Saturday, November 15, 2008
Don’t let it be forgot, that once there was a spot, for one brief shining moment that was known as Camelot.
There is something so special about coming home. There is something special about birthdays as well. There is something specially special about coming back home on your birthday. Simple joys in life but enough to keep you going.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Mr. Brown And The Shawshank Redemption
We woke up around 6 30 the next day. A ric and then a taxi saw us near the Taj Palace a few minutes before we were supposed to report. Ties were fished out and coats were duly put on. i managed to do my collar button as well which is a minor miracle in my case. The day was looking good.
We were joined by another of my roommates. All three of us were paying a healthy amount of attention to the snacks laden silverware that were being laid out for the delegates. We were, for the record, student delegates. And that too, the host-student-delegates.
In simple terms, it meant we could direct (herd) the visiting student delegates to the last row were their sorry backsides were supposed to be in the first place. But, if there is one thing that a suit does for you then it is a this swagger that it adds to your persona. In short, it bumps you up by one
notch in life..... (To be continued...)
We were joined by another of my roommates. All three of us were paying a healthy amount of attention to the snacks laden silverware that were being laid out for the delegates. We were, for the record, student delegates. And that too, the host-student-delegates.
In simple terms, it meant we could direct (herd) the visiting student delegates to the last row were their sorry backsides were supposed to be in the first place. But, if there is one thing that a suit does for you then it is a this swagger that it adds to your persona. In short, it bumps you up by one
notch in life..... (To be continued...)
Friday, October 31, 2008
A Journey Is Organized.
About three weeks back, the times do not matter much these days, Mr. Brown came into the room. I am lying on my bed, the Times are carelessly strewn across. We have each navigated the individual perils of our summer placement process. Mr. Brown has just pulled a marathon 10 hour sleep session. He is as disgusted as we are surprised. This guy needed just 4 hours in the days gone by, when he was massacring the course contents and also clearing his mutual funds' certification.
"Man, fuck, I hate myself for the rut I am in."
Notice: I also have another roommate who is basically, well.... busy. Great guy. But, busy.He is the guy who once claimed that using the MacBook was better than having sex.
Busy guy pipes up now... "Guys, anyone game for the finance symposium ?"
We ruminate on this bit of news. Once night or one day, the plans are made. We are going.
Bombay here we come.
Our entire trip is planned with a Laizzez - Faire' worth being frowned upon. We nearly missed the onward, reached bombay & trudged all the way to the apartment where we were supposed to put up.
Bombay was disturbed that day. I could not meet some old comrades. No battles could be relived again. Mr. Brown had to reach Powai. When I got down from the ric after my journey's of the day he was still waiting for the bus. I had a slightly better time.
Shared auto space with a CA travelling back home from a "7 day, all year" grind. Invited him for the finance symposium the next day. Swanky place Taj Palace. He did not quite share the same feelings after a long day at the office. However, he toed the line just a wee bit. I promised to sms him the venue details as soon as I recharged my phone. Or remembered the location. Forget which.
Anyways. Mr. Brown has a lost puppy look. I had it the last time I was getting drunk at Roost in Mysore, and forgot the co-ordinates for the men's room. We decide, in the name of the holy spirits to find a watering hole.
Mr. Brown asks me - "You on tonight ?" "lets's see."
We reach the spot. HE orders. I wait. I then have one of those viagra advertisement moments. I just cannot get whatever is inside to "get up" and order a drink.
Mr. Brown is remarkably compassionate considering that he is in a bar with no company to go along with him. He changes the subject, so do I. There are very briefly two subjects at the table. Then he very gently permits me to take the lead. There is a good dinner to be finished here and I am suddenly a gourmet.
We walk back after 3 rums(him), 2 cokes(me) and a sizeable dinner.
"Man, fuck, I hate myself for the rut I am in."
Notice: I also have another roommate who is basically, well.... busy. Great guy. But, busy.He is the guy who once claimed that using the MacBook was better than having sex.
Busy guy pipes up now... "Guys, anyone game for the finance symposium ?"
We ruminate on this bit of news. Once night or one day, the plans are made. We are going.
Bombay here we come.
Our entire trip is planned with a Laizzez - Faire' worth being frowned upon. We nearly missed the onward, reached bombay & trudged all the way to the apartment where we were supposed to put up.
Bombay was disturbed that day. I could not meet some old comrades. No battles could be relived again. Mr. Brown had to reach Powai. When I got down from the ric after my journey's of the day he was still waiting for the bus. I had a slightly better time.
Shared auto space with a CA travelling back home from a "7 day, all year" grind. Invited him for the finance symposium the next day. Swanky place Taj Palace. He did not quite share the same feelings after a long day at the office. However, he toed the line just a wee bit. I promised to sms him the venue details as soon as I recharged my phone. Or remembered the location. Forget which.
Anyways. Mr. Brown has a lost puppy look. I had it the last time I was getting drunk at Roost in Mysore, and forgot the co-ordinates for the men's room. We decide, in the name of the holy spirits to find a watering hole.
Mr. Brown asks me - "You on tonight ?" "lets's see."
We reach the spot. HE orders. I wait. I then have one of those viagra advertisement moments. I just cannot get whatever is inside to "get up" and order a drink.
Mr. Brown is remarkably compassionate considering that he is in a bar with no company to go along with him. He changes the subject, so do I. There are very briefly two subjects at the table. Then he very gently permits me to take the lead. There is a good dinner to be finished here and I am suddenly a gourmet.
We walk back after 3 rums(him), 2 cokes(me) and a sizeable dinner.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Day Minus One. Is Paree' Burning ? Summer(s) Heat.
This is one of those war despatches.
Normandy Landings at ABCD tomorrow. Let us see which beach my boat strikes.
Hopefully, I would at least wade ashore. Then each man, his conscience and his weapon.
However, there was a Dunkirk today as well. Let us hope it turns out to be one of those days I can reflect upon in some days time. Amen. If not, such is life.
By the way, a lot of you want to know why these blank entries below. They are feelings I felt I would feel in the coming days. It is just that the precursors came one inspired night.
As things settle, or unsettle over the coming days, I would finish them up. Was waiting only for the details to emerge and complete the picture.
Tomorrow. Day Zero. I hear there is no time like that time. I would find out in another 12 hours.
P.S. Dunkirk marked the single greatest evacuation of the empire's troops in WWII. Losing out today is not pretty.
P.S. 2 It is however known that the troops of Dunkirk then led the assault of Normandy. They had to wait two years for their chance.
Normandy Landings at ABCD tomorrow. Let us see which beach my boat strikes.
Hopefully, I would at least wade ashore. Then each man, his conscience and his weapon.
However, there was a Dunkirk today as well. Let us hope it turns out to be one of those days I can reflect upon in some days time. Amen. If not, such is life.
By the way, a lot of you want to know why these blank entries below. They are feelings I felt I would feel in the coming days. It is just that the precursors came one inspired night.
As things settle, or unsettle over the coming days, I would finish them up. Was waiting only for the details to emerge and complete the picture.
Tomorrow. Day Zero. I hear there is no time like that time. I would find out in another 12 hours.
P.S. Dunkirk marked the single greatest evacuation of the empire's troops in WWII. Losing out today is not pretty.
P.S. 2 It is however known that the troops of Dunkirk then led the assault of Normandy. They had to wait two years for their chance.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Good Food. Great Drink. Excellent Company.
The Admiral had finished his exams. The civilian had an evening free. The Navy of the nation maintains an excellent facility "Varuna" in the capital. Improperly dressed civilians who can manage just a tee and a clean pair of jeans are "entertained" on the poolside by a small but adequate catering corner that doubles as a fully functional bar.
The poolside also comes with its forbidden advantages. Of course, we are all officers and gentlemen.
We sat. We ordered. We waited. GK had just finished "doing" his exams. Whichever godforsaken tub he was claiming to design had as much chance of making it ashore as the code he wrote in his previous life.
For the record, his work survives him. By a combination of lethargy and revolving door labour policy, his work has probably remained largely untouched. I would not doubt him if he told me, very unlike him though, that he still got the odd SOS.
Meanwhile, all is forgotten. The "Varuna" is really a beautiful set of buildings. The lawns almost border the pool. Both are quiet. No birds on either side.
Hard day for him. Most of my days are hard.
The bartender has very conveniently forgotten that the rum colas & the two colas ordered were to be in parallel & not in series.
GK has a hurt puppy look when he realizes that it is The BC for me. I decide. I have a special intuition that tells me that it matters to GK. He needs a little company. I tilt the glass.
Then. Nothing. For a while.
And then it spreads, the familiar warmth. I feel it like old times. Always. It spreads from the base of the stomach. Kunal always called me the-other-way-round.His capacity for classy rum always exceeded mine even in the days when we drank vintageless rum in college. His theory was that you must feel it burn down your throat. He once convinced me to drink nearly a quarter of a poison called Khoday's Old Monk 7 Year Vintage Rum to accurately determine why my throat did not burn.
I gagged when the second quarter was shoved in the name of science, and the experiment was sadly & mercifully abandoned; depending on whose point of view you got to hear.
However, we digress.
I jigged all my senses and perceptions but could not find a sense of homecoming.
I am sitting with rum swirling in my mouth and there is no "mama, i have come home."
GK sees that the drink has not sat well... He also knows it is where it is because he wanted the camaraderie. He then says these words about the old days...
"Dude, you are almost the only proof I have in this place that we had a past in Mysore, sloggin' our asses off as young impressionable SE s for whatever was the cause.... "
I reflect on what he has just said. It has been said very simply. GK is no great orator. Most times he might just wring his hands in frustration when the words fail him. Many times we read him between his lines.
