MBA's, Limbo, Global Warming and Dirty Harry

Major Major had been born too late and too mediocre. Some men are born mediocre, some men achieve mediocrity, and some men have mediocrity thrust upon them. With Major Major it had been all three. Even among men lacking all distinction he inevitably stood out as a man lacking more distinction than all the rest, and people who met him were always impressed by how unimpressive he was.
- 'Catch 22', Joseph Heller
I've always been impressed with Joseph Heller. And equally with the character of Major Major Major Major. Something about him brings about a sympathetic twinge (or is it empathetic?) in me. The funny thing about Catch 22 is that the first time you read that book, it's funny. The second time it's a serious book. The third time over its a very sad story. Funny, that. And that said, let us begin.

I know I have been neglecting my blog and have decided to come back with a bang. Hopefully the bang will not be due to 2 kg's of explosives packed beneath my toilet seat, by irate readers of my latest post. Come to think of it, with this post I have a higher probability of being gone with a bang. I'm treading on thin ice here. Come to think of it, I'm actually treading on no ice at all. But in the interests of moral convictions (Yes, surprise! surprise! I happen to have some. If you're interested, let me know, and for a convincing price I could sell them to you if you want some) I have decided to most nobly proceed with publishing my views. Man, I'm getting so noble these days, I make myself sick. Anyways, proceed at your own peril. While the views expressed here are entirely the author's, he asserts the right to not own up to them. Depending on who's asking . Especially if you're an MBA, six feet ten, built like a refrigerator and live within a 100km radius of Bangalore. I know deadly Kung Fu techniques and will not hesitate to use them at the least provocation. But just let me know before you knock on my door will ya? I need some time to reserve tickets, see?

It's a little weird. What is a little weird, you ask? I qualified as an MBA, some time back. The weird thing being that I qualified and not that the MBA is.

There are two kinds of people on the face of planet Earth. There are people and there are 'MBA's. For the poor souls out there, who haven't been fortunate enough to have done one (An MBA I mean, I know what all you dirty buggers thought immediately though, Ha Ha), this is my chance to gloat. You poor poor people! Y'all do know that you're not going to heaven don't you? They don't let people in there who're not MBA's. Most probably you guys ain't going to hell as well, considering the fact its probably overcrowded with MBA's already. I mean if lying were money, then us MBA's would be the richest people on the face of the Earth. Actually, we probably are. All those rich 'Finance' dudes, in white shirts and designer ties? Where do you think they learnt how to deceive all you naive people out of your money? At Sunday School? Anyways, the long and the short of the matter is that you peops are going to be stuck somewhere in limbo, between hell and heaven, gnashing your teeth, and screaming 'Amma, You were right! I should have prepared for CAT instead of watching _____ ". Fill in the blanks with the name of that cute girl next door/ the Rajini movie that came out during your era/ porn. You know the one I'm talking about. Serves you doubly right for not listening to your mother too. Though god help you if she ever came to know that you were watching porn. Your mother I mean, not the cute girl next door. Women may avoid filling up the blanks. I may be brave, but I'm not stupid. But, you'll also be stuck in limbo. There's no escaping that. Unless you're an MBA, of course

See, apart from consideration of the state of your mortal soul, another reason you're going to regret not having done your MBA, is that we MBA's are special. Some of you may have noticed that. Every time one of us walks into an organization we have this air of 'You small people better treat me with respect because I have these three alphabets attached to my name'. And no, the three letters are not A-S-S. Or S-O-B either, come to think of it. All you mere mortals will just have to deal with the fact that having those three letters behind us ( and this time its definitely not A-S-S), makes us better than all the rest of you. When we walk in to an organization there are only certain jobs or designations that should be assigned to us. Something preferably along the lines of "God of Strategy", or "Big Kahuna of Marketing" or better still "Chief Genius Savvy Financial Whiz". Anything lesser is an insult. Unfortunately most of the world doesn't seem to recognize this fact. Why this happens we can't understand. I mean an MBA can hardly be expected to work under such mundane titles as 'manager' or 'executive' can he/she? Come on! You know we can't. In the absence of the aforementioned favourable titles, we might just settle for CEO, CFO or CIO as a compromise. But it's still a compromise mind you. I hear however, that the rest of the world often refers to us as "Pompous P@#ck", "Smart Ass" or just plain "Will no one rid me of this bloody pain in my rectum". Well in all fairness, people with Piles, and people who have just been kicked in the ass, also often use the last epithet, and hence it may not be limited in its application to MBA's.
The one thing I've learnt as an MBA is that you can take the man (or the woman, to be politically correct, or wrong as you'll find when you read on) out of the MBA course, but you CANNOT take the MBA out of the person. MBA actually translates to 'Well I don't know much about reality, but I've learnt all this stuff after paying shitloads of money, so you guys'd better listen to what I have to say (never matter that it's not in the least relevant)'. Remember this the next time someone asks you a complicated question like "Nasty weather we're having, isn't it?". All you deluded souls would probably answer that question with a simple "Yeah duude!". It takes an MBA to see the intricate details involved in that situation and come up with an answer like " Well actually as part of the global warming scene and the El Nino effect and this low pressure thats been building up over Uganda, and due to the fractal nature of weather patterns and the butterfly effect and the fact that ruminants have been flatulating all over the world (non MBA's read: Cattle have been farting) excessively this quarter YOY (non MBA's read: recently), leading to a hydrocarbon buildup, I think this kind of weather pattern was rather inevitable at Bangalore'. Who's going to visit Uganda in the near future, or god forbid actually go and see whether the cattle in the neighbourhood actually..... You get what I'm saying right?

Which is one more reason why the world is so unorganized. In the ideal MBA world a spade would be 'an earth inverting gardening tool' and knife would be a 'segmentation utility'. Signs would say "To stop train, pull value chain" and "Connecting concrete structure spanning an underlying depression 10 minutes away measured YTD" (you'd be more familiar with 'bridge ahead'). What's the use of world that doesn't let you use 'underlying' 'spanning' and 'depression' in the same breath, I ask? Hah! And of course for the people who are labouring under the serious misapprehension that there is something called the real world, I have two words ( No, no, I meant 'Forget it'). The real world exists only in power point presentations. If you can't do a decent PPT ( oh, that's suave slang for 'power point presentation'. Learn this acronym. Its probably the most important thing in your life!), your life is wasted. Anybody who tells you otherwise is wrong, or has not done an MBA.

There are advantages to being an MBA, which are beyond the reach of the pitiful majority, who have not evolved to the next level (which is obviously - 'MBA'). An MBA is a pre-requisite to 'Consult'. 'Consulting' is the MBA equivalent of going out on a date with Salma Hayek, Isabelle Adjani and Juliette Binoche. At the same time. Which is kind of funny, because until before I did my MBA, I always thought this was something which my Doctor did to me when I had, say..... a stomach upset. He 'consulted' on me, nothing else, before you let your imagination run wild. And as a consultant you get to advise people on how to run their affairs. That is their day to day working, not anything exotic, let me stress. This way you get to experiment and since you've couched your advise in phrases like the ones above on the weather, once things go wrong, you can always say "I told you so". And if you're that kind of a person you can wiggle your index finger under the nose of the poor slob who's taking the axe for following your instructions, when you're saying it. What other job can offer this kind of emotional satisfaction? Nothing else, though being a professional beer taster might just make the mark.

If you can't be an MBA, you could always try to act like one. Here are a few tips:

The next time you want to ask that cute chick in the next cubicle out, try doing it the MBA way. Make a PPT listing the advantages of accepting your proposal (remember to add 'value chain' 'segmentation' 'options' and 'future (s)' in it somewhere) and send it to her. When you meet her next, arrogantly ask her "so where do we go babe?" The results I promise you, will be thrilling. Well, if not for you, then at least for the people in the next fifteen or so cubicles around you.

Remember to answer most questions with "It depends". Please avoid using this however, for certain questions like "What's your mother's name?" or "Will you marry me?" or "Do you have any contagious diseases?".

This is in case of a life threatening situation. If you and another person are stranded on a four feet lifeboat, a few hundred miles from land, refuse to row, until you've been designated as "Captain of the ship". If the other person is an MBA, immediately designate him as "Captain" (or he'll refuse to row). If both of you are MBA's jump off and try to swim for land. It'll be faster.

Let us all in our prayers tonight, bow down to the infinite wisdom of the lord god, who put the idea into someone's head, of creating something called the 'MBA'.

A parting word to the wise. Never forget Clint Eastwood's eternal words in "Dirty Harry" - "Opinions are like a#*e holes, everybody's got one."

Gizmo Queens, Tax Evaders, Aliens and Spanish Inquisitions

O all ye exorcizers come and exorcize now, and ye clergymen draw nigh and clerge,

For I wish to be purged of an urge.

It is an irksome urge, compounded of nettles and glue,

And it is turning all my friends back into acquaintances, and all my acquaintances into people who look the other way when I heave into view.

It is an indication that my mental buttery is butterless and my mental larder lardless,

And it consists not of "Stop me if you've heard this one," but of "I know you've heard this one because I told it to you myself, but I'm going to tell it to you again regardless,"

Yes I fear I am living beyond my mental means.

