant a few more wishes I put forth to Him....
Maybe not... He has a brain as big as His head to see through my chants....Well, am I the wishful thinker or is He??

Today is a typical day at work, I go to the temple ...I see the usual main players around....the lady who sells flowers and arugambul who looks at me earnestly for a ten-rupee-transaction, the young and vivacious junior gurukkals who patiently repeat the mundane routine of aarthi and theertham to every damn living thing that enters the temple...the senior gurukkal who has been self promoted to the more lucrative fortune-telling business, sitting with the panjangam of an erstwhile era, future-telling the always great futures of the faithful crowd waiting on him, And of course, the Lord Himself in a corner... I sense something by its absence today...and I look around, and there it comes....a brand new Bajaj Pulsar 180 DTS-i brought straight from the showroom to the temple, seeking the Lord's blessings...our Ganesha entertains atleast two vehicles a day..He is the Vehicle God...

I leave my footwear obediently outside the temple , enter it, exchange a greeting with the junior gurukkals, nod at the Lord and accept the aarthi deeparadhanai.I then go around the Lord's statue an odd no of times, chant the 'Vinayagar agaval' - the only decent slogam I know, and think about my wishes for the day and petition my lifetime wishes...all at once....well, I am good at multiprocessing....I then sit down after the namaskarams. I close my eyes, tune in to the Ganesha chants in the background....and let my sixth sense take over...I open my eyes to see enlightenment, I see a pair of skinny jeans and spaghetti-topped girls dutifully seeking Ganesha's blessings, their eyes are closed in reverance, others eyes are wide open...in well, a natural reflex...

The old couple enter the temple...They are a cute pair, must be in their 60-70s. They go for a regular evening walk and drop by the temple as a custom. They don't talk to each other, just an occasional nod, and an eye-signal when its time to leave...And then there is the younger pair, to whom the temple is a conveneient rendezvous for the daily meeting up and catching up...They are busy ranting and giggling, oblivious to the surroundings....Well, Ganesha does have a good history of pairing up lovers...He helped His younger brother Subramanya make his sweetheart Valli fall for him, and it wasn't a straightforward way.....He is the Indian Lover's God as well.
And then the school girls, who have their public exams shortly,praying their hearts out for 'better than the best' marks and more importantly, 'easier than expected' questions....Ganesha undoubtedly is the Student God as well!!

I wait for my hero...and he does turn up finally, toddling besides his grandmother and elder brother...I smile at him...he looks at me and keeps looking at me, and looking at me, he trips down. He gets up, looks away from me, and runs besides his grandmother who is now going around the Lord. Together they complete the odd no of revolutions, and as serendipity would have it, they sit beside me. The boy looks at me again, and his eyes meet mine, they remain transfixed for a while, I sense love, he senses some unknown fear, and he inches towards his grandmother letting out a whine. His grandmother draws him close, he snuggles to her lap, and avoids me. In a few minutes, he takes a bold look at me again, I remain smiling at him, he can't take that anymore, runs behind the navagraha statue and remains hidden...His grandmother is puzzled, and so is his elder brother, they call out to him, he does not acknowledge.."Why is he hiding behind?" his grandmother asks, well, only two heads know the answer, I chuckle to myself...Whatever do I do to young men ;) ??

So, what is my purpose of these daily temple visits? I am wondering to myself...I can't think of any, but am reminded of this poetic line by a friend..."When Purposelessness becomes the Purpose,... it is Homecoming"....I head for home....

What's in a name?

2008-01-12T21:18:00.002+05:30

Are you one of those multitudes of people who go crazy about the "brand" when you pick a T- shirt or a travel bag? Do you go for branded Australian apples from XXXX's Fresh or do you settle in for the less privileged but equally nutritious ones on the platforms of Madiwala market? Do you judge a book by the book-keeper's looks and diction? Do you buy a "Marks and Spencer" plain T shirt for a couple of grands with no negotiation, just return the wistful smile of the well-dressed hosts of M&S and yet argue at the top of your lungs for a couple of tens for the same kind but less dear T shirt with an under privileged platform-wala at Commercial Street? If you answer in the affirmative for any of these, then tell me why..

One reason springing up at the top of my mind is "Quality Assurance" - the phrase synonymous with brand. I'd anyday pick a Titan watch, spend a little more bucks and get the warranty and assurance of quality than one of those flashy non-branded cheaper ones available in the platforms. Most of us choose the branded counter-parts for electronic/electrical goods. But brands are so pervasive in our lives...from groceries to gloves..and where do we draw the line?

Why is the passion for a Samsonite travel bag that costs a fortune more than its non-branded equally good (??) counterparts so huge? Not to mention the Nike shoes , Provogue T shirts and Garnier body lotions? Is it that all the non-branded items are inferior in quality or that all the branded items meet up to the fortune that they cost?

And if you thought brands applied just to the products, think again...How many of us go to PVR and Inox cinemas, willingly spend more when the same movie is screened in less flashy theatres? How many students go to branded engineering and medical colleges for better recognition and career growth? Its the same syllabus after all...Do all branded institutions have the consumerate infrastructure or faculty? And how many of us travel miles to go to branded beauty salons when we could get the same service from an obscure but good salon next door? Brands just seem ubiquitous from pre-school to technical companies, from sanitary napkins to hair cremes.