I realize that a chapter did finish back there. GK, Sanath, Suhas, Bone, Jacob, Gun & Me.
Lived in the same mud and the same blood.
GK is pensive here. I think he would reach out to the rum cola and finish it off. He is also a little apologetic.
I pick the glass before him. He is mildly surprised. I tip the glass. My old powers are restored.
I tip my head back as well.
"Let's move. ABCD is calling. Business Communication Meeting."
We bundle ourselves in. It is dark in the rick. GK gets down at IIT. The road is a little dark. We slap palms.
"Next time Kota House".
"Sure Mate"
He slips a note into my hand. I am surprised this time.
"Pay the bugger off... I have change."
"So do I, mate!"
GK has moved already.
I move on and get down near my hostel. Full lights here. Crisp clean green bill in my hand.
I think I am grinning. GK can sometimes leave more than your throat stinging.
The poolside also comes with its forbidden advantages. Of course, we are all officers and gentlemen.
We sat. We ordered. We waited. GK had just finished "doing" his exams. Whichever godforsaken tub he was claiming to design had as much chance of making it ashore as the code he wrote in his previous life.
For the record, his work survives him. By a combination of lethargy and revolving door labour policy, his work has probably remained largely untouched. I would not doubt him if he told me, very unlike him though, that he still got the odd SOS.
Meanwhile, all is forgotten. The "Varuna" is really a beautiful set of buildings. The lawns almost border the pool. Both are quiet. No birds on either side.
Hard day for him. Most of my days are hard.
The bartender has very conveniently forgotten that the rum colas & the two colas ordered were to be in parallel & not in series.
GK has a hurt puppy look when he realizes that it is The BC for me. I decide. I have a special intuition that tells me that it matters to GK. He needs a little company. I tilt the glass.
Then. Nothing. For a while.
And then it spreads, the familiar warmth. I feel it like old times. Always. It spreads from the base of the stomach. Kunal always called me the-other-way-round.His capacity for classy rum always exceeded mine even in the days when we drank vintageless rum in college. His theory was that you must feel it burn down your throat. He once convinced me to drink nearly a quarter of a poison called Khoday's Old Monk 7 Year Vintage Rum to accurately determine why my throat did not burn.
I gagged when the second quarter was shoved in the name of science, and the experiment was sadly & mercifully abandoned; depending on whose point of view you got to hear.
However, we digress.
I jigged all my senses and perceptions but could not find a sense of homecoming.
I am sitting with rum swirling in my mouth and there is no "mama, i have come home."
GK sees that the drink has not sat well... He also knows it is where it is because he wanted the camaraderie. He then says these words about the old days...
"Dude, you are almost the only proof I have in this place that we had a past in Mysore, sloggin' our asses off as young impressionable SE s for whatever was the cause.... "
I reflect on what he has just said. It has been said very simply. GK is no great orator. Most times he might just wring his hands in frustration when the words fail him. Many times we read him between his lines.
I realize that a chapter did finish back there. GK, Sanath, Suhas, Bone, Jacob, Gun & Me.
Lived in the same mud and the same blood.
GK is pensive here. I think he would reach out to the rum cola and finish it off. He is also a little apologetic.
I pick the glass before him. He is mildly surprised. I tip the glass. My old powers are restored.
I tip my head back as well.
"Let's move. ABCD is calling. Business Communication Meeting."
We bundle ourselves in. It is dark in the rick. GK gets down at IIT. The road is a little dark. We slap palms.
"Next time Kota House".
"Sure Mate"
He slips a note into my hand. I am surprised this time.
"Pay the bugger off... I have change."
"So do I, mate!"
GK has moved already.
I move on and get down near my hostel. Full lights here. Crisp clean green bill in my hand.
I think I am grinning. GK can sometimes leave more than your throat stinging.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
"Remember... When in doubt... kucF..." - Al Pacino.
Watched Scent Of A Woman. Never expected to find a DVD rip at ABCD. Three days off as well.
Watching Lt. Col. Frank Slade in top form, priceless!
BTW, found this in one of my mails. I had become rather exercised when this happened in Australia some time back.
streettalk@ESPNSTAR.Com had the good sense not to publish it. So, here goes:
RE: AUSTRALIAN SOJOURN
I have read with some incredulity, the statement of Mr. Mike Proctor where he so sanctimoniously "pontificates" that his decision to impose a ban on Harbhajan is based not on hearsay, as I see one's word against another's, but on "having lived most part of his life in Africa and knowing what racism is".
The ICC is well advised to understand that with the game's proliferation beyond the Anglo-Saxon world, with more cultures being thrown into the mix, perceptions of mal-adjusted people like Mr. Proctor need to be backed by EVIDENCE.
How I wish a lawyer puts him on the stand and rips his decision part by part.
Mr. Proctor is apparently not well versed with the rules under which disciplinary action must be taken. Maybe, his past not having strong democratic roots, doesn't allow him to see what we have known for sixty years.
YOU DO NOT PERSECUTE BASED ON CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE.
I am sure there have been acquitals in jurisprudence because of insufficient evidence. Harbhajan should have been dealt with severely, IF VIDEO/AUDIO evidence were to be found against him.
Otherwise, what is wrong with Sachin's word ?
Because he does not stand before the southern cross or genuflects on a hundred does not make his version any less authentic.
The ICC needs to come out of it's mentality of offering positions that require training and sensitivity to people just in lieu of their records as players or through the old boy network. They need to verify from time to time that match officials are also CAPABLE and TRAINED to CONTINUE doing their duties.
We are probably heading for another legal battle where the soon to be hapless Mr. Proctor would find that Mr. Ponting lacks stature not just literally and that Mr. Hayden may not balk at making the sign of the cross, once he realises he is unable to throw his weight around like he does from the slips, after the dust settles on this sordid matter.
It is sad that legal recourse is the only option left for teams without adequate representation at the high table of the ICC.
In all this, how does one respond to Mr. Symonds ? He gave a good account of himself when he was on air during the T20 against NZ at Perth.
Symonds:"This guy(Jacob Oram) is going to come hard at me so I am going to try and jam this bastard"
Gilchrist: "(Giggling) (like the prom impressed by the brute, probably) You didn't Roy, did you!!! OMG!!"
Maybe we should exchange a list of words with him which maybe used during games when he starts the chatter and those which he feels are not racist.
And the much maligned monkeys at the zoo, by all accounts, must be preparing to sue, given that they have linked synonymously to such low intelligence.
More than our 9% GDP growth, today I feel, with rich irony, that we must have really come a long way towards being equals as serial offenders and abusers cry to the mothers, "Mama, the Indians down the road are giving better than us!!"
Cheers and no offence, specially to monkeys,
XXXX
Indian
formerly, Aussie cricket fan
- Mail Ends
Oscar Wilde was so right.
"Patriotism is the virtue of the vicious."
I continue to learn from my past mistakes. Or so I think. I also repeat them with disturbing frequency.
And lest we forget, vigilantism and monkeys, both Indian and Australian, be damned.
Watching Lt. Col. Frank Slade in top form, priceless!
BTW, found this in one of my mails. I had become rather exercised when this happened in Australia some time back.
streettalk@ESPNSTAR.Com had the good sense not to publish it. So, here goes:
RE: AUSTRALIAN SOJOURN
I have read with some incredulity, the statement of Mr. Mike Proctor where he so sanctimoniously "pontificates" that his decision to impose a ban on Harbhajan is based not on hearsay, as I see one's word against another's, but on "having lived most part of his life in Africa and knowing what racism is".
The ICC is well advised to understand that with the game's proliferation beyond the Anglo-Saxon world, with more cultures being thrown into the mix, perceptions of mal-adjusted people like Mr. Proctor need to be backed by EVIDENCE.
How I wish a lawyer puts him on the stand and rips his decision part by part.
Mr. Proctor is apparently not well versed with the rules under which disciplinary action must be taken. Maybe, his past not having strong democratic roots, doesn't allow him to see what we have known for sixty years.
YOU DO NOT PERSECUTE BASED ON CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE.
I am sure there have been acquitals in jurisprudence because of insufficient evidence. Harbhajan should have been dealt with severely, IF VIDEO/AUDIO evidence were to be found against him.
Otherwise, what is wrong with Sachin's word ?
Because he does not stand before the southern cross or genuflects on a hundred does not make his version any less authentic.
The ICC needs to come out of it's mentality of offering positions that require training and sensitivity to people just in lieu of their records as players or through the old boy network. They need to verify from time to time that match officials are also CAPABLE and TRAINED to CONTINUE doing their duties.
We are probably heading for another legal battle where the soon to be hapless Mr. Proctor would find that Mr. Ponting lacks stature not just literally and that Mr. Hayden may not balk at making the sign of the cross, once he realises he is unable to throw his weight around like he does from the slips, after the dust settles on this sordid matter.
It is sad that legal recourse is the only option left for teams without adequate representation at the high table of the ICC.
In all this, how does one respond to Mr. Symonds ? He gave a good account of himself when he was on air during the T20 against NZ at Perth.
Symonds:"This guy(Jacob Oram) is going to come hard at me so I am going to try and jam this bastard"
Gilchrist: "(Giggling) (like the prom impressed by the brute, probably) You didn't Roy, did you!!! OMG!!"
Maybe we should exchange a list of words with him which maybe used during games when he starts the chatter and those which he feels are not racist.
And the much maligned monkeys at the zoo, by all accounts, must be preparing to sue, given that they have linked synonymously to such low intelligence.