When I realize that it is not only anecdotes that I reiterate but what is far worse, summaries of radio programs and descriptions of caroons in newspapers and magazines.

I want to resist but I cannot resist recounting the bright sayins of celebrities that everybody already is familiar with every word of; I want to refrain but cannot refrain from telling the same audience on two successive evenings the same little snatches of domestic gossip about people I used to know that they have never heard of.

When I remember some titlating episode of my childhood I figure that if it's worth narrating once it's worth narrating twice, in spite of lackluster eyes and dropping jaws,

And indeed I have now worked my way backward from titllating episodes in my own childhood to titillating episodes in the childhood of my parents or even my parents-in-laws,

And what really turns my corpuscles to ice,

I carry around clippings and read them to people twice.

And I know what I am doing while I am doing it and I don't want to do it but I can't help doing it and I am just another Ancient Mariner,

And the prospects for my future social life couldn't possibly be barrener.

Did I tell you that the prospects for my future social life couldn't be barrener?

"So Does Everybody Else, Only Not So Much" - Ogden Nash

Couldn't have put it more succintly myself. Forget about my 'future' social life getting barren, even my current one seems to be getting less fertile. Why else would I blog? Ha Ha. That said, let us begin.

Actually I must be losing my social charm. Yes, This is me and I am saying what you read in the last sentence. Go back and read it if you don't believe me. It'll still say the same thing. What made me come to this earth shattering conclusion? Well, a lot of things the last of which was my weekly train pilgrimage to Chennai. Started on a Friday, and the omens were definitely not good. I had resolved to try and reduce my smoking, which in itself is a very bad omen for me, because it makes me very crabby and restless. Well, you say, you're a crabby and restless old geezer anyway! Ah, yes gentle reader, be that as it may, this particular fact has a bearing on the tale I'm about to relate. So please keep bearing with me.

I got on to the auto to get to the station and got stuck in the traffic. Aren't you tired of hearing that about Bangalore? Yes, you say? Good. Then you can hear it again. I got stuck in traffic. And again. I got stuck in traffic. Hopefully I have milked that point for all its worth, and will proceed.If you think I haven't please do let me know and I will correspond with you personally and repeat that line a hundred times. It helps getting things out of your system, y'know? This time my getting stuck in traffic was made even more enjoyable by the fact that, I got stuck behind a truck. Well, we all do that, so whats so special about you, you may ask? In fact if you haven't gotten bored already and showing great perseverance have reached this point of the narrative, you'd have to be an extremely considerate person not to ask that question. Or pretty dumb, come to think of it. This was one of those tanker type trucks and had a sign which said 'Danger - Inflammable material'.

What it should have said was 'Stop breathing or You'll regret it'. Ever been in a class room where your benchmate had beans for lunch? A lot of beans? And the fan was not working? Let me tell you, that class room was heaven compared to what it smelt like in the auto. I mean, I have a serious doubt whether it was inflammable material or hazardous chemical waste of some sort, that the truck was carrying. The kind of chemical waste that makes teenage mutant Ninja's out of turtles. You know the sort I'm talking about. That was one concept I never could figure out anyway. I mean teenage turtles are bad enough. The one's on Discovery are only interested in eating seaweed and having sex (ostensibly with other teenage turtles). They very rarely seem to call in for pizza's. But mutant teenagers who're turtles and also Ninja's? Whoa... I can tell how much LSD the creator of those characters must have been on...

Anyways, arrived at the station with my sinuses clogged up. Nothing that an industrial strength drain cleaner couldn't have rectified, after repeated applications (say twenty three or so times). And a whacking great head ache. As luck would have it, bumped into one of my B-School classmates and her friend. We got talking about jobs, and when the friend heard I was with an IT company, she asked me a lot of questions on a career in IT. The regular reader's of this blog will know how comfortable I am with technology, and as for the newbie's suffice to say that I am as technology savvy as you'd like to have a root canal done. Without anesthetics. But alas, my ego got the better of me and I answered the questions posed, with great wit and wisdom, for half an hour. I just hope she didn't take them at face value. I did tell her at the end of the conversation that my wide and varied experience in the IT field was all of two months, though. I somehow don't think it increased my equity with her tremendously. In fact, post the information on my short IT career, it must have fallen like Enron stock after the bankruptcy announcement.

Luckily the train arrived and saved me the necessity of being stared at like the insect found mixed up in the tambram mama's curd rice (Only by the friend, and not by everyone else at the station. That bit comes later). Its called the Shataabdi (the train, not the insect), which translates into 'anniversary' (I think), and also 'the train that is as comfortable as having someone stick a pin into your backside' (I'm sure). Boo had traveled by this epitome of comfort and gave me rave reviews on the culinary accomplishments of the catering coach. I was really looking forward to the journey (Little did I know). I've got to get even with her one of these days. Probably convince her about a skiing holiday in the Sahara or a clubbing and pubbing holiday in Afghanistan or some such, and send her off. Before getting in, as usual, I checked the passenger list to a.) ensure that I had been recorded in the manifesto as a 'male' and also of the correct age. Proving these two, if they've been put down wrongly is rather embarrassing in public and the former more so than the latter. Especially if you have a loud Railway official, demanding proof. And b.) hopefully check if the person next to me was female and went by the name of Isabelle Adjani or Salma Hayek. Situation a.) has happened more often than situation b.)

I got onto the train, in the AC compartment after being poked and prodded in various places by the luggage of various people, who seemed doubtful about their seats vanishing into thin air if they didn't get on in thirty seconds. By virtue of being thin, I managed to get in, in one piece. 'You can never be too thin or too rich' as the Duchess of windsor once said to me in a personal communique.

The lady next to me was of obvious tambram vintage ( I should know, I'm one of them myself. Besides I got to know her name while exploring the possibility of situation b.) described above). The man on the other side of my seat was around fiftyish. So in all innocent anticipation of an exciting journey, I smiled at both of them and clambered into my seat. I should have known it wouldn't go well from their stares in return. Made me seriously think about getting plastic surgery done. I mean if my being pleasant can evoke that kind of a response..... The lady was loaded with gizmo's and I immediately started getting rashes (refer para 5 above for my reaction to technology). She pulled out a laptop, which could have qualified for a home theatre system, or even just a theatre (it was that big) and started watching a movie.

Then I realised that the fan was on and combined with the AC this was creating to a column of cold air that seemed very pleased to crawl down my spine though my collar. I considered wearing my wind cheater and pulling on the hood, but realized that a 50 Cent lookalike would probably not be very welcome in the compartment, and besides would I'd look like an idiot (more so than I normally do. Why exacerbate things?). So gathered up courage and asked the gizmo queen to switch off the fan (she was hovering over the switch like protective mother). She stared at me like I'd made an indecent proposal and muttered 'Its hot'. Yeah right! It would've been hot if you were an Eskimo probably, but to normal Indian like me.... See what I meant about my social life earlier? Sat through the whole goddam journey hoping and praying for the fan to conk out.

She turned the laptop away so that I couldn't see the movie. At least she tried to, and considering the size of the bloody thing, this was an impossibility. I've seen people who had tickets to first day first shows of 'Sivaji', who were less conceited, and students watching their first porn flick who were less secretive, than her. It was bloody difficult not to watch the movie too, considering the fact that the bloody screen was almost covering half the compartment. I turned to the gentleman seated on the other side,, and a very shifty sort he was too. He was reading a book on taxation, obviously for the express purpose of avoiding them (Lets face it, do you know anyone who would read a book on taxes, just for entertainment on the train?). He was obviously someone to avoid.

By now the much vaunted food started arriving. The first course was a Sandwich. It just a little old and a little tough and crusty. I mean it must have been prepared somewhere in 2 B.C. As for the toughness, the Navy SEALS could have used it in their bullet proof vests instead of Kevlar. Managed to eat it though (one of the great achievements of my life, eating that sandwich). The next thing to come was Tomato soup. It had the delightful taste and consistency of th hot salt water I used to gargle with, during periods of throat infection. the high point was when the shifty man sitting next to me dropped the whole gunk of Amul butter provided for the sandwich into the soup and drank this stirring mixture. Very stirring it was. In fact, my whole stomach was stirring with horror at this combo. It was all I could do not to throw up into his lap.

Lay back and tried to meditate the way I had learnt in the deepest reaches of Tibet (see earlier post on kung fu for further info on this). And dinner arrived. There was a sabji, which seemed to contain some animal matter of an alien nature (it was a vegetarian dinner mind you) and a dal which seemed to contain some plant matter of alien nature. There was also another side dish, which contained indeterminate matter of alien nature (some where in in the evolution chain between animals and plants bought from a galaxy far, far, away probably?) Ate this also. You may marvel at my perseverance, but I had paid for the ticket after all, and all this came with the fare.

After all this persecution reached Chennai, feeling that the Spanish Inquisition should have been a picnic compared to the Shataabdi. Too bad they didn't have this train back in Spain. People would have confessed more easily, after a jaunt on it. Went home to hot Rasam, amazing Potato curry and Curd Rice. A proper dinner.