To me, it is also seems like a kind of marketing strategy...the more unaffordable an item is seemed to look like, the more value it seems to carry, and it is sold like crazy among the "currency - creamy" population. To me, it seems like brands are a trap...And, if I sound like I've evaded the trap, well, no..am one of those vulnerable victims of the brand-game. I get an Australian apple from XXXX's Fresh, pay more for the AC charges and fight for five bucks with the platform-wala outside the shop for guavas. Am just wondering "What's in the name" that makes me and a few others do that (Hopefully I'm not the only one contributing madly the brand way to the Indian economic explosion)...If you have answers, please tell me why....

PS : A case in point (Thanks to Harish for the link)

Confessions of a Professional!!!

2007-11-10T20:04:00.001+05:30

I'd always held the opinion that for everyday contentment, one needs to work on something that one enjoys doing most..so that it dosen't seem like "work". "Pursue your passion, and get paid for it"...I jabbered in school. "Convert your passion to profession", I blabbered in college.

Let me try to define profession and passion here. There are a lot of web-definitions for a "professional" - Here are a few interesting ones:
1. The Devil's Advocate definition: A professional is one who is supposed to know everything about something and nothing about the remaining.
2. The Wiki definition: A professional is a worker required to possess a large body of knowledge about something derived from extensive formal academic study.
3. The one I like most: One that is carried out for money, especially as a livelihood.

I'm sure all of we, professionals would fit into one or more of the above definitions to justify our "professional ethics".

And passion - Not many unfathomable definitions. I've a few words though - Love, Desire, Ardent Enthusiasm. I'd consider passion to be synonymous with one's heart. Anything that one's heart leaps at the thought of doing.

Given these "mostly acceptable" definitions, can you try answering the next inevitable question that ensues - "Have you made your passion your profession"?

If you want to poke your finger at me questiongly, here I go - Most of my passions dwindle and burgeon non-linearly with time, and my profession is what seemed most profitable and a little passion-driven on the day of reckoning. And here I am - a "Professional Programmer". That's a politically (or professionally) correct answer - Isn't it??

I had a lot of ideas for "passion-to-be-converted-to-professions" in school. One that I always glibbed a lot to friends is "writing/reading-to-be-converted-to-journalism". I was fond of books and the smell that worms produce on them and wanted to be associated with them eternally. Deep down the corner of my little heart, I did have a regret until recently that I didn't translate that passion into a profession. Until recently, until, I read this short-story by OHenry: Confessions of a Humorist. I'd recommend everyone who has such "extra-professional" desires or affairs to read that great piece of literature.

For those who haven't got serenity to go through the pages, herez a brief synopsis: A humorist discovers that he is a good-humorist as long as humor is not his bread-winning profession. When professional humor is forced on him, it fails him. He snipes on his wife and kids in search of humor fruitlessly and eventually makes life miserable for himself. At the end, alls well that ends well..he takes up a more mundane profession, and humor comes back naturally to him..

Assuming that this theory is true for five-out-of-ten average people according to the law of averages, does it imply that we have to take up mundane jobs in order to thrive our passions?? I gave a lot of thought to this and came up with this little pointer - There is a bit of art and science in everyone. (And to distinguish art from science, heres a quick definition - "Art is I, Science is We".)
The humor skills of the hero in the story or the my reading/writing skills(??) are but art. Art cannot be forced, and hence in my humble opinion, dosen't qualify to be a bread-winner.Science is more indulgent, and so more than certifies to be one "profitable budding profession".

So what about the "Professional artistes"???? Well, I've stirred a hornet's nest in this post, do shoot your ideas and arguments in favor and against..

Life or Something Like It....

2007-07-22T22:12:00.001+05:30

How many times have you heard yourself say this - "Life sucks!!! Why is all this happening only to me?? God is unfair..Or does He exist after all??"Any of these or their variations means you are going through a bad patch or you are having one of those "dog days".

I've has numerous such dog days...Herez one such typical day...I am fast asleep...Its 7.30 AM in the morning..The alarm buzzes..I promptly switch it off anf go back to sleep counting on my body clock to wake me up exactly ten minutes later (I thought I'd programmed my body clock to do that...wake me up ten minutes after that inital realworld alarm .Wait..did I say I programmed??Then you know what to expect)...

So as the story goes....I get up half an hour after the inital alarm...thanks to my friend's alarm..I switch on the geyser...And off goes the power.....I go to the dark bathroom...knock the bucket down..producing some noisy vibrations that ensue a few more noisier vibrations from my room-mate who is still fast asleep..I try to be done with some of the regular morning chores(You know what I mean) and the water dosen't flush....Therez no power for the motor....Now nothing irritates me more than this ...How many of you beleive in Murphy's laws??