More than our 9% GDP growth, today I feel, with rich irony, that we must have really come a long way towards being equals as serial offenders and abusers cry to the mothers, "Mama, the Indians down the road are giving better than us!!"
Cheers and no offence, specially to monkeys,
XXXX
Indian
formerly, Aussie cricket fan
- Mail Ends
Oscar Wilde was so right.
"Patriotism is the virtue of the vicious."
I continue to learn from my past mistakes. Or so I think. I also repeat them with disturbing frequency.
And lest we forget, vigilantism and monkeys, both Indian and Australian, be damned.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Nice Things Come In Small Packages.
I tried being a better man. For about a couple of minutes. It did not work.
There is a small disc like area in my lower back.
It is hurting like hell.
I am also flipped on my tummy, so that the back is up. Literally.
There is a pillow beneath the... let me check... well.. below the ribs.
It is providing a cushion as I hear differential equations being discussed.
The bad back occurred because I did something I generally do not.
Stayed up late last night and worked.
For something challenging and very insightful. I have wonderful takeaways from it.
Mr. Brown is studying very hard next to me, while I am keen to get my back cured.
A nice load of about 45 kgs standing on my lower back might be the answer to all my problems.
Mr. Eric Clapton is on and would like to put in his 2 penny worth opinion as well.
"And then she asks me.... Do you feel all right ?"
And I Would Love To Say: I feel wonderful tonight.
Nice things come in small packages... Hmmm...
P.S. Next change; Cry Me A River. Justin Timberlake is such a spoiler. Earthbound.
There is a small disc like area in my lower back.
It is hurting like hell.
I am also flipped on my tummy, so that the back is up. Literally.
There is a pillow beneath the... let me check... well.. below the ribs.
It is providing a cushion as I hear differential equations being discussed.
The bad back occurred because I did something I generally do not.
Stayed up late last night and worked.
For something challenging and very insightful. I have wonderful takeaways from it.
Mr. Brown is studying very hard next to me, while I am keen to get my back cured.
A nice load of about 45 kgs standing on my lower back might be the answer to all my problems.
Mr. Eric Clapton is on and would like to put in his 2 penny worth opinion as well.
"And then she asks me.... Do you feel all right ?"
And I Would Love To Say: I feel wonderful tonight.
Nice things come in small packages... Hmmm...
P.S. Next change; Cry Me A River. Justin Timberlake is such a spoiler. Earthbound.
Be A Better Man.
I attended an august gathering today where I tried my best to blend into the background like barley in fine single malt whisky.
The experience was huge, because a really Learned Man for whom I have respect turned up to address us.
Learned Man made us take an oath of decency, righteousness and celibacy. No, not celibacy, now that I remember.
I had a chance, which I had passed, to hear Learned Man sometime back as well. The circumstances are murky and enjoyable.
Jake was leaving the job that weekend, I was on my way out too.
" What the heck mate, lets have a relaxing lunch at Roost. Have a "good" time as well. Who would notice ?"
We went. We settled. We ordered.
Things were good and fine.
Then she turned up.
She and I met once while working on the office newsletter.
She was also in HR. But she was nice, despite being in HR.
The time to weigh the options was nigh. Bang in front lay the nectar. I decided to salvage the reputation.
Ditch the drink. But where ? Can't throw it in Jake's face. It is his farewell.
GK (now admiral GK of the Navy) meanwhile cannot see her because the clouds in front of his face are yet to part.
I decide to do a weak imitation of Yeh-to-paani-hai-madam!
Toss it in like water.
Alas, the blasted appendage reaches for the lemon. Just then. Reflex actions learnt over long hours of practice. Practice can make man and misery perfect.
Nice lady gives a nice smile, despite the gargantuan goof up.
I smile. She smiles. Even my mates smile.
I think she also felt the urge to cut some strings. Drink on duty. Have a power trip. All in a day's work for a tigress.
We disperse in an hour and a half. Nobody would miss us anyway.
And now comes the Learned Man. While coming back to office, I see a military chopper land on campus.
I have heard some outlandish things about what goes on here. Including a story about a nuclear reactor that functions underground while we work. My worst fears are now true!
We pull over. I quickly pour some water on my head once I am on the road. I am imagining things.
Work stress. Must be.
I ask a hawker on the road.
"Woh uss building mein kya gaya abhi ?"
"Kya bhai, chadhha li hai kya? Helicopter hai Helicopter." HELIKOPTER. I still remember.
And So Came The Learned Man That Weekend. The HELIKOPTER was there to lay the ground for his visit.
2008 BC.
It is a somber auditorium that awaits the Learned Man. Dear Sir, it has been sometime since I spoke along with someone, much less took an oath. It was really nice. Felt good to be good.
I would try tomorrow to be what you want me to be. But, no promises. I might cheat in my Economics test. Just a harmless look. Not much, Sir!
I would really try to be a better man.
I also wish I had not missed the chance when you were down in the office last year. It was worth listening to you sir, even with a stiff back.
The experience was huge, because a really Learned Man for whom I have respect turned up to address us.
Learned Man made us take an oath of decency, righteousness and celibacy. No, not celibacy, now that I remember.
I had a chance, which I had passed, to hear Learned Man sometime back as well. The circumstances are murky and enjoyable.
Jake was leaving the job that weekend, I was on my way out too.
" What the heck mate, lets have a relaxing lunch at Roost. Have a "good" time as well. Who would notice ?"
We went. We settled. We ordered.
Things were good and fine.
Then she turned up.
She and I met once while working on the office newsletter.
She was also in HR. But she was nice, despite being in HR.
The time to weigh the options was nigh. Bang in front lay the nectar. I decided to salvage the reputation.
Ditch the drink. But where ? Can't throw it in Jake's face. It is his farewell.
GK (now admiral GK of the Navy) meanwhile cannot see her because the clouds in front of his face are yet to part.
I decide to do a weak imitation of Yeh-to-paani-hai-madam!
Toss it in like water.
Alas, the blasted appendage reaches for the lemon. Just then. Reflex actions learnt over long hours of practice. Practice can make man and misery perfect.
Nice lady gives a nice smile, despite the gargantuan goof up.
I smile. She smiles. Even my mates smile.
I think she also felt the urge to cut some strings. Drink on duty. Have a power trip. All in a day's work for a tigress.
We disperse in an hour and a half. Nobody would miss us anyway.
And now comes the Learned Man. While coming back to office, I see a military chopper land on campus.
I have heard some outlandish things about what goes on here. Including a story about a nuclear reactor that functions underground while we work. My worst fears are now true!
We pull over. I quickly pour some water on my head once I am on the road. I am imagining things.
Work stress. Must be.
I ask a hawker on the road.
"Woh uss building mein kya gaya abhi ?"
"Kya bhai, chadhha li hai kya? Helicopter hai Helicopter." HELIKOPTER. I still remember.
And So Came The Learned Man That Weekend. The HELIKOPTER was there to lay the ground for his visit.
2008 BC.
It is a somber auditorium that awaits the Learned Man. Dear Sir, it has been sometime since I spoke along with someone, much less took an oath. It was really nice. Felt good to be good.
I would try tomorrow to be what you want me to be. But, no promises. I might cheat in my Economics test. Just a harmless look. Not much, Sir!
I would really try to be a better man.
I also wish I had not missed the chance when you were down in the office last year. It was worth listening to you sir, even with a stiff back.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
"New" Coke. Near The Nose. Partially Successful.
"Mate, try the new coke!" A pinch near the nose.
I choke on the other coke.
Chagrined.
Irritated.
Surprised.
Reverse the order.
Never trust a stranger. Old jungle saying.
Angry. Guilty. Bullcrap.
Burning nostril, actual or perceived, priceless!
I choke on the other coke.
Chagrined.
Irritated.
Surprised.
Reverse the order.
Never trust a stranger. Old jungle saying.
Angry. Guilty. Bullcrap.
Burning nostril, actual or perceived, priceless!
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Nothing Makes A Big Problem Smaller Than A Good Night Spent In An AC Room.
Oblivion. Blessed Oblivion.
Two shots of electral to drive the cramp away. One bowl pasta. One bowl salad. Small cup ice-cream.
Ten hours sleep.
Priceless.
Two shots of electral to drive the cramp away. One bowl pasta. One bowl salad. Small cup ice-cream.
Ten hours sleep.
Priceless.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Busted In Economics. Redux.
Flash forward. 3 Days. A class after Hurricane Economica.
Square 1 has never looked more familiar.
Despite efforts, I am still not up to date with the case. I have some ideas though. They are on broad artistic lines. Point/Arc elasticities are so confusing. I would stick to what I feel might have happened.
The OPEC bastards have had a gun to our collective heads for the last 30 years.
"Carlos, The Jackal.. Where Art Thou? And Where Art Thy Gun, Bugger ?"
5 minutes before class commences, I make some curves. I draw beautifully. Or at least I think. The case emerges in my mind. I forget the case statement. Why not cut some strings and let the imagination soar ?
Epilogue. Nearly.
I have not covered income elasticities because... well... imagination has its limits.
But I feel generally OK. I have done some things. Images of me with my sleeves rolled, glasses perched and hands flexing on the board fleetingly pass through my mind.
I sit next to this very pleasant lady. Our seating is decided by professional casino gamblers at the beginning of the week. My cards normally suck.Don't get me wrong. Mr. Brown has exchanged seats with pleasant lady. Pleasant change. Pleasant lady tells me that my supply curve is wrong because no extraneous factors have influenced supply. It is simply a movement along the same curve. Not very pleasant. I cringe. I also keep a straight face.
Icarus anyone ?
Epilogue. Almost.