My life isn't all hardships, come to think of it...

Baths, Advertisements, Broomsticks and Roadtrips

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought;
And enterprises of great pith and moment,
With this regard, their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.

Hamlet in 'Hamlet'- Shakespeare

Well he was one confused dude, he was. Hamlet, I mean, not the good ol' Speare Shaker. It gives me a lot of solace reading Hamlet. And that said , let us begin.

I have been rather lax in updating my blog and the masses were clamoring for more outside my door and refusing to accept my excuse that I was suffering from a serious case of 'writers block'. No, that has nothing to do with irregular bowel movements, or anything that can be cured with a good laxative. More of a 'mental' thing. Having thus established my credentials as a 'writer' in a fatuous manner, I shall proceed.

There's only one person I know who's more confused than Hamlet. Thats moi, yes, me. I wait for you to recover from the shock of being told that someone of my bearing can actually get confused. That is but natural. Let me explain. Whether it is because of my 'brought up' (thats Tamil for 'bringing up' in English, usually pronounced 'braat uppei'), being a standard 1974 model of Tambram stock, or some congenital reason, I get confused rather easily. Take baths for example. I don't mean your taking a bath will make this easier to understand, let me hasten to add. What I'm saying is that even taking a bath can get confusing. Ever been to a hotel that has a bath tub? They usually have around thirty different knobs and levers, combinations of which make the water flow from various places. To my luck I've never been able to figure them out. I always end up standing in the tub and twisting knobs to get the batch tub filled up with hot water, and the next thing I know I have an icy cold shower of water running down from the shower. It always happens. Always. Its a very enriching experience, let me tell you, when you have ice cold water pouring on your head, when you least expect it. Makes you recall all those swear words you thought you forgot, in languages you never knew you could speak. They even have phone extensions in the bathrooms in some of these places. I can't for the life of me, understand why. To answer nature's call presumably?

To compound things, my flat here in Bangalore also has bathrooms of the same type. The knobs for the hot and cold showers turn in different directions. I always get confused about which one turns which way, resulting in either a scalding hot or ice cold shower. Suffice to say that the neighbour's kids are learning a lot of new words every time I go take a bath. I just hope their parents don't realize where they're picking it up from. I can't run tuition classes for adults who want to learn more expletives. I'd rather reserve the curses for the bathing expedition.

To Mrudula's everlasting irritation, I can't make up my mind on which channel to watch on the telly. A typical evening of confused TV watching usually goes like this:

'flip'

Motorcycle Ad: Dude dressed in black leather and helmet drives out of a thirteenth floor window. Why? Was he in an IT company, on the bench for too long? Did he listen to too much of Himesh Reshammiya? I can't figure it out. More importantly how did he manage to take the bike up to the thirteenth floor, into some office? I could use that kind of knowledge. Every time I want to go up, all the six lifts in my office are already on their way up, on a floor above mine. Anyways, dude survives miraculously. Goes to the edge of the cliff, pivots on a wheel over the edge and drives off. Presumably, his daily routine before going home and eating curd rice. Who knows? Next scene: A doctor types is asking him "Do you think you are ready for your next mission?" Motorcycle moron replies "Thinking, is such a waste of time". Yeah right, genius. And this is supposed to tempt me into buying this brand of motorcycles? I'm confused.

'flip'

Another motorcycle Ad: Dude is riding one of the 'new generation' bikes. He suddenly becomes the 'superhuman amoeba biker man'. He splits himself effortlessly into five of himself and they all race each other. 'These stunts are performed by experts' the subtitle very kindly says.'Viewers are advised not to imitate'. Yes, that should be easy. When you're stuck in the Bangalore Traffic, all viewers will be really tempted to try and split into two. A very calming mental excercise, obviously. And who are these experts who can split themselves into replicas, so easily? Anyways all five Amoeba men merge back into one, and then a copy of the bike suddenly emerges from a lake nearby and takes off into the sky. Is it just me or was the director of this ad on hallucinogenics, wasted beyond all scope? I'm confused.

'flip'

Holiday package Ad: A couple and their two children arrive at the holiday spot. The irritatingly cheerful backgound song goes 'You arrive, you happy, You messy, you happy'. Is that bad grammar or are they using Jamaican Patois? Search me. The family keeps smiling. Obviously these guys have never been on a real holiday. The people who made the ad, I mean. Fifteen minutes into the holiday, the brats should have started screaming and whining, and the couple should have started fighting. Welcome to the real world dude. The family is finally closeted in a small tent, I wouldn't put my dog in. Its raining like mad, and their lunch is delivered there by another cheerful guy with an umbrella. The amount of cheerfulness makes me puke. You no play ad please, We very very happy? I'm confused.

'flip'

Another Harry Potter News Flash: Aaaaaaarghhhhhh!!! A lady reporter in one of those wizard hats and robes is reporting on the forthcoming book. Well, either the poor deluded woman thinks its the high point of fashion, or she's being paid extremely well, or she just plain belongs to the loony bin. I wouldn't be caught dead in a ditch, wearing that outfit. Actually there's a lot about Harry Potter that also confuses me. What kind of a person would whiz around at speeds of mach one with a stick between his legs?? If you ask me, thats a definite no no. I mean, I get uncomfortable on a flight in fifteen minutes. The only kind of person who would try to fly that way would have to be really into pain or just absolutely dumb (the type who wouldn't recognize smart if it came up behind him and bit him in the butt). Or maybe he just couldn't pay for his family planning operation, and took this way out? I'm confused.

Actually there are two guys I know, who can rival me when it comes to getting confused, especially in terms of directions - Adi and Sandy. I remember when we took our road trip in Sandy's car driving all around South India. Half the time we didn't know whether we were coming or going. Bangalore was the crowning glory in this trip. What with directions all being 'Straaightu to dead endu and leftu' and us being sozzled half the time, we ended up seeing the city in greater detail than any human being would want to. We tried all remedies. We figured out that all the people were wantonly misguiding us and took the exact opposite directions. We thought about which was our left and which the 'dead endu and leftu' dude's left (We were high and this line of thought led to considerable disagreement betwixt us). We assumed very correctly that all roads in Bangalore should lead to M.G Road and ten minutes of driving any which way should bring us there anyway. But none of it worked. We finally resorted to asking for directions every hundred yards or so, which didn't make us very popular with the other commuters. Then we ended up asking the same auto driver thrice for directions at various points, in a span of half a kilometre (by mistake, we caught up with him and it being dark we didn't realize it was the same person). He expressed very concisely, his doubts about the legitimacy of our conceptions, and those of three generations before us, not mention his opinion of our IQ levels. We stopped asking for directions after that.

This however had its own downsides. We arrived in front of Forum (a huge mall, the landmark we remembered) to visit Sandy's property where there was building going on. To our shock and dismay, it was no longer there(the property, not the mall). We first argued amongst ourselves on the landmarks which had been there earlier, which now seemed to have disappeared. But then we realized that not only the landmarks but the streets and the street names had also changed. We were stunned by the pace of development in Bangalore. To take down a building is one thing, but to transplant a whole area! We considered suing the government for loss of property. The least they could have done was to inform poor Sandy. We commiserated with him. Some more beer was called for and consumed. Then we undertook our own jihad, we would find Sandy's property no matter what, whether it existed or not. After another twenty minutes of inspired searching and badgering poor pedestrians into admitting that this was a different area, we gave up. Thats when it dawned on us that we should be looking at the rear entrance side of the mall, on the parallel road. We were on the wrong side. What can I say? We were confused.

Responses, Poems, Veecharuvals and F(l)ights

When Icarus fell
he had just finished updating his blog,
a farmer was sharpening a
'veecharuval' in his field,

The rowdies were awake
folding their veshti's above their undrawers
near the edge of the sea

Using a blow torch
they melted
the wings' wax

Insignificantly off the coast there was a splash quite unnoticed,
this was Icarus being fed to the crocodiles by the undrawerers.

- Suseen's response to my last post (A brilliant take off on 'Musee des Beaux Arts' by W.H.Auden - Which was in turn inspired by the Dutch master Pieter Breughel's painting 'The Fall of Icarus' - Both of which in turn inspired the title for this blog). The painting featured in my blog, is incidentally (or coincidentally, if you're naive enough to believe it) the one by Breughel.

One can't let such challenges pass by, can one?

Mahesh's response to Suseen's post:

Though the insignificant splash was unnoticed,
At least the crocodiles were very well fed.
And the blow torches might have seemed dull,
In the bright sunlight of the boring afternoon.

The undrawerers might have had a lot of fun,
Completing their trivial task on the seashore.
Folding the veshti is but incidental to the fact,
That in the end, nothing is as easy as it seems.

As for the farmer and his sharp veecharuval,
They were both but tools in this poetic scene.
They played no part in the happenings as such,
But were still witnesses to the underlying fact.

What mattered here was not who was being fed,
To the ravening crocodiles, or what the farmer,
Or the undrawerers did. What mattered was that,
Before Icarus fell, Icarus flew.

Your turn, Bro.

P.S: A 'Veecharuval' is a Sickle, usually used to detach parts of the body from the original owner. Most prevalently used in Madurai, where Suseen comes from. You just might not find this on Google or Wikipedia.