I cleanse my body and mouth quickly with ice-cold water.. come out...cant find the best fit apparel for the day....I finally make do with a not-so-good one....get dressed up quickly (just half an hour for getting made up :(...have to make up for the extra slumber)...go down gulp down the dosa without the chutney (no power for the mixie, you see) and walk out in the morning crowd hoping to magically get a seat in any of the BMTC buses.

Having gotton used to the BMTC buses for over six months at Bangalore, I consider myself fairly good at judging a bus by its front and back looks (as well as I do with people - one of my innate snap judgements)...I know which of them to get into in order to find a ladies seat atleast..I skip as much as five six or six buses to get into the seventh...And as good old Murphy would have it, five or six times out of seven, my judgements are wrong...I end up standing my five-kilometre-one-hour-bus-straddle through the traffic pleasantly brushing the equally pleasant co-passengers..

I finally reach my office...and dutifully start working..I check my mails and orkut scraps...An hour passes by and I decide to switch over to my Solaris box finally...There has been this bug that has to be fixed since two months...Its a very simple fix, the testing is just a little elaborative..my team-lead reassures me...I make the code change..itz simple enough...the usual copy-paste...I build the product image...the build fails....Looks like some OS issue...I try to resolve it my way...I reboot my Solaris box....it dosen't reboot....complains something in technically very foul language and expressions...and refuses to honor my commands...I seek my supposedly tech-savvy team-mate's help to resolve the issue...After some dilly-dallying he finally takes agrees to take a look..He tries some commands that he knows I wouldn't know and gives me the same-old expression and conclusion...Its broke....He then retires to his own tech-crunch blogs that he has to catch up with...

I call up a friend in the OS team for help...He promises to come by in an hour....I relax in the relaxing Windows box...orkut and Google Talk again...Just then , (as good old Murphy would have it) my team-lead walks by my monitor and takes a look at those interesting scraps and chat one-liners....(You get the most interesting pop-ups only when your team-lead is standing by your system)..I demonstrate the issue to her and she gives the same old expression again...Try to fix the issue and have the bug-fix checked in....

My friend from OS team does turn up....takes a look at the poor box...types a few commands that I would have been probably aware of, if only I had discerned what they were...These OS guys have a way of typing those fast Solaris commands so fast that they and only they know whats happening...And the box seems to be talking to them in a totally different way than it does when I try handling it...It responds to their touches while it refuses mine...After a few minutes, he declares "I know what it is...you've broken the link to the /bin file". "Oh no, I didn't"..And while I keep rejecting his claims and am trying to think of plausible explanation, he quickly creates the link and reboots the box..and Lo and Behold...it boots......Wow.......Lunch time....

And between the afternoon siesta, I try to build the image and test it...(It takes an hour and a half to test that fix, its just a little elaborative you see)...And the fix dosen't work..I am not shaken....One of the golden rules in Software is that if your fix works for the first time, therez something seriously wrong about the fix, I re-iterate this new-age Murphy's rule to myself and go back to the code fix..I take a deep breath and an astute look...And there...I'd forgotten the negation operator in the condition check, and it devotedly behaved the opposite way, as it should....I make that change, build and test...And this time while I test, the server refuses to start....And the logs report some new error that I have no clue about..(Another of those golden rules - Whenever you look at the logs, you will find an error you have never seen before)..

While I keep brooding about it, my manager walks by with my lead..They look rather annoyed..."Did you test the fix you made about Bug XXXXX on Monday??"He asks rather loudly I thought..."Yeah, I did"...I respond rather meekly...."The product is not installing in Windows, and reports the error related to your bug-fix. QA have raised a new P1 stopper ...This is the last build for the release and this issue is delaying it up...Yyy Xxx from QA says this problem is even reproducible in Solaris....If yes, this is a SERIOUS problem, This is rather shameful of us.Check that out"...He leaves, leaving me thunder-struck.

Now, I am shaken....Not yet stirred though...I try to install it on Solaris....I chant all the prayers I can think of....I call up my mom and ask her to pray....Time dosen't fly...it crawls....And finally yes, it does install on Solaris.... and another round of testing by a team-mate doubly ensures that...The bug was only with Windows...It wasn't as bad as we thought...I heave a sigh of relief....I know I can't take more for the day....And yet the P1 stopper....my manager's temper..

I walk back to the stop reflecting how doggy the day was....Why is all this happening only to me?? God is unfair..I pass a neigboring temple that I used to frequent on normal days...I somehow don't feel like praying anymore....I am too exhausted for it....And then I see him....waving at me enthusiastically from the temple.....He smiles broadly while he waves...And then he returns to sweeping the temple...The old hunchback who has made that temple his home...the wrinkled skinned septuagenerian to whom I spare a penny or two whenever I frequent the temple and get a toothless broad smile in return..Today I didn't give him the penny, but he did give me that smile and a wave...and he didn't know...he also made me realise that I'm blessed after all....and he also made me discern the beauty of life or something like it....It is worth living after all these dog days....

Let Murphy go and hang himself.......

Thillana Mohanambal.....