5:30 PM. The class is over. The Prof. has decided to take the case in the next class. I have escaped another working over. A feeling of relief. Mr. Brown and I slap palms. G S gives me a half hug. It is about as much affection as he shows. Wow!!!
Epilogue. Finally.
The leopard has still not changed its spots. The case continues to gather dust.
Ashes to Ashes. Dust to Dust.
Square 1 has never looked more familiar.
Despite efforts, I am still not up to date with the case. I have some ideas though. They are on broad artistic lines. Point/Arc elasticities are so confusing. I would stick to what I feel might have happened.
The OPEC bastards have had a gun to our collective heads for the last 30 years.
"Carlos, The Jackal.. Where Art Thou? And Where Art Thy Gun, Bugger ?"
5 minutes before class commences, I make some curves. I draw beautifully. Or at least I think. The case emerges in my mind. I forget the case statement. Why not cut some strings and let the imagination soar ?
Epilogue. Nearly.
I have not covered income elasticities because... well... imagination has its limits.
But I feel generally OK. I have done some things. Images of me with my sleeves rolled, glasses perched and hands flexing on the board fleetingly pass through my mind.
I sit next to this very pleasant lady. Our seating is decided by professional casino gamblers at the beginning of the week. My cards normally suck.Don't get me wrong. Mr. Brown has exchanged seats with pleasant lady. Pleasant change. Pleasant lady tells me that my supply curve is wrong because no extraneous factors have influenced supply. It is simply a movement along the same curve. Not very pleasant. I cringe. I also keep a straight face.
Icarus anyone ?
Epilogue. Almost.
5:30 PM. The class is over. The Prof. has decided to take the case in the next class. I have escaped another working over. A feeling of relief. Mr. Brown and I slap palms. G S gives me a half hug. It is about as much affection as he shows. Wow!!!
Epilogue. Finally.
The leopard has still not changed its spots. The case continues to gather dust.
Ashes to Ashes. Dust to Dust.
SHANE KEITH WARNE. CAPO DI TUTTI CAPI.
It was said of Augustus that he found Rome brick and left it marble.
The same is true of Shane Warne and spin bowling.
~ Gideon Haigh.
Warne is more than a great name. He has kept people young, lifted the sport's interest and become a global superstar. With his passing cricket will wait for somebody to step up. Perhaps we'll be sitting in hope for a long time. What a ride, what a player.
~ Peter English
Sometimes, on subjects you really feel about, there remains so little you can say.
The same is true of Shane Warne and spin bowling.
~ Gideon Haigh.
Warne is more than a great name. He has kept people young, lifted the sport's interest and become a global superstar. With his passing cricket will wait for somebody to step up. Perhaps we'll be sitting in hope for a long time. What a ride, what a player.
~ Peter English
Sometimes, on subjects you really feel about, there remains so little you can say.
Tequila. Straight Up. And Volunteering At Last.
BC has its points.
Your life is cleaner. You feel mature. You feel I-have-left-all-that-behind-me-now,-thanks-ishly mature.
On such a mature night I was in the oven. Time and place sub systems have crashed after a long week. Sometime this week must suffice for the time being. The full presidium was on the dais. Mumbo - jumbo began.
I suddenly faced a dilemma. Do you take a tequila shot and then use the lemon? Or was it the other way around ? I looked around hastily. No Mr. Brown in sight. No answers on the fly. Unfortunate.
When in doubt, start all over again. The specter of guzzlers emerged in my mind. I am lined up with two mates.
One. Two. Three.
Salt. Tequila.Lime.
One. Two. Three.
Salt. Tequila. Lime.
Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!! You are there!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
At this point I have that look in my eye. Someone described it as the "I- have- achieved- Nirvana" look today.
My brows furrow. Is it Salt. Tequila. Lime? Or the other way around ?
I dislike loose ends. I am worried. It could not have been that long. "How time flies!" says a comforting voice. I push it to the back of my mind. Lets get this right. My expression matches that of a politburo member on the dais. We are both exercised.
More droning happens. It suddenly strikes me. The big lick. The big toss. And then the big jolt.
Question answered. I push the chair back. I am relaxed. Now. I have it figured.
At some point volunteers are required for. WE are asked to volunteer for the editing, (or was it something else ?) of ABCD's inhouse quarterly magazine "XYZ".
Now, although I stick to my I-am-smart-in-a-dumb-sort-of-way act, I wrench my mind away from my lethargy and wrench my hand up at the same time.
Voila. I have volunteered. The Berlin Wall is down. Whether our names are taken down or not, I do not remember. But, a few days later, I am in my class at 11 in the early evening. I am writing an essay on my self - sterilized experiences over the past four weeks.
I fail to remember what the second question was. After having covered all the bases with tattered cloth, I submitted the paper. Forgot my name. Wrote my name. Forgot returning the pen. Returned the pen. Walked out.
On a long enough timeline, the selection possibility would fall down to zero. The timeline is big enough as of now.
Without loss of generality, is it time to volunteer for something again considering that hope has lived eternal and died young in this case ?
After all, there is the small matter of getting onto the scoreboard as well! Ambitions rising ?
Goodness!
Your life is cleaner. You feel mature. You feel I-have-left-all-that-behind-me-now,-thanks-ishly mature.
On such a mature night I was in the oven. Time and place sub systems have crashed after a long week. Sometime this week must suffice for the time being. The full presidium was on the dais. Mumbo - jumbo began.
I suddenly faced a dilemma. Do you take a tequila shot and then use the lemon? Or was it the other way around ? I looked around hastily. No Mr. Brown in sight. No answers on the fly. Unfortunate.
When in doubt, start all over again. The specter of guzzlers emerged in my mind. I am lined up with two mates.
One. Two. Three.
Salt. Tequila.Lime.
One. Two. Three.
Salt. Tequila. Lime.
Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!! You are there!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
At this point I have that look in my eye. Someone described it as the "I- have- achieved- Nirvana" look today.
My brows furrow. Is it Salt. Tequila. Lime? Or the other way around ?
I dislike loose ends. I am worried. It could not have been that long. "How time flies!" says a comforting voice. I push it to the back of my mind. Lets get this right. My expression matches that of a politburo member on the dais. We are both exercised.
More droning happens. It suddenly strikes me. The big lick. The big toss. And then the big jolt.
Question answered. I push the chair back. I am relaxed. Now. I have it figured.
At some point volunteers are required for. WE are asked to volunteer for the editing, (or was it something else ?) of ABCD's inhouse quarterly magazine "XYZ".
Now, although I stick to my I-am-smart-in-a-dumb-sort-of-way act, I wrench my mind away from my lethargy and wrench my hand up at the same time.
Voila. I have volunteered. The Berlin Wall is down. Whether our names are taken down or not, I do not remember. But, a few days later, I am in my class at 11 in the early evening. I am writing an essay on my self - sterilized experiences over the past four weeks.
I fail to remember what the second question was. After having covered all the bases with tattered cloth, I submitted the paper. Forgot my name. Wrote my name. Forgot returning the pen. Returned the pen. Walked out.
On a long enough timeline, the selection possibility would fall down to zero. The timeline is big enough as of now.
Without loss of generality, is it time to volunteer for something again considering that hope has lived eternal and died young in this case ?
After all, there is the small matter of getting onto the scoreboard as well! Ambitions rising ?
Goodness!
Business(Busted In) Economics.
I was down the hole just passing time.
Mr. Brown, (with your permission Mr. Tarantino), was sitting next to me.
We were laughing at a joke. Mr. Brown is a funny guy. He is also... risque... when it comes to jokes.
We have just had a good laugh. I have just cracked up. When I crack up, I start banging the flat of my palm on the desk. 3- 4 times. My inanimate face gets a bolt of electricity. I am interested and alive.
Mr. Brown laughs. I laugh. Others around us are serious.
We are in the class. Game Theory (or Russian Roulette or Minnie Mouse) has got our seats bang beneath the fan this week. Life is good.
I see the odd snicker directed at our bonhomie. And some xeroxed bundles in those hands. It is a bundle of case studies. It is also among the many things that I have but do not own. We are at best impersonal and business in our dealings. They come to me. I slide the zip of my bag. They go in. I come to my room. They get neatly stacked in the drawer. My inventory increases.
I have a feeling the Prof. had asked us to do something for this class. I also have a feeling I have no recollection of what it is supposed to be. Very comforting. Hang on, so many guys in here. Elementary probability says chances of me being asked a question are 1/54.
I grow tired after the the .01.. Hmmm, don't worry. You are making it safe and sound.
The class starts. Mr. Brown has now morphed into this serious guy who has a low-bent head. His head is down in his books. I turn around. I think I am doing my best "this is not my class, is it ?" impersonation.
Never make eye contact with the Prof.
Lock on target. Bingo. I offer a weak smile. A smile in return ?
Does not form.
"Mr. X, Have you read the case study?". I have a feeling that this time, it really is my time.
"Aaaah! Mam!"
"Well, have you or have you not?"
"Well mam,...."
I am experiencing a Whisky, Tango, Foxtrot (thanks Mr. Brown!) moment. It is the equivalent of a mid life crisis precipitated by the disappearance of your dog or spouse. When the guests are in the drawing room waiting to have a look. At spouse or dog as the case might be.
Nothing intellectual comes to mind. 'I am shafted here'. That's come with a lot of precision.
"Well actually mam,... I have not."
I decide on the Robin Hood(not the one in tights) approach.
Further details are hazy.
Two minutes later.
I am suitably chastised.
A couple of suckers had taken the ill timed chance to turn back and grin. I am sure they did the same when they were in class 2. I am also sure, personally;unfortunately, that not much has changed since my own dear golden childhood. I am always so in the cross wire.