Poaceae, Undrawers, Hovercrafts and Morality

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe."

"Jabberwocky" - By Lewis Carrol in "Alice in Wonderland"

Some how I've always found this poem a little intimidating... Especially the bit about how the mome raths outgrabed. Gives you a lot of scope to imagine who was doing the outgrabing and how they were doing it. Rather unsuitable for children, I always thought. And that said, let us begin.

I've been through a lot of journey's which were intimidating to interesting to downright painful one's. By means of transport ranging from trains to cars to being dragged along by the legs, by cursing people. Adi, Sandy and Suseen, will probably remember the last mode of transport mentioned, from B-School. This was one of the For further explanations, please refer to Suseen's comment on my previous post. For some obscure reason he chooses to call himself 'wulf paw' on Blogger. Well, better the paw than the wolf's wee wee, I suppose (The Wolf's Wee Wee - WWW - nice huh?). Having said that, I must confess that when they were taking up the onerous task of dragging me home, Suseen I hear was repeatedly heard confessing that he was 'happy' (once every thirty seconds). I'd like to think it was because he'd been given the privilege of dragging me along by the feet, something not accorded to many mortals, I'll have you know. But maybe, just maybe, it was also because we'd consumed inordinate amounts of flora from the family 'Poaceae' (Yes, your weekly visit to Wikipedia is due.. Ha Ha... Thought you'd get away this week didn't you??) Takes a lot to make these Madurai denizens happy, you know. Adi allegedly was singing a happy little Metallica ditty in tune with the bumpity bumps my head was making, bouncing off the stairs. Sandy, 'expressive' even under normal circumstances, soared to new heights. He apparently made sterling contributions to invective levels in three languages (being the relatively sober one), and was nominated for the Pulitzer for helping develop literary criticism in the expletives genre. I, as usual, got up the next day said "I'm too old for this shit" and went on my merry way. I haven't indulged in that particular pastime since then, however.

Now that this momentous occasion has been described in public, I'm relatively sure that Suseen will be hopping mad. I suppose I'm likely to receive a social call from a couple of hit men from Madurai (Suseen's from Madurai). All snazzily dressed in coolers, white shirts and 'Veshti's' (that's dhoti's for all you fashion unconscious people) folded above their 'undrawers', with AK-47's tucked into the Undrawers. Ok... So now you don't know what an undrawer is, I suppose? Its pronounced 'un-draa-yer' and is the epitome of fashion down south. It consists of a pair of shorts which are usually in a virulent green color, with stripes running down them, in as contrasting a color as possible ( usually dark blue). These come down to your knees and serve a variety of purposes. Right from hiding AK-47's to carrying your travel documents (imagine going to JFK airport, lifting your dhoti and pulling out your passport from your undrawer! James Bond couldn't be more suave), to revealing you shapely legs. Fashion and utility at one stroke, not to mention how airy they are. The point to notice is that your 'veshti' should always be worn folded above the undrawer. You are trying to make a fashion statement here, remember? 'Jockey' couldn't shine a candle to these. Try sticking an AK-47 into your Jockey and you'll know. There's a real business opportunity in the fashion business going a begging there. Any taker's with funding capabilities of about a million dollars or so, please contact me. We'll take the fashion world by storm. Versace, watch out....

Last week, I had another brilliant idea about a new venture. I suggested to Mrudula, that we open a boutique consulting firm under the name 'Uranus Consulting'. I explained to her, all the pro's of naming the firm that. People will be too embarrassed to call up and ask "So, do you have any openings in .....". And when they call up to ask "So hows Uranus doing?", all you need to say is "Man, its doing real good, you must come and take a look at it sometime". Chances are they'll never turn up. Mrudula however was not to impressed. For some reason she thought it was too childish, and vetoed the idea... Sigh...! Genius is never recognized in its time.

Coming back to journeys, the last time I traveled to Bangalore from Chennai, I was late. I had half an hour to reach the station, a journey which normally takes forty five minutes. Please carefully note the word 'normally' gentle reader, and brace yourself for the nerve wracking description of my auto ride to the station. An auto is usually a three wheeled vehicle that uses the road as means of conveyance. But I had apparently stumbled upon this vehicle which was probably a top secret military experiment, in mating a hovercraft (We seemed to spend more time in the air than on the road) with a F1 car, dressed up to look like an auto. The kind of vehicle Q (remember the old bugger who gives James Bond all his fancy gadgets?) would die to get his hands on. They saw me and thought "Ha! here's a sucker who's perfect for our first test run!".

I should have realized this as soon as I got into the auto and told the driver to do anything and get me to the railway station in half an hour. He went to the back of the vehicle and twiddled on something. 'Petrol reserve saar' he said, but was actually turning on the controls to convert the vehicle, into the traffic hazard it was. And so it began. I could probably have reached the station in the same time if I'd used a helicopter, but I would have been safer using a pogo stick and jumping down the middle of the busiest roads in Chennai to reach there. We took off at approximately 80 miles an hour, and that's when I had my first apprehensions. We seemed to touch the ground approximately once every three minutes or so.


Somewhere in the shrouded mists of time, two lines had combined. One, of Attila the Hun (in terms of disregard for human life) and the other Michael Schumacher (in terms of speeding). The culmination of these two lines was the person who now driving me to the station. I however didn't want to upset him in the least, and a stupid grin on my face, was hanging on to the auto with one hand and to my luggage with the other. My luggage showed a marked propensity to start floating (It happens at light speed, I hear). The Auto driver however seemed to see through my facade. "Less tension, more work saar" he said, quoting either from some obscure vedic text or a famous Tamil movie. I was too terrorized to realize which. I found myself singing this delightful little hip-hop number by Ludacris. The lyrics are pretty complicated and go something like " Move b*#ch! gerrout the way! Gerrout the way b*#ch, gerrout the way!" Very expressive these hip-hoppers, I tell you.


Now, knowing my commanding presence and charisma, if most of you were expecting a Moses act, with the traffic parting like the Red Sea, in response to my song, you're going to be disappointed. That day it just wasn't working. The radio was blaring an old Tamil song on the shortness of life (yes, thank you I needed that), and my life began flashing before my eyes. My mobile rang. It was my mother. She knew I was running late and called in with a lot of advise on starting early and not boarding running trains and asking the auto not to drive fast. Handling the mobile, while clinging on to the auto, and holding my luggage was a feat of contortion which even Jackie Chan wouldn't have attempted. I carried it off, while at the same time assuring my mom that all was well. Well, my ass!

Reached the station in twenty five minutes. Got down on rubbery legs, paid the auto driver and ran for my life. The old couple, on the seats next to me were very solicitous and offered me banana's to calm me down. I'd have killed for a whiff of the old poaceae right then, but settled for banana's.

There was a vendor who kept walking up and down selling 'Syphilis' . I was stunned and was wondering whether this was some kind of subtle moral warning, when I realized this was just his version of 'Chips Lays'. The 'Chi' had been converted to a 'Si' sound, resulting in the message on morality.

Prophecies, Parties, Dancefloors and Dives

"Any statement in a politician's memoirs can represent one of six different levels of reality:
a. What happened.
b. What he believed happened.
c. What he would have liked to have happened.
d. What he wants to believe happened.
e. What he wants other people to believe happened.
f. What he wants other people to believe he believed happened."

- Sir Humphrey Appleby in "Yes Prime Minister" by Anthony Jay and Jonathan Lynn

Well, that some how reminds me of what I write. I'm still trying to figure out which ones from the above all this stuff fits into. That said, let us begin.

Yes, prophetic words I penned some time ago. Those about the weekend bringing barrels of beer and humongous hangovers. Only it turned out to be more like barrels of Beer, Whisky and Tequila and as for the consequent hangover, lets just say humongous was an understatement. Which brings me to the fact that I really might be too old for this shit.

Thats something I keep repeating every time I party. "I'm too old for this shit". Some kind soul accompanying me always manages to try and convince me that I'm not. I proceed to party my merry way through the night, with all my misgivings happily wiped away. Funnily the kind souls seem to be more convinced about this fact more often when I'm footing the bill, though I'm sure that is mere coincidence. There are some people who genuinely might feel so too, influenced I'm sure by my natural charm, charisma and the spectacle I present when I'm buzzed.

My propensity to fall down on the dance floor is legendary in certain circles in Chennai. Every occasion when yours truly enters the dance floor, is preceded by an impassioned request (over the speakers) from the the DJ asking me to 'please be careful and not break your bloody leg again'. That's when I start looking around with the others on the dance floor for this clown who keeps falling down, and ruefully shake my head and grin at how silly some people can be. This is of course a risky procedure, which can be thwarted by 'well meaning' friends, who point at you and hoot when the announcement is made. Thus making sure that the entire club is now waiting with bated breath to see me perform my magnum opus. Every move of mine is punctuated with sharp intakes of breath from the people around, who're thinking "Will he ...? Won't he?". I've even come to know that large sums of money are being wagered on whether or not I'll repeat my performance, and if so which particular act of daredevilry or moronicity I'm about to perform. The daredevilry is my point of view, the moronicity I understand, is the others' point of view. I guess people will be jealous no matter what... Hah!