2007-06-10T11:58:00.000+05:30

Here's some plain speaking...I stay at Bangalore and yet I've never been any good with movies or with catching up with the latest releases. I can never be dedicated to any task for more than a few minutes, and being glued to the silver screen for two-and-a-half or three hours is not, in many cases, an exception. I do have quite a few English favorites though (This is affectionately called the UK effect by some of my team-mates). Given a choice, I would prefer the Tamil oldies to the latest Hindi or the regional masalas. And speaking of Tamil oldies, the one film that pops up in my mind is this evergreen classic Thillana Mohanambal..

It is truly a classic..not only because it is set in the early to mid nineteenth century or because it is of Eastman colour..but also because generations after generations, people (children and adults alike) have found pleasure in every scene of the movie..I've watched the movie a zillion times before and I can play the entire movie in my mind's eye uninterruptedly (sans the irritating ads), and yet, I never miss an opportunity to watch it again discovering newer connotations in every scene and adding richer appreciation to every character. Well, its after all a classic....

For those of you who are not familiar with the story, here is a very brief synopsis of the movie...
Sikkil Shanmughasundaram (a role adorned by Shivaji Ganesan to the extent of religious perfection) is a very talented but rather irritable 'Nadaswara vidwan'. Mohanambal (played by Padmini) is an equally talented and gorgeous Bharatanatyam danseuse. Each of them have their own set of troupes. Balaiya, the mridangam vidwan, Thangavelu, the dance master, T.R.Ramachandran (playing the role of Varada) are a few of them.

Well guys, its the proverbial love at first sight and first hear for them (you got to hear the nadaswaram and watch the Bharatanatyam dance). Its more of a magnetism between the Nadam and Bharatam, the arts, and consequently the corresponding artistes. And that's another reason why its a favourite of mine (its love at first encounter ;) ). Back to the plot, Shanmugasundaram's bad-temper and Mohana's mother's lust for money bring in a few villains. Vaithy (played by Nagaesh) accentuates the rift between them, bringing in the Singapura Minor (Balaji) and the Madanpur Maharaja (Nambiar) who are allured by Mohanambal's splendor.

There is also a contest held between the lead artistes, (nadam or bharatham? Sikkil or Mohana? is the question) and the usual wise judgement of both being equally exceptional is delivered. Mohanambal is rightfully bestowed with the title 'Thillana Mohanambal' by none other than Shanmugasundaram himself in praise of her exceptional talent in that form of dance - Thillana...

To cut a long story short, (movies of yesteryears do have a intricate storyline guyz, unlike the modern counterparts which manage to run the reels for three hours with a three-minute plot), Mohana finally manages to appease Shanmugasundaram with her dedication. All's well that ends well...

Now for the critical analysis of the movie....All the songs are classics, with this one standing out... 'Marainthirunthu paarkum marmam enna..' Check out the video on youtube (link provided in this page)....Padmini's abhinayangal, her charm, lithe dance movements, notwithstanding Shivaji's expressions will leave you entranced. My favorite scene in the movie is the train scene, one in which both the troupes are cramped inside a typical Indian third class compartment and fight their guts out for more comfortable seats, berths, and light. Balaiya (the mridanga vidwan and Sivaji's senior accomplice excels in this scene...his is yet another monumental performance in movie.)The young couple, unperturbed by the surrounding scuffles are in their private world conversing with their eyes. How romantic!!! How intense is their affection!!! I seldom get that romantic feel in any of the modern day movies.....Such is the execution of the scene....

And I have quite a few favorite characters in the movie...Its difficult to pick a single superlative, because every single artiste connects to their roles and plays them to the required level of precision. I admire even the seemingly minor roles of Varadha (TRR), Vaithy (Nagaesh), dance master (Thangavelu) or even the vethilaipotti accomplice of Mohana's mother. And yet, one particular character which deserves awesome appreciation is Jiljil Ramamani (seemlessly rendered by Manorama). Her role is marked by ignorance, innocence, good-intentioned stupidity. In my opinion, her performance in the movie is second only to Shivaji Ganesan's...Do leave your favorite scenes and characters in the comments section.

So if there is something which can keep a true Mercurian like me glued to a spot for over three hours, it is a classic like Thillana Mohanambal. You can laugh, cry, emote, sit straight and connect all at once in three hours. That should explain most of it...I can't think of any modern-day sequels that can get even remotely close to this classic...Can you??

The Musical Touch

2007-05-18T16:14:00.000+05:30

"Do you sing? Do you dance? Do you play any musical instruments? Do you know anything that is Carnatic at all??? " Well, these are questions one is likely to be asked at certain specific kinds of interviews :). And my answers to some of them would be typically "I do sing, but at rather restricted places, I do dance but with rather restricted shaking of restricted body parts".. The naked truth is that I'm not Carnatic enough...save for a few forced violin classes in early childhood.

It was the year 1992 or 1993 (Oh No, not another nostalgic one..I can hear you whine..but muster up patience and read on..). My grandfather brought home a violin from his shopping. Music was supposed to be running in my mother's family genes. Well, only later did people realise that I had inherited the paternal gene for music, but it was too late then. At first sight, the violin looked sexy ;) with its deep curves and dark complexion. (Trust me, I was only ten then..)The bow, which my grandfather said is made from a horse's tail, was pretty scary though..a sort of manly security to the curvy lady, it seemed to an exaggerated ten-year-old mind.