The case begins without me.
American farmers have been deviant and over produced over the last 20 years and seen the wheat prices fall down. But there a cosmic angle here. Something else has also happened. Naked hungry India has started producing wheat as well. Copiously. The "International" demand in the "local market" has fallen.
I am trying to assuage my teeny weeny guilt. And my sizable embarrassment. My feelings are similar to the ones you get if you drop a drink in a lady's lap.
I am also trying to follow what is actually happening in the case.
I had once remembered something similar happening in some other text book. I formulate a plan. The cases look remarkably familiar. The same suckers got into trouble in that book as well.
I think that solution had something to do with the "demand" curve falling "parallely". My hands jolt into action.
Mr. Brown is jolted too. He has a puzzled look. My hands are in a state of rigor-mortis-parallelis. "Minimum Support Price", I blurt. Nirvana looks remarkably near the nostril. Mr. Brown is now agitated. He has had forebodings of trouble.
"Dude, this might be a good time to shut the _ _ _ _ up."
I look benevolently at him. Watch me. Redemption is just a line away. I think I can bet all on the last chip. Say "All In". Call "Show". Then tell. Pun intended.
Rigor-mortis-parallelis is meanwhile sustained. I detect a break in conversation.
"There comes a tide in the lives of men which taken at flood leads onto fortune." Thank you, Bard. Thank you Sir Wodehouse.
"Ahmmm... Madam."
The Prof. has now turned her attention towards rigor-mortis-parallelis. And me. I speak the golden words.
I then wait for comprehension. Compassion. Appreciation. I am already sneaking a look at the buggers I mentioned above.
Nothing for the first 3 seconds. Applause delayed is applause denied.
"Mr. X," .... O... o....
Irritation. Irritation. Irritation.
"If you have not read the slide, please do not make idle guesses. Please do not participate, if you have not read the case."
I have swallowed a golf ball at this point. Mr. Brown would later make a very vulgar deduction about the golf ball's origin when we get back to the room.
Epilogue:
"Mr. X, I would take up the next case in the next class. "Gasoline shortage and automobiles." You would start the case, after you have gone through it completely. And also please contribute to your team's write up of this case."
Case dismissed.
Lock, stock and two smoking barrels.
Mr. Brown, (with your permission Mr. Tarantino), was sitting next to me.
We were laughing at a joke. Mr. Brown is a funny guy. He is also... risque... when it comes to jokes.
We have just had a good laugh. I have just cracked up. When I crack up, I start banging the flat of my palm on the desk. 3- 4 times. My inanimate face gets a bolt of electricity. I am interested and alive.
Mr. Brown laughs. I laugh. Others around us are serious.
We are in the class. Game Theory (or Russian Roulette or Minnie Mouse) has got our seats bang beneath the fan this week. Life is good.
I see the odd snicker directed at our bonhomie. And some xeroxed bundles in those hands. It is a bundle of case studies. It is also among the many things that I have but do not own. We are at best impersonal and business in our dealings. They come to me. I slide the zip of my bag. They go in. I come to my room. They get neatly stacked in the drawer. My inventory increases.
I have a feeling the Prof. had asked us to do something for this class. I also have a feeling I have no recollection of what it is supposed to be. Very comforting. Hang on, so many guys in here. Elementary probability says chances of me being asked a question are 1/54.
I grow tired after the the .01.. Hmmm, don't worry. You are making it safe and sound.
The class starts. Mr. Brown has now morphed into this serious guy who has a low-bent head. His head is down in his books. I turn around. I think I am doing my best "this is not my class, is it ?" impersonation.
Never make eye contact with the Prof.
Lock on target. Bingo. I offer a weak smile. A smile in return ?
Does not form.
"Mr. X, Have you read the case study?". I have a feeling that this time, it really is my time.
"Aaaah! Mam!"
"Well, have you or have you not?"
"Well mam,...."
I am experiencing a Whisky, Tango, Foxtrot (thanks Mr. Brown!) moment. It is the equivalent of a mid life crisis precipitated by the disappearance of your dog or spouse. When the guests are in the drawing room waiting to have a look. At spouse or dog as the case might be.
Nothing intellectual comes to mind. 'I am shafted here'. That's come with a lot of precision.
"Well actually mam,... I have not."
I decide on the Robin Hood(not the one in tights) approach.
Further details are hazy.
Two minutes later.
I am suitably chastised.
A couple of suckers had taken the ill timed chance to turn back and grin. I am sure they did the same when they were in class 2. I am also sure, personally;unfortunately, that not much has changed since my own dear golden childhood. I am always so in the cross wire.
The case begins without me.
American farmers have been deviant and over produced over the last 20 years and seen the wheat prices fall down. But there a cosmic angle here. Something else has also happened. Naked hungry India has started producing wheat as well. Copiously. The "International" demand in the "local market" has fallen.
I am trying to assuage my teeny weeny guilt. And my sizable embarrassment. My feelings are similar to the ones you get if you drop a drink in a lady's lap.
I am also trying to follow what is actually happening in the case.
I had once remembered something similar happening in some other text book. I formulate a plan. The cases look remarkably familiar. The same suckers got into trouble in that book as well.
I think that solution had something to do with the "demand" curve falling "parallely". My hands jolt into action.
Mr. Brown is jolted too. He has a puzzled look. My hands are in a state of rigor-mortis-parallelis. "Minimum Support Price", I blurt. Nirvana looks remarkably near the nostril. Mr. Brown is now agitated. He has had forebodings of trouble.
"Dude, this might be a good time to shut the _ _ _ _ up."
I look benevolently at him. Watch me. Redemption is just a line away. I think I can bet all on the last chip. Say "All In". Call "Show". Then tell. Pun intended.
Rigor-mortis-parallelis is meanwhile sustained. I detect a break in conversation.
"There comes a tide in the lives of men which taken at flood leads onto fortune." Thank you, Bard. Thank you Sir Wodehouse.
"Ahmmm... Madam."
The Prof. has now turned her attention towards rigor-mortis-parallelis. And me. I speak the golden words.
I then wait for comprehension. Compassion. Appreciation. I am already sneaking a look at the buggers I mentioned above.
Nothing for the first 3 seconds. Applause delayed is applause denied.
"Mr. X," .... O... o....
Irritation. Irritation. Irritation.
"If you have not read the slide, please do not make idle guesses. Please do not participate, if you have not read the case."
I have swallowed a golf ball at this point. Mr. Brown would later make a very vulgar deduction about the golf ball's origin when we get back to the room.
Epilogue:
"Mr. X, I would take up the next case in the next class. "Gasoline shortage and automobiles." You would start the case, after you have gone through it completely. And also please contribute to your team's write up of this case."
Case dismissed.
Lock, stock and two smoking barrels.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Heard In Passing: "Using the MacBook is better than Sex"
We were discussing laptops this morning. Someone has got a new one. Is a little circumspect in using it. There are softwares to install. Network Access to obtain. Generally, let's give it a day and take things slow at first.
Someone has had it for a month now. The novelty is wearing off.
And this someone got his baby last year. It was my resignation gift to myself. Basically, I went on a bender one weekend. Bought my usual quota of books and the laptop. Used for an year. Battery could be better, but no complaints till it crashed some 20 days back.
Since it came back from the works, it was crashing every hour and making me quite perturbed. This is where we find ourselves this morning.
The mood is sombre, the lappy may have to go back again. I start discussing about my conversation with a guy in Varanasi. He had told me that all foreigners coming down to India generally had Apple MacBooks. They did not even allow the Indian technicians to touch the IP addresses. All they needed was to get the dust cleaned out once they had their fill of the ghats.
We are now in Apple territory. I am bugged with the OS crashing. Have heard the Leopard is very reliable.
And then big boom: "Dude! I have used the MacBook once. It is better than having sex." Both experiences need be taken with a pinch of salt. Both are essentially unverifiable.
P.S. I am more certain about the MacBook. Offence is meant but coincidental.
Someone has had it for a month now. The novelty is wearing off.
And this someone got his baby last year. It was my resignation gift to myself. Basically, I went on a bender one weekend. Bought my usual quota of books and the laptop. Used for an year. Battery could be better, but no complaints till it crashed some 20 days back.
Since it came back from the works, it was crashing every hour and making me quite perturbed. This is where we find ourselves this morning.
The mood is sombre, the lappy may have to go back again. I start discussing about my conversation with a guy in Varanasi. He had told me that all foreigners coming down to India generally had Apple MacBooks. They did not even allow the Indian technicians to touch the IP addresses. All they needed was to get the dust cleaned out once they had their fill of the ghats.
We are now in Apple territory. I am bugged with the OS crashing. Have heard the Leopard is very reliable.
And then big boom: "Dude! I have used the MacBook once. It is better than having sex." Both experiences need be taken with a pinch of salt. Both are essentially unverifiable.
P.S. I am more certain about the MacBook. Offence is meant but coincidental.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Elvis Is Leaving... And I Don't Feel Too Good Myself.
Dear Suhas,
Here's wishing you all the luck and success for the MBA. Toronto here I come!
It really is a pain in the wrong place to know that I would not be able to prevent you from the ogling eyes of the fairer sex at the airport on Thursday.
So I guess your growing up must begin from there! We are locked up at 11 for our own benefit, and this week getting out for a last bender may not be possible.
Especially, since I am in BC mode and you are quitting the carcinogenic stick of joy.
Infosys being tough as it was, at least we had your excellent culinary skills to tide us through some very frequently sapping days and months. Discussions on cricket may get less frequent with time. That's more to do with the occupational hazard of MBA that we are undertaking.