I have several acts up my sleeve, including the 'wicked woofer free fall' .That's when you climb up on to the woofer to dance and suddenly find yourself on thin air over the edge of the speaker and plummet at death defying speeds to the dance floor. Anybody familiar with the Roadrunner cartoons featuring Wile.E.Coyote's falls off cliffs? Let me tell you Wile.E.Coyote couldn't shine a candle to me when it comes to falling. And also the 'deadly dance floor dive' . Your favorite track plays and you jump around, trip on the girl next to you, fall off the dance floor and try to crawl away unnoticed - especially if the girls partner is built like a refrigerator. The potential results of being caught while trying to crawl away are truly 'deadly'. Reader discretion is however advised. I am an expert at these stunts, having perfected them through constant repetition and gallons of beer. Readers are strongly advised not to try them anywhere (at home or outside) despite the popularity these acts will fetch you. Leave them to the expert, I say.

This time in Bangalore, we were at a discotheque which was on the tenth floor of a building. Mrudula was as usual at her stunning best. In my constant effort to impress her, I confidently told her I knew where the place was. I'd been there before with some other friends. As it turned out, we landed up at the opposite end of the road we were supposed to be. She got upset for reasons I fail to understand. I mean it was just a short walk of two kilometres or so... whats a short jaunt like that? Of course the fact that she was wearing heels, it was drizzling and also that we couldn't take an auto to get there ( because all the roads in bloody Bangalore are bloody one ways) might just have contributed to her getting angry. I even tried to explain that the last time I was there, the road was much shorter and that they seemed to have extended it. She immediately pointed out that it was not possible to extend a road which was around forty feet broad and two kilometres long, situated in the heart of Bangalore. Residency road, she further said, was around for the last forty or fifty years only, in the same line and length as it is today. We were just getting to a detailed discussion of my sobriety when I'd been there last, when I wisely changed the subject.

After that brilliant beginning, we arrived at the place. It was open, and by that I mean the bloody place didn't have any bloody walls (just a roof) and it was bloody raining. So it was obviously bloody cold. Mrudula and I got into this deeply philosophical conversation about how all those girls in short tops and short skirts were managing to seem so oblivious to the cold. I looked around at each girl dressed in this manner (from a purely scientific perspective, you understand, in the interests of furthering the boundaries of human knowledge) and despite my studious efforts was unable to fathom how they did it. Mrudula wasn't too impressed by my quest for knowledge however, and I abandoned the effort speedily.

But I really think that question ( as to how those girls don't feel the cold) needs further research. I've seen this happen in quite a few Hindi Tamil and Telugu movies too. Ever seen those 'situation songs' , with a heroine (scantily clad), and the hero (dressed up like he's going up mount Everest), rolling around together in the snow? I think the question ranks right up there with the other ones such as 'Who am I?', 'Where am I going?' and 'How does Superman get a shave and a haircut?'. The last one about Superman especially, I must admit, has been troubling me for a long time. I mean, if even bullets can't hurt him, how the f&*#k does the dude remain clean shaven with a decent haircut, all the time?? Obviously scissors and razors wouldn't work on him too!

Anyway to cut a short story long, I had some beer and then some whisky and then some tequila, and then some beer and then some whisky.... You're getting the picture right? Well, if you think you are, you're lucky, because by the end of the evening I most definitely wasn't getting any picture. In fact it all seemed rather blurred. I did manage to keep standing upright, a feat which offered me immense pride, and satisfaction. I didn't slur at all, too. Though I remember some slight difficulty in saying difficult things like 'see you tomorrow' or 'why's the lift not moving for the last five minutes, oh its because I haven't pressed the button' etc. Mrudula, was of course her graceful suave self, which is probably why most people seem to perceive my behaviour rather odd (darkening by contrast, types).

The evening however wasn't over. I have this friend who's a nice, cheerful, bubbly little thing who was with us that day. However, pump enough alcohol into her and she becomes a force of nature. A force to contend with, as in a few thousand kilowatts of energy packed into a five foot nothing frame. The kind of person whom hurricane Katrina would arrive to pay respects to, before starting whatever it is that hurricanes do. On our way back, she took into her mind that she would wish all the denizens of Bangalore who were out on the road at that god forsaken time a goodnight. She rapidly proceeded to do by shoving half her body out of the window and wishing people 'a good night' loud enough to be heard across the whole city. The rest of us being god fearing citizens (who had yet to be arrested on charges of drunken driving), thought this might not be such a wise pastime. It took the combined efforts of all twenty or so of us, who were squeezed into the car to subdue her and get her back in. How difficult it was to get that two and half feet (half of her five feet height) back into the car, is truly unimaginable. We however managed to do so by way of threats, cajoling and of course down and out begging. The rest of the drive was spent trying to distract her from this new pursuit of hers. She was extremely hurt that we didn't allow her to cut this huge swathe of cheerfulness through Bangalore and in no uncertain terms told us we were wimps and wet blankets of the first order. What the world needed, she said, was more cheer and less zombies like us. I'm afraid the rest of us didn't agree.

I woke up the next morning and everything was fine. Until I raised my head by two or so inches. Thats when the thirty little men inside my head with saws, started trying to take the top of my head off. The diligent little buggers were trying to establish some kind of world record in sawing. The next time you see thirty, ugly, two inch buggers, with chain saws in their hands, featured on AXN ( That guinness book of world records show....?), well you'll know where they came from. There was something wrong with the weather too. The sun was too bright, and all noises were too loud. I crawled back into bed before you could say 'hangover'. Another fallout from the whole thing was that my knowledge of human musculature increased significantly. After all that dancing, I discovered new muscles in my body, that I didn't even know existed, by way of aches and pains for the next two days

Maybe I'm really getting too old for this shit... Hmmmm... There's only one way to find out I guess. I'll just have to try and repeat this the coming weekend. Will keep you posted, please keep your ardent desire to know more about this in check, till then.

What the hell, at least I didn't fall down this time.

Secrets...

I stumbled upon this today.

http://postsecret.blogspot.com/

I can't figure out what troubled me more. The blog, the comments, or the fact that something like this blog exists.

I guess we're all searching for answers.

English, Bleeps, Water buffaloes and Keralafonia

“I know less than half of you half as well as I should like and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve.” ~ Bilbo Baggins in the LOTR

Amen dude....! And that said let us begin.

The more discerning amongst you will have noticed that I have added a few gizmo's, thingys and watchoocallits to the blog, which reportedly are supposed to do a lot of things, most of which I don't understand. To me "Feedburner" suggests a large cow with an extremely effective digestive system (cattlefeed types). I think they improve the blog's look, however, and make me look incredibly techno savvy, which has been a long time dream.... sigh. What they are not supposed to do, is to direct you to any other sites, especially dirty ones. If they do, please do let me know, especially the dirty ones. Just so I can report them you understand, not because I have any interest in such sites. I know most of my vast audience would never think that of a fine cultured person such as me, but its always better to explain.

My favorite is the 'button' (prior to this I always thought they were circular thingies to make your clothes cling on) which gives my gmail ID. The smarter half of readers will notice that I have added the word 'Errrr...' above this button, and immediately realize that this is a trick button. The other half will spend a lot of frustrating time trying to click on this hoping that it would help them communicate with me. These are the In'duh'viduals as Dilbert (or rather Scott Adams) calls them. I only wish I were around to see their faces when they do this. Thus do I claim revenge on technology buffs! Ha Ha!

Which brings us to the fact that English is a beautiful language. Just by adding the word 'Errr...' I have communicated the above mentioned facts to my audience. On the other hand you could do it in a long winded way too. Consider for example the below, which could win a prize for bad English:

If such a sublime cyborg would insinuate the future as post-Fordist subject, his palpably masochistic locations as ecstatic agent of the sublime superstate need to be decoded as the now-all-but-unreadable DNA, of a fast deindustrializing Detroit, just as his Robocop-like strategy of carceral negotiation and street control remains the tirelessly American one of inflicting regeneration through violence upon the racially heteroglossic wilds and others of the inner city.

I mean, what the hell? You could just say "Man, that dude kicks ass!" or even "Dude, that man kicks ass!" and be done with it. Metaphorically and literally a precise interpretation. The problem is that there's English and there's American. Most of us don't understand American when she's spoken. My favorite example of American is the conversation Samuel L Jackson (Jules) has with this kid (Brett), while he's holding a gun over him ( Jackson's holding the gun, geddit? Tricky thing, this American....)

JULES: What country you from?

BRETT: What?

JULES: "What" ain't no country I know! Do they speak English in "What?"

BRETT: What?

JULES: English-MF-can-you-speak-it?

BRETT: Yes.

JULES: Then you understand what I'm sayin'?

BRETT: Yes.

JULES: Now describe what Marsellus Wallace looks like!

BRETT: What?

JULES: Say "What" again! C'mon, say "What" again! I dare ya, I double dare ya MF, say "What" one more goddamn time! Now describe to me what Marsellus Wallace looks like!

