Idiots, Ostriches, Alfred.E.Neuman, Spaceships and Parathas

"Mit der Dummheit kämpfen die Götter selbst vergebens". (Against Stupidity, the Gods Themselves Contend in Vain)

- Friedrich von Schiller, Jungfrau von Orleans (Maid of Orleans)


This guy (Schiller) was apparently a contemporary of Goethe. The surprising thing is that he got this at an age when I would assume there were lesser number of idiots around. I shall prove this conclusively in the following part of this blog (assuming that proof is required for something that I, Mahesh, contend is true...). Yes, all this and modesty too... That said, let us begin.


But first, after a long hiatus, I am back, and I'm sure all my readers who were clamoring for more are extremely gratified. There was a vast number of people (ummm.. OK!! Three, if you really MUST know!!! ) who respectfully enquired as to my health, when I took a brief respite from blogging. "Has he become sane" they wondered, "Has he stopped blogging" they wondered. And then they decided that it wasn't that big a loss to mankind, and went on with their lives. Genius should never expect to get appreciated in its own time. Actually, when I made a formal announcement to a certain section of my friends that I would be blogging again, they were deliriously happy, and there was dancing in the streets. It had nothing to do with the fact that we were all several pitchers of beer down (several pitchers each, not several collectively- you understand) that day, I'm sure (the dancing, not my blogging again). Hmmm... maybe 'deliriously' wasn't the best word to use in that context?


I'm concerned. Yes, me. For those of you who know me, this will be reason for concern - that Mahesh is concerned about ANYTHING. "I mean, this is the guy who's only major concern in life is walking straight!! And even that concern, only emerges after those looong Saturday night parties!! Well actually Sundays too.. and maybe another three or four days in the week.. but not too many, mind you...") Ah, gentle reader, as much as the Ostrich in my constitution tries to assert itself.... I am unable to bury my head in the sand and pretend that the problem does not exist.


OK, for those of you who are woefully uninformed about Ostriches (how anyone can not know about this in the present day and world I can't understand. I mean, after all, isn't the life and times of Ostriches part of every elementary schooling curriculum?), let me save you a trip to Wikipedia. For some time in the past it was assumed that the response of this avian equivalent of Einstein, to danger, was to bury its head in the sand and hope that it would go away (the danger, that is). A most educated response, I must say. On a completely different note, there's something that I've always wanted to do. Find an Ostrich with its head in the sand; give it a swift kick in the butt, and run away before it pulls its head out. Whoa! Now that's my idea of fun!! Well, for those of you who don't appreciate this, just picture yourself as the Ostrich, and your flow of emotions (and expletives) when this happens to you.. geddit? Ha, Ha! A word to the wise though. Apparently Ostriches kick, and a kick from an ostrich can apparently disembowel a Lion. So once you kick the Ostrich, you'd better run like you were the Ostrich, and your tail feathers were on fire. I mean, if it were to kick you a little lower, you wouldn't be disemboweled. You would be Dis-somethingelsed. And believe me, disemboweling would be better than getting dis-somethingelsed.


OK.. enough said about avian genius, lets move on to my pressing 'concern'. I see so much about 'Global Warming' 'Global Pollution Levels' 'Global Warfare' etc., and I'm concerned. Concerned that we're missing out on the biggest threat to all mankind. "Global Stupidity'.


There are signs all around us that people are becoming more and more stupid, and we just refuse to acknowledge this. And even if the rest of you don't see this happening, I do. Let me prove it to you. Over the last few years, the kind of statements that I hear around me/ questions I've been asked/people I've met, have led me to believe that while the amount of IQ in this world is constant, the number of people sharing it is steadily increasing. You go do the math. There was this friend of mine who asked me recently if I knew any men who were handsome, erudite and rich (and before you let your imagination wander... the friend was of the female gender. Wander about the friend, I meant, not about me. Obviously). "Erudite"??? I mean what kind of person 'digs' an 'erudite' male??? Sounds like some kind of fat person.. Well its any day better than 'Hirsute' I guess...Hmmm... anyways those kind of questions are the ones I'm talking about. The only person who I know answers that description (handsome erudite etc. not hirsute) is this iconic American called Alfred.E.Neuman (this time, no spoon feeding. Go Wiki!!). This youth has been at the forefront of the fight against stupidity since 1954 (and has aged surprisingly little).


His contributions to the fight against stupidity range from becoming the mascot of one of the most 'erudite' (do you hear me snigger?) magazines to come out since the dawn of time, to making earth shatteringly logical statements such as:


"It's not the ups and downs in life that are problem. It's the jerks"


and


"Most people have minds like concrete - all mixed up and permanently set"


Well, I didn't in all sincerity suggest Alfred to her. But yes, the fact remains that more and more people are asking questions like that. Just today, someone asked me "How do you maintain your beard?" I was stumped. I was tempted to say "I have this guy who comes in every weekend dude? And then gives me the works with a lawn mower and a pair of gardening shears... Amazing what those instruments can do". Well, I can't imagine what his reaction would have been, had I said this..(And no!! He gives my beard the works!!! My beard you hear??!! Before all your itinerant imaginations go to work again..) Well that question was actually tolerable. As compared to people, who come up to me when I'm eating and ask me "Having lunch a?". What does it look like?? "No, oh my god!! how could you even think that?? This is how I excrete." Or, "Had a hair cut a?" (the 'a' is mandatory in Indian English. I think it qualifies as a genitive form of the adverb declined in the past participatory tense. And its Geni 'tive' geddit? Geni 'tive'). My answer to the hair cut problem was "No, its winter. I usually moult in winter".