I would like to place on record my appreciation for your efforts in slandering, tanking and finally annihilating my efforts to form a sustainable and durable relationship ("Do I hear some sniggers, Infoscions ?") with a mutual acquaintance who was a terrific "C" teacher.
Your help was invaluable in making me realise that I was meant only to slog 14 hours per day and have no social life and that my choice was the same as at least 50 "romantics" that rolled off the Infosys conveyer belt every 15 days. As things turned out, you were right. Thanks for making me realise the error of my ways.
For the record, I extended you the same courtesy (wink!) and Sanath, Thatha, Gun, G K, Jacob and Y Man had a great time during our repartees!
I think I embarassed you almost as much with "you know who".
Jokes apart, the time is now. The best is yet to come. Have a safe flight. Make it uneventful. I have my eyes in the sky.
No drugs, sex and rock_n_roll for three years. ( I can feel the abuse mate!)
Let's meet again soon. If it takes the whole three years, then so be it.
On second thoughts, it would be weird meeting again in the future with our respective ladies in tow. The one with the kid on the way would be adjudged the winner. After I claim the medallion, we would both burst out laughing.
You are almost the only person in the world to whom I would happily concede that Capo Di Tutti Capi SHANE WARNE is not the greatest cricketer of his generation. And that the little master ( read, SHORT LITTLE PRICK) is really the man.
Enjoy the summit when it comes in the coming series. You deserve it.
And before we must necessarily go our ways for some time, sample what Morpheus tells Neo in the Matrix Revolutions.
"The honour was always mine."
Farewell my brother, until we meet again.
Here's wishing you all the luck and success for the MBA. Toronto here I come!
It really is a pain in the wrong place to know that I would not be able to prevent you from the ogling eyes of the fairer sex at the airport on Thursday.
So I guess your growing up must begin from there! We are locked up at 11 for our own benefit, and this week getting out for a last bender may not be possible.
Especially, since I am in BC mode and you are quitting the carcinogenic stick of joy.
Infosys being tough as it was, at least we had your excellent culinary skills to tide us through some very frequently sapping days and months. Discussions on cricket may get less frequent with time. That's more to do with the occupational hazard of MBA that we are undertaking.
I would like to place on record my appreciation for your efforts in slandering, tanking and finally annihilating my efforts to form a sustainable and durable relationship ("Do I hear some sniggers, Infoscions ?") with a mutual acquaintance who was a terrific "C" teacher.
Your help was invaluable in making me realise that I was meant only to slog 14 hours per day and have no social life and that my choice was the same as at least 50 "romantics" that rolled off the Infosys conveyer belt every 15 days. As things turned out, you were right. Thanks for making me realise the error of my ways.
For the record, I extended you the same courtesy (wink!) and Sanath, Thatha, Gun, G K, Jacob and Y Man had a great time during our repartees!
I think I embarassed you almost as much with "you know who".
Jokes apart, the time is now. The best is yet to come. Have a safe flight. Make it uneventful. I have my eyes in the sky.
No drugs, sex and rock_n_roll for three years. ( I can feel the abuse mate!)
Let's meet again soon. If it takes the whole three years, then so be it.
On second thoughts, it would be weird meeting again in the future with our respective ladies in tow. The one with the kid on the way would be adjudged the winner. After I claim the medallion, we would both burst out laughing.
You are almost the only person in the world to whom I would happily concede that Capo Di Tutti Capi SHANE WARNE is not the greatest cricketer of his generation. And that the little master ( read, SHORT LITTLE PRICK) is really the man.
Enjoy the summit when it comes in the coming series. You deserve it.
And before we must necessarily go our ways for some time, sample what Morpheus tells Neo in the Matrix Revolutions.
"The honour was always mine."
Farewell my brother, until we meet again.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Jodie Foster, Drunken Night And The Peculiar Case Of Scarlett Keeling
I recently cleaned out my closet. No, not the Eminem way.
The keys to the almirah came across and I finally decided that living out of a suitcase was not all it was made out to be.
If you are a lounge lizard, minus the lounge these days, then you need some working order to your sorroundings. And a big tourister sitting on the table hardly provides that perspective.
Out came the key, the old newspapers, old folders etc. They were then consigned to the annals of trash, more fresh newspapers came out to be put inside.
And then I saw it.
Fiona Keeling had approached the media in Goa claiming her daughter had been killed after being raped. Influential people were behind the crime. The insensitive, with whom I share identities sometimes, would have called it Aarushi Gone Hollywood. I digress though.
My mind went back to a bachchanalian get together. There were four or five of us coming back after a long week in the office via our favourite watering hole. I am among those who have reverted to a BC period in life, (Before Cheers!) after experiencing the many crests of AD.(After Drinks)
That night was very firmly autumn 2006 AD. This Joe we were walking back with pipes up. "Dude, I got this really amazing movie with me. You remember Clarice ? Well She's done this movie 'Accused'. You won't believe the R action man!! "
Our collective receptors perk up. Hmmm, considering the cake the week had been, what the heck, lets have some icing. With renewed purpose, and better navigation, we reached home in twenty minutes. Brisk walk. Adrenaline pumping. Jodie Foster! who would have thought!
Jumpers etc. are consigned to the drawing room. The blinds are drawn. The landlady may not sympathize at this (or any other, for that matter) hour. We are in no mood for chances. There is a little brandy about the house. I ask for coffee. I am booed. What the heck, I 'll have a small. (As it is, I am not going to office before 4 PM tomorrow. Hopefully, not work, catch a weekend flick and skip work altogether.)
The movie begins. We are not very keyed in. Then Jodie Foster baits someone in the casino. We are expectant. We are also growling. She taunts a patron into the act. Suddenly, more people violate her. It is now frenzied. Sick spectators egging the perpetrators on. I don't exactly remember, except that caution was thrown to the winds and the landlady entirely forgotten. There are loud claps in the drawing room, we feel light. Some of the guys are now lurching out.
The goodbyes are dispensed with. Lets not see each other tomorrow, for a change! I come back, there is a mirror in the bath. My eyes are clear, with a few red lines. I hold my hand out. It looks steady. I turn. My head swims. Very slightly, says my ego.
I tidy up, as best as possible. The DVD is still in suspended animation. I consider my options. The light cannot be turned on. I can't read. I can't sleep. I sit down to watch the movie. It turns uncomfortably serious. I feel a little guilty now. I sleep sometime before the court scene.
The next day, I wake up at 9. Th others are still asleep. I move out. A hot bath. Then a cold one, once the hot water runs out. Tea. The paper. The balcony railing. The day is good. My stomach is quesy. I think I need breakfast. Burnt toast never tasted bitter better.
A peculiar thing happens. I remember nothing of the evening, the get together, the talk, food... Its all gone. I am trying to block out the image of the spectators cheering.
2008 BC. G S nudges me in 47/48 from 5 1/2 feet. "Kahaan ho bandhu? "
I look at the Hindu. Julio Lobo, I think that's the name, is just a front. There are some others. Fiona Keeling is a bad mother. Or maybe. Scarlett Keeling may have been ill - advised to follow the path that lead to her demise. Or maybe.
The image of the spectators comes back very fleetingly.
A girl of 15 has been raped and killed. It is said there were eyewitnesses.We could focus on her failings later. But we owe the girl a decent investigation. Or so I Guess.
But then, like I said before, I am sometimes smart in a dumb sort of way. Goodbye, little Scarlett. Sorry for the bother.
The keys to the almirah came across and I finally decided that living out of a suitcase was not all it was made out to be.
If you are a lounge lizard, minus the lounge these days, then you need some working order to your sorroundings. And a big tourister sitting on the table hardly provides that perspective.
Out came the key, the old newspapers, old folders etc. They were then consigned to the annals of trash, more fresh newspapers came out to be put inside.
And then I saw it.
Fiona Keeling had approached the media in Goa claiming her daughter had been killed after being raped. Influential people were behind the crime. The insensitive, with whom I share identities sometimes, would have called it Aarushi Gone Hollywood. I digress though.
My mind went back to a bachchanalian get together. There were four or five of us coming back after a long week in the office via our favourite watering hole. I am among those who have reverted to a BC period in life, (Before Cheers!) after experiencing the many crests of AD.(After Drinks)
That night was very firmly autumn 2006 AD. This Joe we were walking back with pipes up. "Dude, I got this really amazing movie with me. You remember Clarice ? Well She's done this movie 'Accused'. You won't believe the R action man!! "
Our collective receptors perk up. Hmmm, considering the cake the week had been, what the heck, lets have some icing. With renewed purpose, and better navigation, we reached home in twenty minutes. Brisk walk. Adrenaline pumping. Jodie Foster! who would have thought!
Jumpers etc. are consigned to the drawing room. The blinds are drawn. The landlady may not sympathize at this (or any other, for that matter) hour. We are in no mood for chances. There is a little brandy about the house. I ask for coffee. I am booed. What the heck, I 'll have a small. (As it is, I am not going to office before 4 PM tomorrow. Hopefully, not work, catch a weekend flick and skip work altogether.)
The movie begins. We are not very keyed in. Then Jodie Foster baits someone in the casino. We are expectant. We are also growling. She taunts a patron into the act. Suddenly, more people violate her. It is now frenzied. Sick spectators egging the perpetrators on. I don't exactly remember, except that caution was thrown to the winds and the landlady entirely forgotten. There are loud claps in the drawing room, we feel light. Some of the guys are now lurching out.