The audience is advised not to try this at home, unless you're sticking a big gun, or a big broomstick into the listener's face. In the absence of these two, the listener will demonstrate violent tendencies towards rearranging parts of your anatomy, or will tear your leg off and beat you to death with it. This may partly be, because Samuel Jackson does not say emmeff (MF), he substitutes with a word, which suffice to say is not 'My Friend". That's one of the inherent problems with American, see? In view of the delicate sensitivities of my audience I shall leave this line of discussion here and move on.

A deficient or even dysfunctional socializing process, has brought most of us to believe that four letter words add power to our speech. I'm sure we can communicate effectively without the 'bleeps'. For example take Wodehouse, I hear the man used to re-write each page in his book eight times before he was satisfied with the results, and he can use some mean English I tell you. Wouldn't you rather say " I say old chap, you gurgle like the death rattle of a soda water siphon" rather than "F*#@k off, moron!". See English has its uses, unless you're in a hurry of course.

The one exception to the four letter word rule is the word B-E-E-R. You have no idea how much much power it adds to my speech, or how lyrical I wax when B-E-E-R is around. How much sense I make is a debatable topic, and the subject of another post by itself. More on that later.

Then there are the delightful compositions, that rock bands come up with. Don't get me wrong, Rock is my life blood, but when I hear this guy singing: 'Oooh Life, Its bigger, Its bigger than you, and yooouuu are not meeee" I can't help getting irritated. What are you supposed to do? Say "Thank you for that brilliant piece of logical thought!" ? "You are not me"? "Life, Its bigger, Its bigger than you" ? I didn't know these things! What a clear insight! I know them now, and for the life of me, I wont understand them ever! Give me a break will ya?

Then you have the death metal bands, which purportedly sing in English. Try as hard as I can, it doesn't sound like English to me. More like a pair of flatulent water buffaloes mating in a sludgy pond, or a brace of pigs being tortured in a tin foundry. Well, zat too, is ze Eenglees.

Then there are the personal gems you come across. Was in the elevator at work, and I overheard this conversation which went "We used to collide every quarter but now we have been asked to collide every month". Now this seemed like a event which would be more prevalent in the mosh pits of the above mentioned death metal band's concerts. Images of arcane rituals of people body banging before starting a project flashed through my brain (Kind of like a Hi-Five, see?). Took me some time to realize that the guy was talking about "Collate".

I'm the kind of guy who always gets threatened by service providers, in life. Whether its my TV mechanic, or my phone banking representative. I'd called my Bank yesterday to find out if they had a SMS alert for credits to my account. He told me they didn't have one right now. "But we are adding those 'technologies' saar. We will continue to call you and 'intimidate' you, as soon as they are up".Thanks a lot, as if I wasn't intimidated enough by technology, already. I work for an IT company after all. English at work, for you.

According to urbandictionary (thats a website) an 'askhole' is a person who asks too many idiotic questions. English is getting better by the day, baby!

The last word in English of course is this song I heard yesterday called "Hotel Keralafonia". With all due apologies to everyone from God's Own Country (and to those irritating people who've heard everything before, especially when you think you have a good joke to crack), you can find it here:

http://kotinetti.suomi.net/hilja.reinikka/Audio/KeralaFoniaYC.mp3

A weekend of barrels of beer, hard rock, and humongous hangovers, beckons. Adieu, all......

Polar Bears, PAN Cards, TV's and Hysterics

“The year’s at the spring,
And day’s at the morn;
Morning’s at seven;
The hillsides dew–pearled;

The lark’s on the wing;
The snail’s on the thorn:
God’s in His heaven,
All’s right with the world.

- From the 'Pippa Passes' by Robert Browning

I've somehow always found those lines a little irritating... a bit too optimistic, to say the least. However, that said, let us begin.

There's this cartoon character on Nickelodeon, a polar bear, called Backkom or something. The poor bugger always manages to screw up everything he does, always gets frustrated with life in general, and runs around grunting his anger like a loony. I sympathize with him. Reminds me of myself. In the sense that I can understand his feelings, not in the sense that I run around grunting with frustration. Wellll.... not too often anyway.

So I thought I'd count all the 'bright spots' in my life currently. I am now (FINALLY!!) the proud owner of a fully functional TV. Which brings up the travails of getting it fixed. Getting those guys to come and fix it was slightly more difficult than it would have been, to get Britney Spears to pass off as Einstein (intellectually I mean... not that lookwise is any easier, come to think of it. Einstein looks so much better, don't you think?) Anyway the only problem with the TV now, is that the pictures come in three bands of colors. The top one third is orange, the middle is green, and the bottom is in normal natural colors. The TV as usual functioned well until the technicians were around fixing it (it had totally gone on strike earlier and refused to function despite the several bribes we tried to offer it), and the moment they left, gave an evil burp and switched itself into the tricolor mode I've just described. It was all I could do stop myself from beating my head in, in frustration. Well initially, having your TV populated by people with green faces and orange hair and tomato ketchup that is a brilliant yellow is a novelty. But it wears off, you know. You start yearning to watch some normal people in normal colors. I understand that you can't see normal people on TV, but hell, is normal color too much to ask too? I've lodged another service complaint. I expect someone will turn up to fix it sometime, in the next two years or so.

I'd gone to get my PAN card re-issued, having lost my earlier PAN card, and my eardrums, when Mrudula heard it was lost. When she loses her temper they hear her in Delhi, in fact they hear her in North Bloody Afghanistan... whew! scary people - these wives I tell you. I mean 'wives' as in a general term. I'm strictly monogamous, I hasten to add. Anyway, after several desperate phone calls, I found a place where I could reapply for the card. This unique feat is made even more so, when you consider the fact that it was done while simultaneously listening to lectures on how a six year old would be more responsible. "Hah! I bet I can drink more beer than any six year old you know!" I didn't say. Somehow, my gut feelings told me it wouldn't improve the situation further. And while honesty forces me to admit, that it was my fault, modesty did not allow me to acknowledge it..Heheheh...(read: sheepish grin) The lady on the other side very considerately referred me to a site saar, where 'all' the details I wanted would be furnished saar. Now, I started getting a little suspicious - I mean things seemed to be going my way, which is a logical impossibility. Got onto the website, and yes!! I was on the right track.

I mean, with instructions like "submission of three documents from the Fourteen documents as mentioned below, provided one of the three documents is a photo identity document and atleast one of the three is amongst the documents indicated at (a) to (i) and a standard affidavit on non-judicial stamp paper duly attested by a Notary insofar as any of the documents refers to the address previously occupied by the applicant, along with sufficient documentation to establish the applicants current address" it couldn't have been simpler.

Got back to the dear lady and after twenty minutes of deep discussion, we arrived at what we mutually felt were the requisite documents. After spending these minutes in such highly rewarding intellectual conversation, she also very helpfully mentioned that they would remain open only for another half hour. In keeping with the situation, if I missed this days deadline I was in no position to go get it done for a week. So I bravely turned to Mrudula, told her that it would take a week for me to get it fixed, and when she didn't reply, equally bravely put on my clothes (my going-out clothes, I'm not crazy enough as yet, to walk around the house starkers. "As yet" being the operative term there) and headed to the PAN office like my ass was on fire.

After thirty minutes of travel (my goddam flat seems to be atleast thirty minutes from any goddam place in Bangalore - Some kind of space time dysfunction I think), with tension levels that resembled Indiana Jones' during the climax of 'Temple of Doom', I arrived at the place. Found out that the kind lady had been wrong about both the timings and the required documents. I still had around one and a half hours to go, but had to get two other documents. Another one hour of travel (up and down, or rather 'down hogi appu' as my auto driver put in Kannada). I was sweating badly and beaming with pride when I presented the filled up application and the documents at the counter. The man there didn't probably like my expression, or may be it was me. In fact he had the look of a person who didn't like human kind in general. With a gleeful expression, he informed me that I was two copies short of one document. Well, thats OK I thought, as I vacated the line which was of about twenty people behind me, I can get a photocopy.

Walked for about ten minutes and found a shop. "Xerox?" I asked him. He nodded and with a sigh of relief I gave him the paper and said two copies. It was when he said "No current saar, whole area, aff en hour to come back" that I lost it. I found myself in front of another photocopier shop, when I came to, took the photocopy and got the whole damn thing done five minutes before closing time. However any resemblances, between any pictures and news items about 'man loses it and runs down Old Madras Road screaming", and me are purely coincidental. I deny that it was me, under any circumstances.

Reminds me of four of my friends who had taken up a flat in Adayar ( thats in Chennai) and for no reason would suddenly go into fits of hysterics. Fine upstanding people I tell you, but one of them would arbitrarily start screaming "WTF???!!!" ( thats 'what the f*@#k" for all you politically incorrect people who think WTF means the World Trade Federation). This cry would be taken up by others until the whole flat would resound to their cries, which would have put the knights riding into the Crusades to shame ( At least in decibels, not in content. One sincerely hopes the knights didn't charge in screaming "What the f*@#k??!!" or for that matter "World Trade Federation??!!"). I can personally vouch for the fact, that being there during this bizarre expression of medieval hysterics, was not one of the more pleasant experiences of one's life. Especially for a calm composed person like me....