My mother dutifully enrolled me in a violin class after many rounds of consultations on who is the best teacher around. My teacher was an octagenerian Iyengar to whom every eligible kid in the neigbourhood reported to with a violin. He was tall, fair, had silver-white hair and was never seen without the namam. He had a very sensitive ear to music, but a not-so-sensitive ear to speech. His ruffian voice more than made up for that though.
I didn't like him at first encounter and I bet he wouldnt have liked me either.

I didn't realise it then, but he was one of the most dedicated teachers I've ever come across so far. Very few of us do justice to the profession we take up, forget being passionate about it, he was one of those rare specimens. He thought I played well, though a little too fast (that was a by-product of my natural impatience he said nail-on-head). He greeted me with a broad smile and called me "Nithi" affectionately. I didn't realise how proud he was of me until one day, when he commented to his wife "Look at how well she plays, she will win in any contest that comes up her way". Well that is something, given that he is supposed to be one of those breeds who don't appreciate students point-blank. Sadly, I didn't appreciate his appreciation either.

Call it impatience or egotism or sheer foolishness, playing the violin and the carnatic numbers didnt seem romantic to me. I played for a while because I was appreciated, played a little more because my parents forced me to, and then stopped playing. I was too busy with my class 6 newly discovered Science subjects - Physics, Chemistry , Botany ,Zoology , and wasn't able to manage time with violin classes also - was the reason I quoted to my parents.
Well, there were many such temporary breaks before the ultimate break..And I decided to continue after the first break because of this cute American cousin of mine who loved to play the violin ;). I wanted to go to the same teacher but I was scared that I had stopped sine die without prior notice. My father made up for his angry spasms with a veshti, some sweet talk. God know how many veshtis my father had bestowed upon him.

In between breaks, I progressed upto the varnas.I loved the Abogi raagam in particular,(for it is played mostly with the third string, if you know what it means) though I'm not the kind who remembers the raagas and thaalas, the arohanams or aurohanams. By then, he was kinda used to my intermittent breaks, and noted sometimes lightly, sometimes seriously "Aana oona odi poyiduva, thirumbi varumbothu appava veshtiyoda sibarisukku kootindu vanthuruva".Until the end, I didnt get the urge to stage-perform with the violin, much to the disappointment of my parents. I was more of an academic, I'd be more interested in the physics of the longitudinal waves the violin produces than the rythms of those waves, I kept re-iterating to myself foolishly. I never progressed beyond the varnas.

At high school and college, I developed a renewed penchant for the violin again. But alas, he was not there..He had moved to Madras then. I tried attending classes under a few others, but could't stand starting from the sa-re-ga-ma again from teachers who were not half as good as he was. And I seriously found it difficult to manage time. I discontinued.....

My mother wanted me to practise what I learnt from him atleast...I didn't know how to fix the sruthi without him , but still I did play with abaswarams for a while until one day when the strings themselves couldn't stand my abaswarams and broke. I didnt know how to fix them. That is the end of the musical touch in my life..Well, its just a touch, nothing further ;)....atleast till now.

Many a time in my adulthood, I'd wished if only I'd been a little more assiduous and paid heed to my parents' words, I would have played the violin with elan today. Atleast, I would have been able to recognize the raagas or be able to tell who sings how on TV in 'Indian Icon' (which is one of the topmost regrets in my life today ;). Or when I listen to this scintillating number 'Unnakul Naanae' from 'Patchaikili Muthucharam', I get those memories flooding back.

Well, I hope to take that musical touch a little deeper. When I do find time, I hope to continue my violin classes sometime in the future. As you would have guessed, the old teacher would not be there to accept me, greet me or teach me inspite of my misgivings. Sustaining the classes can be tough in this demanding corporate world. However it is one of the tributes I ought to give to a great musician and an inspiring teacher.

April..May...Summer...Kids...Camps

2007-04-18T16:14:00.000+05:30

Its April-May now...Blistering sun draining out your energy as you waddle your way through the maddening Bangalore traffic in the "peak" hours....Overhead fans gushing out a whirl of hot air in the nights not allowing you to sleep...The irritating and frequent power cuts in an attempt to save power (more irritating to those who cannot afford the inverters)....SPF Sun Lotions and amla hair cremes in a desperate attempt to protect the skin and hair from getting damaged any further...Shopping malls offering summer sales offers to entice the fat-pocketed Bangaloreans to spend their last penny..and Last but not the least....quenching elani (tender coconut) with their nonpareil vazhukkai seen in almost every road (another of nature's balanced equations)..This is the typical Bangalore summer (I know you wouldn't have guessed that I'm at Bangalore until now) to a quarter-aged working (eligible ;) woman like me...