The goodbyes are dispensed with. Lets not see each other tomorrow, for a change! I come back, there is a mirror in the bath. My eyes are clear, with a few red lines. I hold my hand out. It looks steady. I turn. My head swims. Very slightly, says my ego.
I tidy up, as best as possible. The DVD is still in suspended animation. I consider my options. The light cannot be turned on. I can't read. I can't sleep. I sit down to watch the movie. It turns uncomfortably serious. I feel a little guilty now. I sleep sometime before the court scene.
The next day, I wake up at 9. Th others are still asleep. I move out. A hot bath. Then a cold one, once the hot water runs out. Tea. The paper. The balcony railing. The day is good. My stomach is quesy. I think I need breakfast. Burnt toast never tasted bitter better.
A peculiar thing happens. I remember nothing of the evening, the get together, the talk, food... Its all gone. I am trying to block out the image of the spectators cheering.
2008 BC. G S nudges me in 47/48 from 5 1/2 feet. "Kahaan ho bandhu? "
I look at the Hindu. Julio Lobo, I think that's the name, is just a front. There are some others. Fiona Keeling is a bad mother. Or maybe. Scarlett Keeling may have been ill - advised to follow the path that lead to her demise. Or maybe.
The image of the spectators comes back very fleetingly.
A girl of 15 has been raped and killed. It is said there were eyewitnesses.We could focus on her failings later. But we owe the girl a decent investigation. Or so I Guess.
But then, like I said before, I am sometimes smart in a dumb sort of way. Goodbye, little Scarlett. Sorry for the bother.
The Birth Of An Embarassment.
I have just finished with the Jodie Foster thing above. I am cooked. Guilty as hell. I am actually in no further mood for self flagellation! Writing for leisure can sometimes turn serious. Back to Future/Present value of money. There are tables to understand, annuities to be worked out.
I am actually this really good, clean, presentable, regular, average guy who likes a good laugh and tries to make a favourable impression. Also, this guy who joins clubs, goes to class and always tries to listen and keep his mouth shut.
I am also learning names very quickly. Must keep this space like this!Pakka!
I am actually this really good, clean, presentable, regular, average guy who likes a good laugh and tries to make a favourable impression. Also, this guy who joins clubs, goes to class and always tries to listen and keep his mouth shut.
I am also learning names very quickly. Must keep this space like this!Pakka!
Sunday, July 13, 2008
When the tailgate drops... the bullshit stops!
We had our first club meet today.
XYZ is the "in" thing. This is serious stuff. And I am serious about it.
So were countless others when we signed on the dotted line. Money changed palms. The process was kickstarted. The "oven" as it was fondly called during the introductory sessions has now become this pleasant place with the occasional breeze where you no longer had to look for an escape route and find none.
I am sitting with a bunch of seriously funny people. They are honest to goodness cusses who want a good time and a boring guy to make the time better.
The meeting appears to have started. The characters are droning their parts and enacting the same inanities that we discussed last week. Only the language for some reason has become more obscure. "Upstream" and "downstream" are now in. My idea about them is foggy but I am confident if you shit upstream and pollute the pond, some -unlucky-downstream- recipient would remember the ladies of your family on broad artistic lines and take liberties on varied sexual variants where he would protray the male protagonist.
I am not very bright so I keep my mouth shut. I am also smart in a dumb sort of way so I do not volunteer. For anything.
More droning ensues and power corp after software giant is saved from doom or redeemed by a knight in shining armour and carrying a laptop.
The guys around me are rocking big time. I have not heard better innuendo in a long time. Long live punjabi. It is god's gift to those who need more to self express.
For many years now I have cussed exclusively in English. It sounds great to hear it all in Hindi/Punjabi. I am having a good time. It is returning home in many ways. Must make it a point to encourage all my friends to give up their deviant western ways and re-embrace the mother tongue. "You m*************r never sounded as rounded and homely as the home grown "teri ma ki..."
1:15 AM XYZ is sounding as alive as a dead corpse taking a loo break. A killjoy I can safely say.
1:20 AM We are winding up now. The guys around me have given me great entertainment. Can't say the same about those who inadvertently invited me for the show though.
XYZ is the "in" thing. This is serious stuff. And I am serious about it.
So were countless others when we signed on the dotted line. Money changed palms. The process was kickstarted. The "oven" as it was fondly called during the introductory sessions has now become this pleasant place with the occasional breeze where you no longer had to look for an escape route and find none.
I am sitting with a bunch of seriously funny people. They are honest to goodness cusses who want a good time and a boring guy to make the time better.
The meeting appears to have started. The characters are droning their parts and enacting the same inanities that we discussed last week. Only the language for some reason has become more obscure. "Upstream" and "downstream" are now in. My idea about them is foggy but I am confident if you shit upstream and pollute the pond, some -unlucky-downstream- recipient would remember the ladies of your family on broad artistic lines and take liberties on varied sexual variants where he would protray the male protagonist.
I am not very bright so I keep my mouth shut. I am also smart in a dumb sort of way so I do not volunteer. For anything.
More droning ensues and power corp after software giant is saved from doom or redeemed by a knight in shining armour and carrying a laptop.
The guys around me are rocking big time. I have not heard better innuendo in a long time. Long live punjabi. It is god's gift to those who need more to self express.
For many years now I have cussed exclusively in English. It sounds great to hear it all in Hindi/Punjabi. I am having a good time. It is returning home in many ways. Must make it a point to encourage all my friends to give up their deviant western ways and re-embrace the mother tongue. "You m*************r never sounded as rounded and homely as the home grown "teri ma ki..."
1:15 AM XYZ is sounding as alive as a dead corpse taking a loo break. A killjoy I can safely say.
1:20 AM We are winding up now. The guys around me have given me great entertainment. Can't say the same about those who inadvertently invited me for the show though.
Heard In Passing: "Belts Are For BDSM"
Our personality is now collectively developed. All Girls at ABCD are now my sisters! Jokes apart "detente", "egalite"and "harmony" are the new "in" words.
Tomorrow is freshers night. There is a beer guzzling competition as well. As a gracefully retired practitioner, I would look at my feelings with some interest.
Teams of five would form a group. In the days long gone by, which I remember with some hazy embarassment, there was many a lurch outside many a pub...
A bar of butter before the deed would do a world of good. Old trade secret. Piss it out. Another survival secret. And by no means, pass your mobile to ladies when you intend to pass your mobile number.
A close friend of mine, hopefully you would read this, would heartily agree.
I think I would stick to coke though. ... Old wine best to drink.... must stop the mind from traversing skiddy trajectories.
And before we close: big boom: "Belt kis liye hota hai ?" Sotto Voce: "BDSM ke liye"
Tomorrow is freshers night. There is a beer guzzling competition as well. As a gracefully retired practitioner, I would look at my feelings with some interest.
Teams of five would form a group. In the days long gone by, which I remember with some hazy embarassment, there was many a lurch outside many a pub...
A bar of butter before the deed would do a world of good. Old trade secret. Piss it out. Another survival secret. And by no means, pass your mobile to ladies when you intend to pass your mobile number.
A close friend of mine, hopefully you would read this, would heartily agree.
I think I would stick to coke though. ... Old wine best to drink.... must stop the mind from traversing skiddy trajectories.
And before we close: big boom: "Belt kis liye hota hai ?" Sotto Voce: "BDSM ke liye"
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
NYT's Choco Chip Cookies' Recipe ... Yum
Recipe
Chocolate Chip Cookies
Time: 45 minutes (for 1 6-cookie batch), plus at least 24 hours’ chilling
2 cups minus 2 tablespoons
(8 1/2 ounces) cake flour
1 2/3 cups (8 1/2 ounces) bread flour
1 1/4 teaspoons baking soda
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 1/2 teaspoons coarse salt
2 1/2 sticks (1 1/4 cups) unsalted butter
1 1/4 cups (10 ounces) light brown sugar
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons (8 ounces) granulated sugar
2 large eggs
2 teaspoons natural vanilla extract
1 1/4 pounds bittersweet chocolate disks or fèves, at least 60 percent cacao content (see note)
Sea salt.
1. Sift flours, baking soda, baking powder and salt into a bowl. Set aside.
2. Using a mixer fitted with paddle attachment, cream butter and sugars together until very light, about 5 minutes. Add eggs, one at a time, mixing well after each addition. Stir in the vanilla. Reduce speed to low, add dry ingredients and mix until just combined, 5 to 10 seconds. Drop chocolate pieces in and incorporate them without breaking them. Press plastic wrap against dough and refrigerate for 24 to 36 hours. Dough may be used in batches, and can be refrigerated for up to 72 hours.
3. When ready to bake, preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper or a nonstick baking mat. Set aside.
4. Scoop 6 3 1/2-ounce mounds of dough (the size of generous golf balls) onto baking sheet, making sure to turn horizontally any chocolate pieces that are poking up; it will make for a more attractive cookie. Sprinkle lightly with sea salt and bake until golden brown but still soft, 18 to 20 minutes. Transfer sheet to a wire rack for 10 minutes, then slip cookies onto another rack to cool a bit more. Repeat with remaining dough, or reserve dough, refrigerated, for baking remaining batches the next day. Eat warm, with a big napkin.
Yield: 1 1/2 dozen 5-inch cookies.
Note: Disks are sold at Jacques Torres Chocolate; Valrhona fèves, oval-shaped chocolate pieces, are at Whole Foods.