Sometimes I think Backkom has it easy.

How is it that all the couples in my apartment complex, all the 20 blocks, seem to be of the same age, look alike (fair, balding, middle age, IT type guys and fair, middle aged, IT type guys wife type women) and have kids of the same age ( fair, young, IT type guys kids type children) ? I suspect Mrudula and me have stumbled into some kind of huge lab where they're experimenting with all these people, using them as Guinea pigs I tell you! Mrudula of course thinks its either hysteria, after the weeks tension, or too much of Douglas Adams. I still have my own doubts.

Spent the weekend very very fruitfully. Sat at home, drank beer and watched TV. " God’s in His heaven, Beer's on the table, All’s right with the world." Yeah baby!!

Audiences, Autodrivers, Cub Scouts and Family Jewels

Think it not loss of time a while to stay,
Tho' thy companions chide thy long delay;
Tho' summon'd to the seas, tho' pleasing gales
Invite thy course, and stretch thy swelling sails:
But beg the sacred priestess to relate
With willing words, and not to write thy fate...
She shall direct thy course, instruct thy mind,
And teach thee how the happy shores to find.
This is what Heav'n allows me to relate:
Now part in peace; pursue thy better fate,

- Virgil in the 'Aenid'

I always loved the turn of phrase these Greek poets had. Translating them into English verse must have been difficult. This particular verse seemed rather apt for the blog (the people who read it.. that is)... Hmmmm... That said, let us begin.

I've been neglecting my blog. I'm sure the millions of people who have been eagerly waiting for the next installment will have been extremely disappointed... And hence here I am... I have this feeling that one of these days I'm going to blog myself into oblivion. Don't ask me what that means,but it does have a cool ring to it methinks.. Not that I care about the number of people who actually read my blog.

" Ditch the IPC, Mahesh... let all the yuppies unite, gather all the coins they can muster, and go and yell 'Talaiva!' " Sheetal says. Good on yer mate! Couldn't agree with you more. Was extremely pleased that someone had deigned to comment (not that it matters to me, how many people comment - just in case i haven't mentioned it before...)

Showed Mrudula what Sheetal had written. Mrudula pointed out that I would probably not qualify to be a 'young' urban professional anymore. Hah! And anyways what does that make me? A Guppie (Geriatric urban professional)?

Getting to office has become quite an absorbing experience. Its around five minutes from my house, by Auto. As soon as I step outside the flat, I light up a cigarette to fortify myself against the coming ordeal, put up a game smiling face and proceed to the auto stand ( one of the 'burning' issues in my life that, quitting smoking - punnintended of course). As soon as they see me coming the Auto Drivers start this little dance that I like to call 'The Auto driver's shuffle'. They all start moving in a random manner so as not to be the first one I approach. If you actually program this movement and put onto a comp, using fractals it should prove extremely interesting. However I'm pretty savvy (or a 'usaar k.d ' as they say in Tamil) and manage to pin one of them down.

I'm smiling now. Showing irritation in any manner now, is the best way to ensure that I walk all the way to office. I had brilliantly deduced, immediately after joining work, that I would have to reach office tomorrow and the day after, and the day after and so on and so forth.. ad infinitum. And hence I would require autos for that. Hence the pleasing smile. Mrudula's method is to tackle all auto drivers with a scowl and BP (Blood Pressure... what else could it be... British Petroleum???) levels that would be fatal in other human beings. I however proudly live upto my family motto - 'Neither strong, nor determined" . This, very strangely, also happens to be the family motto of Jeremy Clarkson ( you know the guy... BBC... Top Gear?).

I tell AD1 (Auto Driver1) where I want to go. He considers this with all the importance that needs to be accorded to it. I mean, lets face it, it is after after all one of the most important decisions he's going to make in life. While he considers it with all the gravity of an earnest new physics graduate contemplating the String Theory, I stand there twiddling my thumbs and smiling... twiddle, twiddle, twiddle...smile, smile, smile. Finally he smiles. Yes, at last !! I can see that he's made up his mind!

He demonstrates his immense decision making skills, by immediately turning around and asking AD2 (Auto Driver 2) "neenu hogthiya?" (will you go? in Kannada). Broader smile, smile, smile, bigger twiddle, twiddle, twiddle. AD2 refuses and the question passes on to AD3 and so on. Finally they all confer ( this discussion would put a UN Security Council meeting on the Israel Palestine issue to shame...). Finally a verdict is reached. They all turn around and smile at me. I immediately know whats the result and start wearily plodding towards office. Maybe some of them would observe my forlorn figure on the horizon and offer to drop me off? Wishful thinking.

This normally absorbing experience was made spectacularly interesting today, by the addition of two new players into the arena. As I approached the Auto stand, I noticed that there was only one Auto there, and this one had been commandeered by a husband and wife team ( At least I think so, hopefully they were not living in sin). The husband was giving the wife instructions on how to reach a certain place in detail. And I mean 'IN DETAIL'. He even told her how many steps she would have to climb from the porch to the reception (seven - if I remember correctly). The AD asked me to wait, indicating that he would be willing to drop me too. It was all I could do to stop singing "Hallelujah! Hallelujah!" and dancing around the Auto

I was contemplating the obvious fact that this gentleman had probably spent too much time in the cub scouts ( the husband, not the AD) as a youth (you know their motto - 'be prepared') when it was discovered that wifey had forgotten to bring her cell phone along. The husband refused to allow her to go without it. What if a Tsunami struck Bangalore ( yes I know B'lore is not a coastal city) , or god forbid, there was huge landslide??!! . I mean just because its never happened before, doesn't mean it can never happen in the future, right? Of what help a cellphone can be in those circumstances is beyond me, but after considerable deliberation, it was decided that wife could leave without her mobile, and instead husband would take the auto driver's mobile no.

Alls well that ends well I thought, and then the AD indicated that I would have to sit up in front with him. Obviously. Everyone in India knows that if a man and a woman sit within three feet of each other for period exceeding four minutes (it takes five to reach my office), all kinds of mishaps can occur! Well actually, at the cost of being politically incorrect, having taken a look at her, a million dollars wouldn't have induced me to 'mishap' her. Not that I would have done so otherwise.. let me hasten to add! Mrudula reads this blog y'know!!

We started and travelled for a whole period of two minutes when the AD's mobile rang. Husband had returned with the mobile and wanted the wife to have it. The Auto driver turned to me, asked me to get off and start walking. If I was still walking when he returned with wife and mobile, he magnanimously offered, he would pick me up. Strangely, I had not flown away and was very much walking along the road when he returned.

Got on to the auto, and sat in the front. My feet were straddling the starting lever ( you know that thing they pull up to start the auto...). Auto stopped at signal, AD switched off engine. This is when I realized that if the AD inadvertently started the Auto again, he would have done considerable damage to me, considering that the starting lever was in between my legs. I'd have had to change my name and probably sing soprano for the rest of my life, not to think about the pain...

Gingerly explained to him, that he should give me sufficient warning before starting the Auto. He very kindly complied. Reached office with the family jewels safe. I love Bangalore.

Must remember to thank god for the wellbeing of the Family Jewels. Went to the balcony to smoke. Froze into some kind of ice carving. Mrudula had to come and break me out of it. Damn, this place is bloody cold!!

Demo's,Concerts, Kung Fu and Sivaji

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all convictions, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
- 'The Second Coming' by W.B. Yeats

I've always loved that poem. Summarizes a lot of things. That said, let us begin.

Mini sent me a couple of her demo song tracks. Was awestruck. She can reach notes that heretofore I thought were only possible for Bats (those 'unspeakable giant bugs' as Calvin puts it. You know the kind I'm talking about-the flying dog like thingies...). Don't get me wrong here, what I mean is that she is one of the most talented singers I've ever come across. And absolutely gutsy too. Wish I could figure out a way to put them up here in the blog. Someday I will conquer this technology I say! Watch out technology, here I come!

That reminds me of the time in the not-too-distant past where yours truly was conned into singing. And before an audience too! (Yes.. I know, I mean how wicked can people get? And no points for asking me where my brains were, at that moment) The conspirators convinced me that I was India's answer to James Hetfield (The whole world knows that he's the guy who sings lead for Metallica, for godssake!). So in all my innocence I went up on stage with Adi on the lead guitar - this was going to be an unplugged performance that would put MTV to shame. I introduced us and three people from the audience clapped, probably out of some misplaced sense of duty. I decided that this would not do! I asked them in a loud demanding tone "Is that the best you can do?!". No response. Silence that would have put a tomb to shame. "I'm not starting till I hear some applause here!!". I was getting a little desperate here, as some of the more perceptive amongst you would have realized. Openly hostile stares and a lot of mutterings ("lets string him up by his toes" and such like..).