I was trying to time-travel back to my childhood as is my wont (I only wish time-traveling becomes a reality during my lifetime..)..April-May of the 90s..when I was in say class 6 or class 7 or class 8. Oh...How much I yearned for the April-May holidays then....how I wrapped up the last exam with not a single worry about how I did it....threw up the paper pad and empty bag in air once I reached home.....ate..slept and began my April-May journey with a bang....

I didn't live in a flat...I still had so many friends around me...girls with whom I played hide and seek, shuttle, cricket (We played typical Indian cricket - no running...just batting, bowling from the same spot), fought, called names, cried and smiled with, there were a few boys too who joined us when most of their companions had ditched them to go to a friend's or a relative's place..Needless to say, we dominated them...We also watched the special kids movies that were featured in TV(Doordarshan)for us, read kids' magazines ...had scrap books where we cut-copied-pasted pictures from magazines and compiled our own stories...we enjoyed at least this part of holiday homework (HHW) and loathed the rest of it..(This habit of cut-copy-paste proved to be very useful after we became software engineers..My wise suggestion is to cultivate this habit early in childhood..)The same scorching sun was out there then too...but it never bothered us any more than it bothered the buffaloes on the roads.

For some vacations, we did have some summer camps conducted by schools..Summer camps were a rarity then and our parents jointly packed us off to them. We didn't know what to do in those camps, the sad part is that the teachers didn't know either. For us, it was another opportunity to spend time chatting with friends without the constant thought of books. Well, all this was for April...

Come May, I ran to my grandparents' place - Pondicherry. A new set of friends , a newer set of entertainment greeted me every year there. Paati's glorious and nutritious food, Thatha's stories, cousins ' pranks, sungarakkai (the girlie game of pebbles), cards, carom, and of course yummy mangoes....these made my days at Pondicherry. Books for the next year were distributed by the end of May and my dad dutifully collected them and reminded me of the impending troubles ahead.....Those were best days of my life.....Can you hear me singing??

Back to 2007...Well, I don't have a first-hand account of how April-May treats kids today. I don't have a kid as yet...(for I'm still not married you see ;)) . But I do get to know some second-hand information from colleagues and middle aged women who talk about the kids in the lunch sessions. In March, they live in a constant peril of how they were going to manage their kids once school closes for April-May. Most of them have maids and a few of them send their kids to day-care centres. Some of the kids go to the best summer camps, learn swimming, painting et cetera...but very rarely do they go out for vacation..My female colleagues do admit that there is no vacation for kids unless there is a vacation for the parents.

I'm not exactly cribbing or blaming...we'll have to change with times, and if you are a regular reader of my blog, by now you know what I would call this kind of phenomenon - its metamorphosis of the times...My parents used to crib that children of my age didn't have the kind of vacation they had....we will continue doing that as well....

Well, treat this as yet another memoir...We do have April-May every year, but the April-May of the 90's.....

Tinkle Tinkle Little Star...* * * *

2007-04-05T22:49:00.000+05:30

Another unforgettable character (among the ever so many) of my sweet childhood and school days is Enid Blyton - the juvenile storyteller, who created some of the eternally popular children's series - The Famous Five, The Secret Seven, Adventures at Malory Towers, Noddy etc. I'm most certain even the worst book haters (dim-witted people who hate reading this posts like this ;)...) would have read atleast one book among the several series created by her.

I am indebted to Enid Blyton in a special way. I wouldn't have developed a penchant for reading at a young age if not for her "mystery" (mysterious indeed ... for kids..)novels. I was fond of the Famous Five series in particular. This consisted of the boyish and bold Georgina aka George, the girlish Anne, Julian Dick, and George's lovely dog Timothy (aka Timmy). The five together solve mysteries which range from treasure islands to bank thefts..I sort of liked George in particular ...and its not difficult to guess why...I wonder if any of her books have been motionized..Wouldn't be a bad idea...they've got enough masala for even the Indian movies...

Malory Towers was a boarding school for girls, and it was a hostel life brought to you in writing..the girls and the pranks they are capable of, their girlish skirmishes, their tearful reunions and of course their atrocious study hours. The Fatty series, starring a fat guy called Fatty (Frederick something..) was also my favourite. I was so obsessed with Enid Blyton's works that my library report card of the seventh and eighth standards carried this "...Likes to read Enid Blyton's works in particular..". And I was so proud of that card.. I am preserving it for my grandchildren to read ..You never know what they may get to read at that age!!!Let them read my report card atleast :)

And how can one forget 'Tinkle'? the fornightly comics from the house of 'Amar Chithra Katha'? It carried stories with illustrations and went straight into your grey cells. Remember, a picture speaks more than a thousand words....and in Tinkle, the pictures speak as well..literally..Tinkle had some regular characters like Suppandi..the good-hearted innocent but foolish servant, Shikari Shambu - the extremely lucky but totally incompetant shikari, Kalia - the clever crow who manages to always outwit the enemies, the tactfult and deceitful minister - Tantri, the Mantri who keeps plotting (and failing) to kill the king - Hooja, the Raja, Anwar - the Indian adaption of Dennis the menace, etc.