The high point came when some one mailed me recently and wrote "pls feel me for any clarification required". Excuse me?? What made it worse (in a perverse way of course...) was that this was from a male colleague.. Not that receiving such a statement from a female colleague would have me shouting from the rooftops in joy, I must confess. Well, this is when the stupidity barrier kicks in. The stupidity barrier is something like the "Jedi Force" (remember your physics? Electromagnetic, gravitic, weak, strong and Jedi forces? The five fundamental forces?) The effect of the barrier is to make you wish, that you lived "once upon a time, in a galaxy far far away" (if you can't connect Jedi force with that phrase... I have only one suggestion.. Wiki the phrase and look for specific topics that have 89.4% relevance. I'm assuming that if you've read this far, you don't have anything better to do)


So, in response to the mail, I put on my velvet smoking jacket, sat down and composed this exquisitely polite and immensely insulting mail to the interlocutor in question.(Does the use of 'interlocutor' make me an 'erudite' person? Hah!!) I expected him to cringe in discomfort, squirm in the throes of my masterly, rapier sharp, wit. I miscalculated.


What I received back as a response was broad sweeping swathe of utter imbecility, with a vote of thanks for having replied, a copy to my superior asking him if I was right, and of course and invitation to "feel me for any 'further' clarification" (punctuation inserted by author i.e. the person with whom your present interlocutor is in the habit of identifying with, by means of the perpendicular pronoun - in other words, they were inserted by I. Nice grammar there, wot?? More evidence of my erudition or your not having heard about Anthony Jay and Jonathan Lynn - take your pick. I'd prefer you pick the first option, though. "My erudition" - sounds kinky huh? ). Anyways, the stupidity barrier kicked in again. The man was simply impervious to sarcasm and wit. It was I who was left cringing and squirming at my inability to permeate the dense screen of idiocy surrounding him. I was also left cringing at my inability to kick him in the family jewels (goolies if you must... do ostriches have family jewels? Hmmmm....) resoundingly.


The cut to the chase being, that stupid people are impervious to the fact they are stupid!! There is nothing you can say, short of "you dumb m*&%af*%$a!!!" (And if you don't know what that means.. go figure. And no, I don't think wikipedia has a section on this particular turn of phrase). Does anybody realize that these people are breeding like mice? (if not Ostriches.. I shall keep the breeding habits of Ostriches for another day) And since they are in a majority already (stupid people, not ostriches - bird brains!!), one day this world is going to be run by them. In fact, there's enough evidence all around that it's already being run by them. Just watch the news on T.V for justification.


The only way to solve this problem is to leave them and fly away to another galaxy, far far away (to take a page out of Douglas Adam's book, but in the reverse - the idea, not the page). I have the plans for the spaceship. Donations are welcome. Once I have it built, I shall decide who gets to fly away. Depending on what kind of donations are received. Beer is the most favoured form of donation though, as it helps me think better on the intricacies involved in designing such an advanced technological invention. I've put in an order for a dozen Mice, three Pigeons, one Yeti, and of course, one Ostrich, to power the new bionic engine for this spaceship. If this doesn't impress you, and send you running to buy me beer, then I'm sorry. You'll just have to deal with being left behind; when all us smart people fly to the galaxy, far far away. Which connects in with my earlier point on being surprised at Von Schiller recognizing this epidemic of stupidity, so early in the century. There must definitely have been lesser idiots then, than exist now… Hence proved (Hah!!)


In the eternal words of my hero Alfred.E.Neuman, "A fool and his money are soon parted". In the eternal words of my hero Alfred.E.Neuman's biggest fan (me of course, do you really deserve a place on my spaceship??) "People who wake up in the morning, wondering whether to scratch their watches, or wind their asses are the world's biggest problem, today"


On a tangential topic, I came upon an alternate form of life a week ago. It was called a 'Kerala Paratha'. This thing insidiously cons you into putting it into your innards, and then clogs your internal plumbing for a minimum period of three days. The only way to dislodge it is a strong dose of "Kiwi Drainex" or some industrial strength pipe cleaning solution. You realize you've made a mistake, when you put it into your mouth and then realize that it has exquisite texture and subtle taste of a cycle tire left out in the sun for three and a half days. But by then, it has control over your mind and you have to swallow (add to it the fact that spitting food out isn't completely accepted in all levels of our society, even today). My only advise to you, the next time you see one of these things eyeing you is.. Run. And if you're in time, you might even catch the spaceship carrying all the clever people to the galaxy, far far away.

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...