I immediately recalled the Kung Fu techniques that I had spent eight years learning, in the deepest reaches of Tibet, in a hidden monastery. I might have to use it here.... I thought. Let me digress here for a moment and for the first time in history, let me reveal to you the secret 'Yu Shu' Kung Fu fighting technique. And yes they do teach Kung Fu in Tibet, not only in China. It involves bending your knees, so that your butt is exactly at an angle of 83 degrees to your feet, as the first step. Not a degree more not a degree less mind you, or the effect of the stance is lost. It was not easy to master mind you, tough task masters those Tibetan monks. They'd put 'The cruel tutelage of Pai Mei' to shame ( And for those of you who don't know what it is, go watch Kill Bill). They'd make you go out and kiss a Yak as punishment, and believe you me, that can be quite unpleasant. Anyways, the next step is to screw up your face. Imagine the most embarrassing experience you've ever had, raise it to the power ten, and you'll have the requisite expression on your face. Then flail your arms around, as if you were trying to take off and fly, while all the time loudly screaming the words "Shoo! Shoo!". Works like magic I tell you, and no one will dare to even approach within 5 feet of you.

Take even steps back while remaining at the same angle (this will take some practice) and then turn around and run like your butt was on fire. As my friend Sun Tzu often says, a strategic retreat is often the best form of offense. It works every single time.

Back to the concert. By this time I'd realized that I was up shit creek without a paddle and started belting out "Nothing else matters" like nobody's business. In between Adi launched into the solo lead and the audience spontaneously broke out into thunderous applause. It was all I could do to restrain myself from plucking the guitar out of his hands and sticking it up his..... Well we finished it with a game face. Sometime later I got to hear a recording of it. To tell you the truth, I kind of sympathised with the audience....

Well Sivaji's been released and as usual I miss the simple old days when I could go to the first days shows, scream "Thalaivaa!!!", and fling coins at the screen. Us yuppies aren't allowed to do that y'know. Its illegal under some code of the IPC that I can't recall right now. Tried to explain this to Mrudula, but her eyes started glowing the way they usually do before those laser bolts shot out of them. Beat a retreat. Sometimes even Yu Shu Kung Fu doesn't work.

I received this gem of a mail about Sivaji which i think the whole world should read:

Hurray Hurray ........ sivaji super hit....promise
hi frnds this is ***** ......i m a big rajni fan.........i stay in abudhabi .......i feel i m the 1st to say sivaji talk,.....movie is awesome......i saw the movie.......excellent movie.....dead shot hit.........the 1st one hour of the muve is slow .....interval bang is awesome which is a big treat for rajni fans ....interval block (peeri shona vundane summa adaradhilla)......plz plz fans dont get disapponted after watchin 1st one hour.........2 nd half full ultimate......climax 30min is the highlite where the movie goes to a high peak.....there is a big twist in climax.....i dont want to reveal........plzz ....movie is 100 times better than CM commercially...;........interval block resembles similar to TAGORE (chiranjeevi's muvie)..........SUPERSTAR comes with an industry hit after 3 years.........last but not the least......movie is all abt an NRI who teaches a lesson for all who dont pay tax .......THE MAIN PART OF THE MUVIE IS ALL ABT A MEDICAL COLLEGE REVENGE,......MUVIE IS A HIT....i m very happy tat i m the 1st to reveal the talk.......super star zindabad

After a good deal of research, I've ascertained that "peeri shona vundane" is a form of greeting used in the interior districts of outer Mongolia. Please don't ask me why anyone from Abu Dhabi should use it. I'm still conducting research on that, and will share the results with you once they're in. Hope that clarifies. As for the rest of the 'muve' (or 'muvie' as the case may be), its pretty evident that its about this NRI who pays taxes to exact revenge on a medical college. Or is it a NRI who joins a medical college to help him avenge people who pay taxes? Its a Rajini movie for heavens sake, does the story line matter??!! Go watch it and enjaai I say!

They've picked a compromise candidate for the president's post. I'm very miffed that didn't offer it to me first! I shall register my strong protest by sulking throughout the weekend. besides the television is still on the blink.

Exit: the gallant Mahesh into the dull and dreary afternoon.

Morale boosters, Masterpieces, Llamas and Naked Bike Rides

Dear Lord: The gods have been good to me. For the first time in my life, everything is absolutely perfect just the way it is. So here's the deal: You freeze everything the way it is, and I won't ask for anything more. If that is OK, please give me absolutely no sign. (pause) OK, deal. In gratitude, I present you this offering of cookies and milk. If you want me to eat them for you, give me no sign. (pause) Thy will be done. - Homer Simpson in the 'Simpsons' (obviously..DUH!)

And that being said... let us begin....

I'm in a garrulous mood today. This just might be along write. Was talking to a friend of mine who's from Bihar, who in the interests of good health shall remain anonymous. The last thing I want is a hit squad from Bihar knocking on my door. I mean, why should they travel all the way just to get beaten up by me? Anyways, in between the conversation, I couldn't resist.

Me: Did you read my blog (hopeful tone)
Him:Hum aisa serious blog nahin padte
Me: My blog? Serious?? You must be joking! ( And here I was, under the impression that I was joking on the blog)
Him: Tera blog boring hai ( I knew it! I knew it!)
Me: Ok... So tell me which ones are the interesting blogs? (Hah! got you there!)
Him: (Mentions two names)
Me: And you mean to tell me they don't write serious stuff?? I read them too man! ( You gotta be shittin me...!!)
Him: Its not a question of serious stuff. Your blog is boring. Bahut boring. (Are you a human being or a parrot fer godssake!!)
Him: And aadhe words ka matlab hi pataa nahin mujhe. Pls use aasaan english ( Sigh... )

Came back home. Telly still on the blink and Mrudula still in a bad mood. I explained to her about the above conversation. She seemed highly amused. She told me that this 'blogging' thing is just a fad with me... Like the previous... she gave me a long list here... which I will not share with you. This is a very open conversation I'm having with you,see? But on the other hand , there is a limit to my masochism too.. Crux of the issue was that I felt like a cycle tire that had just run over a six inch nail.

After those splendid morale boosters, there was only one thing I could do. Here I am blogging again.

Talking about simple English, can't resist but mention the 'Llama song' by Burton Earny.For those of you who haven't heard it, its available at:

http://www.albinoblacksheep.com/flash/llama.php.

The sublime poetry and and the music that pulls at your heart strings combine to form an experience that is not easily forgotten. Burton has composed a commodious masterpiece whose narrative power is only matched by its generosity of vision. I was greatly disappointed when it was overlooked both for the Booker prize (for the lyrics) and the Grammy Awards (for the music). As a great wise man once said 'There's simply no accounting for people's tastes'. Just as an aside, The great wise man in question is also the author of this blog.

For those of you who are too lazy to go look it up, I could provide the lyrics of the song. But the quite a few of you might perish of a severe case of the goosebumps, and I'd be blamed for it. I have no plans of going to jail ( unless they arrest me for daring to blog- see morale boosters above). So get off your lazy butt's and go click that link above!

For some reason the Spanish also seem to be fascinated by Llamas. If you meet a person who spoke Spanish, or god forbid, were chatting with him/her on some instant messenger service (you never know), one of the questions the person would ask you, would be "Como te llamas?"

I always thought thats a real funny thing to ask. I mean, if I didn't know better my responses would range from: "No I don't herd Llamas, I just work for an IT company"
to: "No thank you, I already have three of them at home and their names are Rajagopal, Sunderrajan and Subramaniam"
to downright: "Buggerroff! You sick shit!!! I don't want to do it with any Llama!! Not even if it looks like Kareena Kapoor!!! ( Which you will admit is not very far from the truth. The Kareena bit , that is)

It apparently means "Whats your name".

The incumbent president, said a very interesting article I read today (I read the article, the incumbent president didn't say that) is very fond of animals and has a variety of them put up at the Rashtrapati Bhavan. He apparently even had an ailing Hippo from a circus treated there. No, as far as I know the hippo went back to the circus and is not currently residing at Rasthrapati Bhavan. The candidate who is most likely to succeed him, Shivraj Patil, when asked what his interests were, listed shooting and horse riding. Poor Animals. I love my country. There's humour everywhere in India.

There's humour elsewhere also. Apparently there's this event organized every year around the globe called the "World Naked Bike Ride". It consists of people doing exactly what the name says. Riding naked down the streets of cities on bikes. That's cycles in Indianese. This year too they organized it in 5 cities around the world. Its supposed to be a protest against global warming and to sensitize people to the evils of using automobiles. If it were me taking part, I'd be more worried about how to desensitize my butt. I mean, I have problems with the comfort levels accorded to my sensitive area's by a bicycle seat on a normal day! If I were nude..... But never fear, gentle reader , that is a spectacle which you will never have to contend with. This I promise you. (Is that a collective sigh of relief I hear?)


One of the participants was interviewed and the reporter asked him the obvious:
http://www.concordmonitor.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20070607/
REPOSITORY/706070410/1043/NEWS01

Reporter:Doesn't that get uncomfortable, you know, on a bike?
Participant: Everyone asks this question, and it's actually pretty comfortable. Believe me, I've asked every rider I meet. We all agree that as long as the bike seat is comfortable with clothes, you'll feel fine without clothes.

On that mysterious note I will bid you all goodbye. I'm sure that you too did your part to make the world a better place and if you did on a bike when you were nude.... You must be nuts!!!!!

Exit: the gallant Mahesh into the dark and dangerous night.