Tinkle had some exceptionally good folklore from different lands - Japanese, African, Chinese and of course very very Indian...Tinkle Digest was a richer collection of stories and was released once in a while. I read and re-read the stories until I memorized every page and discussed it with my neighbour. It was a shame if we couldn't recollect a story unless it was too boring. Like a true religious kid, I was fond of the Indian mythological stories beautifully illustrated from the same house of Amar Chitra Katha - Tenali Raman, Ramayana, etc
Champak and Chandamama were two of my other favourite comics of those days. Sometimes I pestered my cousins and grandparents to animatedly storytell those stories (since they didnt have the rich illustrations, and yet I wanted to get the better of those stories).

I then slowly (very slowly) graduated to Agatha Christie from Enid Blyton, post-graduated to Sidney Sheldon , Jeffrey Archer, John Grisham from Christie. Hercule Poirot -the little Belgian detective with his little ideas was my hero...Nowadays I read fiction only if I have to travel( and when I don't have a good-looking co-traveller) and I pick only the bestsellers, unwilling to experiement. If I want to read, I prefer non-fiction and the more serious ones these days...Well, as you know, this is typically what I would call growth.

Am not sure if today's children read Tinkle or Enid Blyton with the same fervour as I or my neighbours used to. Harry Potter is the ubiquitous favourite these days. No, am not fretting, am just wondering as we advance into the information age, children have time for a real physical book at all, and if they do find some time, what would their tastes be???

Do share your favourite comics and books in your comments section...

The Good Old DD Days....

2007-03-26T10:10:00.000+05:30

Wow...How many kaapi fans existed in obscurity!And how many has my blog brought into limelight!! (I know this is some tooooo loud trumpet blowing ;) , this is also to immensely thank all my dear friends whom I pestered to read my blog and post comments, ("Leave your footprints there" - I ordered) . Thanks once again guyz...not just for going through my posts and posting your comments..but also for continuing to be good friends with me after all these rounds of pestering..(Read this as...there are many more rounds to come... :) )

This post, as you may have rightly guessed, is about Doordarshan, not the DD as it exists today, but the DD of yesteryears...when you didn't have the satellite TV or glamour associated with it. Doordarshan had a few serials then and even fewer movies....and even fewer news broadcasts....And thats precisely the reason why it was adored... by men and women and children alike for reasons of their own..

If you are Tamil, you would definitely remember 'Oliyum Oliyum' (the two words pronounced with a subtle difference in Tamizh, emphasizing Tamil's rich phonetics - roughly translating to 'Light and Sound'). It was a compiled collection of Tamil songs from old and new movies alike and was aired on Fridays from 7.30 PM to 8.30 PM. I remember our entire family and neighbourhood (Our home was an easy home theatre to people who didn't have the luxury of the TV) finishing their weekly chores as early as possible to line up for this programme. We yearned to watch our favourite heroes and heroines..My dad preferred songs from the evergreen 'Shivaji and Devika' movies, while the younger generation preferred the contemporary heroes or the latest movies..And alas, you never get to watch songs from the just-released movies, if you thought it was going to be out there, it was usually time up :)

And so..Oliyum Oliyum was a super-duper hit then..People went mad if the power was cut during Friday evenings. Trust me..I dont remember having seen a single ad in between the programme. With the advent of the satellite television and competition it offered, the programme underwent some cosmetic changes intially...Some girls who tried to look cosmetically good, tried to add spice to it reciting totally unrelated poems in between songs, some supposedly funny drama was staged at the background while the songs were being played at regular intervals ....and yet the glamourous competition was too fierce...I should rather say the indigenous programme lost the race..Am not sure if it is still being aired at all...(Any concrete info guyz??)

There are other programmes that I remember as well...Chitrahaar was the Hindi version of Oliyum Oliyum..broadcast on Wednesdays...Though this was restricted to the middle and upper class masses, this was a hit too...until.. you know what..
The most awaited programme of the week was the Sunday movie in the vernacular language..We got to watch atleast one movie per week..We had to watch what was aired...It wasn't a viewers' choice..And yet the same old neigbourhood crowd gathering with cookies and kadalai to watch it(even if it is the umpteenth time, they interpret the movie better each time they watch it)..Answering nature's calls was strictly prohibited during the course of the movie..Remember there weren't any ads either...People could stir only during the news breaks..Who cares about news ;).

I had my personal favourites too. In addition to the above programmes, I was fond of the regional-language movies (supposed to be National award-winning ones) broadcast every Sunday afternoon in alphabetical order(Assamese, Bengali, ....Tamil,Telugu) and was eagerly waiting for the Tamil week( two Tamil movies on a single Sunday then ...hippee..). I patiently watched the news for the hearing impaired (another interesting one) and the Sanskrit news aired just before this movie, lest I miss the start...
And I was simply becharmed with he introductory music of the Doordarshan...recollect it??
I also adored the Ramanand Sagar's Ramayana and Mahabaratha that were aired on Sunday mornings...Mukesh Khanna, Nitish Bharatwaj (Bhisma and Krishna respectively) were literally worshipped then. In my opinion, more of such mythological programmes depicting the epics should be encouraged..After all, we are many centuries old...

Try contrasting all those to the state of DD as it is today...it is pathetic to say the least...Dont get me wrong..Its not that I'm not for modernization or the global competition..I welcome the private channels and the competitive advantage they have brought to the industry...I am just a little unhappy that Doordarshan, still the only channel that reaches out to some of the remotest hamlets in the country is somehow unwilling to improve its standards..technologically or creatively...

This blog is not just the memoirs of the good old DD days...I welcome your suggestions to make DD survive in today's cutthroat television market...not only in India..but also worldwide...
It is not easy, it is not difficult either...We have to identify where exactly the problem lies, lay down our suggestions...wait..all said...when and how is it going to be done...I mean who is going to bell the cat??

Comments and Suggestions are invited...

Filter Kaapi...

2007-03-18T15:10:00.001+05:30

Coffee...Cafe...Cappucino..Kaapi...Call you what you like...Serve it hot or cold....Have it first thing in the morning or the last thing in the night....Take it from the traditional silver 'davara tumbler' or cup-and-saucer...Have it instantly or from the filtered decoction...Have it black or white or the typical Indian brown...If you can't survive a day without this magic potion in any of the above alters, read on, this blog is dedicated to you...

What makes this drink so indispensable everyday? Is it the taste that drives you crazy? Not exactly, I don't get to eat all my favourite dishes everyday..and am sure no one does either..there must be more to it than taste..
Is it then the aroma that can wake you up from your slumber? Maybe, but I wouldn't call it the reason for this drink to be so popular....Is it the pleasure of drinking something hot after a typical cold shower? Could be, but there are many lovers of cold coffee as well...Is it the caffeine that stimulates your nervous system and boosts your energy? Quite possible...Or is it the usual best answer - the right combination (in whatever percentages) of all of above?? Or is it none of the above??? Take your pick...its truly an objective answer..(in the Ayn Rand's truest sense of the word).

My pick is none of the above..To me, its more of a sort of Pavlov's condioned reflex. The very mention of kaapi (mind you, its kaapi not coffee) conditions an avalanche of chemical and
physical actions( and their reactions) in my body. I imagine my mom sitting near my bed (while I'm in my catnap or siesta) with a 'davara tumbler' of hot dark (not black) filter kaapi. I can sense the aroma and fathom the taste. I instantly pull myself away from bed (and the sweetest dreamz) and take my rightful share...Ah, those were the days.......

I became a kaapi addict at quite young an age.I was fascinated by the ads and the captions for coffee on TV. Remember this..."Kaapi na.. Narasus kaapi thaan..Baesh baesh...romba nanna irukku"....and the unforgettable sensual laugh that follows? I was drinking kaapi (I had too many specifications as well....twice as much as decoction as milk...right shade of brown, the right tumbler, davara.....) when my friends were drinking the much healthier Bournvitas and Boosts and Complans....Kaapi was an adults-only drink in my family..It was one of the first rules that I broke..

Well, today things are different...the reflex has been unconditioned...I am not a kaapi addict anymore...I drink kaapi's other alters as well - cappucino, dark coffee, cafe du lait and...... I drink tea as well..
Well, I call it growth....Call it what you like...

The prices have changed as well. A cup of coffee is good enough to be the main course rather than the appeasing drink after that....People are abandoning this all-time-favourite drink to its North-Indian-rival, tea due to health reasons..The world is going green..Tea could adapt itself to this...coffee retained its originality...and lost the race...well..not entirely...Health researches keep oscillating for and against a dish...Choclates that make you gain a few pounds today will prevent heart diseases tomorrow...Our dear kaapi is now being charged for a few heath risks today..but I'm sure time would prove it innocent, not only because kaapi is great and my intuition says so..but also because I firmly believe in the inconsistency of health researches....

Well, my head has reasons for me to drink tea this evening, but my heart is always with good old filter kaapi...Afterall I have reasons to believe that it is filter kaapi that symbolises the Java programming language...:)

First Thoughts....

2007-03-17T23:08:00.000+05:30

Well, I guess I have to explain why I decided to start blogging...A sort of disclaimer..I've always been dangerously encouraged by friends that I have a thing (whatsoever) for writing. Maybe they were too fed up with my bragging and decided to say something for courtesy sake or some of the more daring ones decided to expose me ;). Whatever the reason is, it has brought me this far...

Another reason maybe because I believe that when you pen down your thoughts (or rather key them down), you interpret them better. "But why should you publish them on the web? (open them for others interpretation)? " I asked myself..And I refused to blog until I found a convincing answer..

I did concoct an answer finally..It was simple enough...I didnt pen my ramblings down(neither keyed them down) untl I decided to blog...Now isn't that convincing enough..

And as regards the title, all my scribblings here are those interpreted straight from the heart, not pre-compiled...just like Java..Now wait, isn't Java compiled at times?So is my blog...And for those geeks who've rightly guessed that I'm working in Java, yes, I am supposed to work in Java...

And a final disclaimer..I am certainly not Miss.Spelling...I misspell a lot:)

Those were my first thoughts..Good luck and thanks...