Chocolate Chip Cookies
Time: 45 minutes (for 1 6-cookie batch), plus at least 24 hours’ chilling
2 cups minus 2 tablespoons
(8 1/2 ounces) cake flour
1 2/3 cups (8 1/2 ounces) bread flour
1 1/4 teaspoons baking soda
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 1/2 teaspoons coarse salt
2 1/2 sticks (1 1/4 cups) unsalted butter
1 1/4 cups (10 ounces) light brown sugar
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons (8 ounces) granulated sugar
2 large eggs
2 teaspoons natural vanilla extract
1 1/4 pounds bittersweet chocolate disks or fèves, at least 60 percent cacao content (see note)
Sea salt.
1. Sift flours, baking soda, baking powder and salt into a bowl. Set aside.
2. Using a mixer fitted with paddle attachment, cream butter and sugars together until very light, about 5 minutes. Add eggs, one at a time, mixing well after each addition. Stir in the vanilla. Reduce speed to low, add dry ingredients and mix until just combined, 5 to 10 seconds. Drop chocolate pieces in and incorporate them without breaking them. Press plastic wrap against dough and refrigerate for 24 to 36 hours. Dough may be used in batches, and can be refrigerated for up to 72 hours.
3. When ready to bake, preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper or a nonstick baking mat. Set aside.
4. Scoop 6 3 1/2-ounce mounds of dough (the size of generous golf balls) onto baking sheet, making sure to turn horizontally any chocolate pieces that are poking up; it will make for a more attractive cookie. Sprinkle lightly with sea salt and bake until golden brown but still soft, 18 to 20 minutes. Transfer sheet to a wire rack for 10 minutes, then slip cookies onto another rack to cool a bit more. Repeat with remaining dough, or reserve dough, refrigerated, for baking remaining batches the next day. Eat warm, with a big napkin.
Yield: 1 1/2 dozen 5-inch cookies.
Note: Disks are sold at Jacques Torres Chocolate; Valrhona fèves, oval-shaped chocolate pieces, are at Whole Foods.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
And Now Comes The Delhi Belly... Fortuitous. But Has It Really Happened ?
"The first rule of the fight club is..... " Remember Tyler giving us the rules in Lou's Tavern ?
Every disenchanted man's guide to rebellion against the establishment,hospital, carwash or the office as the case may be ?
More on that iconic discourse later. (When I am in one of those moods which have mercifully not visited me since my days as a cyber c _ _ lie got over.)
Ahem,.... I digress.
Well the first rule of ABCD is ... Hang on, we start from -1 here.
"Rule No. -1: A Senior Is A Senior Is A Senior! (120 db, or else you are here forever)
Rule No. 0: All girls at ABCD are my sisters!
Rule No. 1: I have not come to ABCD for placements!
Tyler gave 8, we got [-1,0,1].
Unlike in the tavern, where we fought till we felt saved and told the boss "I fell down some stairs", things here are rather pleasant. There is a govering body with five people with diverse backgrounds and duties. They do very important stuff. And then some more diverse bodies that function under the umbrella and do more important stuff.
Some are high on mo-jo, some maybe a little less so. There are all types, the regimental sargeant-major type whose voice might rip you a new hole, a couple of toughies who lurk menacingly and peer into the the huddled, worried, cross - legged mass on stage from terra firma, the silent knights who move decisively and nail their quarry - "give me the names of all your batchmates, all committee members of the super body, the umbrella bodies, the guys over here, there; entire background on our "boss", the inside scoop on your "buddy" from the senior batch, his likes, dislikes and major and major embarassments over the last one year etc etc.
It worries, but once you get out you feel the cool rush of the hot humid delhi air engulf you and for a couple of seconds your sweat from the session dries off.
The we tab back to the mess, where rules mean we eat our meals in formals. All three of them. Then if your luck is not out, which is once a week when the water in the tank runs out, you have a cold bath.
The shirts and shoes go. My roommates and I are in a tearing rush. Socks. Shoes. Belts. All Follow.
The balcony door cannot be opened because the flies would come in. It has just rained yesterday. Those wretches feel like fornicating and having a good time too. Can't blame them. There is a real danger their kids might exact their pound of flesh. The very next night.
Esp. near the eye. Harish has a love bite from them. He forgot to swat the sucker who took a rather long lick.
Giri's back is gone for all practical purposes. He played an hour of volleyball, as part of a batch video depicting life at ABCD. The clock did turn back, but the back, alas, did also turn.
Harihar and Gaurav are medically ok but a little peaked. We all are. G S has managed to wriggle out; more power to you mate!
And this brings the focus well and truly back onto me.
I have the Delhi Belly. The dreaded scourge of the pakka sahibs from our collective colonial past. It means that tonight's gruel may not be brought by a flaxen haired beauty, but to put not too fine a point to it, necessarily be biscuits. G S is concerned. There is a litre and a half of squash below the bed. We are all swigging.
The others have left; so must I.
Every disenchanted man's guide to rebellion against the establishment,hospital, carwash or the office as the case may be ?
More on that iconic discourse later. (When I am in one of those moods which have mercifully not visited me since my days as a cyber c _ _ lie got over.)
Ahem,.... I digress.
Well the first rule of ABCD is ... Hang on, we start from -1 here.
"Rule No. -1: A Senior Is A Senior Is A Senior! (120 db, or else you are here forever)
Rule No. 0: All girls at ABCD are my sisters!
Rule No. 1: I have not come to ABCD for placements!
Tyler gave 8, we got [-1,0,1].
Unlike in the tavern, where we fought till we felt saved and told the boss "I fell down some stairs", things here are rather pleasant. There is a govering body with five people with diverse backgrounds and duties. They do very important stuff. And then some more diverse bodies that function under the umbrella and do more important stuff.
Some are high on mo-jo, some maybe a little less so. There are all types, the regimental sargeant-major type whose voice might rip you a new hole, a couple of toughies who lurk menacingly and peer into the the huddled, worried, cross - legged mass on stage from terra firma, the silent knights who move decisively and nail their quarry - "give me the names of all your batchmates, all committee members of the super body, the umbrella bodies, the guys over here, there; entire background on our "boss", the inside scoop on your "buddy" from the senior batch, his likes, dislikes and major and major embarassments over the last one year etc etc.
It worries, but once you get out you feel the cool rush of the hot humid delhi air engulf you and for a couple of seconds your sweat from the session dries off.
The we tab back to the mess, where rules mean we eat our meals in formals. All three of them. Then if your luck is not out, which is once a week when the water in the tank runs out, you have a cold bath.
The shirts and shoes go. My roommates and I are in a tearing rush. Socks. Shoes. Belts. All Follow.
The balcony door cannot be opened because the flies would come in. It has just rained yesterday. Those wretches feel like fornicating and having a good time too. Can't blame them. There is a real danger their kids might exact their pound of flesh. The very next night.
Esp. near the eye. Harish has a love bite from them. He forgot to swat the sucker who took a rather long lick.
Giri's back is gone for all practical purposes. He played an hour of volleyball, as part of a batch video depicting life at ABCD. The clock did turn back, but the back, alas, did also turn.
Harihar and Gaurav are medically ok but a little peaked. We all are. G S has managed to wriggle out; more power to you mate!
And this brings the focus well and truly back onto me.
I have the Delhi Belly. The dreaded scourge of the pakka sahibs from our collective colonial past. It means that tonight's gruel may not be brought by a flaxen haired beauty, but to put not too fine a point to it, necessarily be biscuits. G S is concerned. There is a litre and a half of squash below the bed. We are all swigging.
The others have left; so must I.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
A Programme Called "Hawas"
... As part of effective communication, and breaking down of barriers which must not exist in a B- School, a programme called "Hawas" is designed.
Volunteers, all men, in the name of classic Hindu, benign Judeao- Christianity, pristine Islam and valorous Sikhism get together and present a semi peep/raunch show.
Hindi item number songs are presented. Some moves vacillate between the "item" and the old B- Grade "softie" ( remember the ones you get when you were a teenager, when more vistas were sadly unopen ?)
... The moves are becoming bolder, there are howls.. Some men are embarassed, some snicker.. Ladies have their eyes averted, till they decide "what the heck!"
The aisles are rolling, the program is now reaching its pinnacle. Not much being left to the imagination.
There is some complex medical science behind this. Unabated work and face fatigue, a body clock that no longer winds and some more time left before the course finishes perhaps... all combine to kill of certain sections of your brain that slowly begin to convert you into a neanderthal.
Only certain visual stimulus can kick start the motor back again, recharge those cells and return the mo - jo. Therefore, maybe, "Hawas".
Source ~ Jane's Primate's Intelligence Review.
P.S. The course has succeeded in its objective, both years are now happy.
Volunteers, all men, in the name of classic Hindu, benign Judeao- Christianity, pristine Islam and valorous Sikhism get together and present a semi peep/raunch show.
Hindi item number songs are presented. Some moves vacillate between the "item" and the old B- Grade "softie" ( remember the ones you get when you were a teenager, when more vistas were sadly unopen ?)
... The moves are becoming bolder, there are howls.. Some men are embarassed, some snicker.. Ladies have their eyes averted, till they decide "what the heck!"
The aisles are rolling, the program is now reaching its pinnacle. Not much being left to the imagination.
There is some complex medical science behind this. Unabated work and face fatigue, a body clock that no longer winds and some more time left before the course finishes perhaps... all combine to kill of certain sections of your brain that slowly begin to convert you into a neanderthal.
Only certain visual stimulus can kick start the motor back again, recharge those cells and return the mo - jo. Therefore, maybe, "Hawas".
Source ~ Jane's Primate's Intelligence Review.
P.S. The course has succeeded in its objective, both years are now happy.
....And Then There Was PDP
A noble virtuous idea, to make me meet and know my new batchmates.
But I forget more names than I remember, so that makes me it 3 names forgotten for every 5 names heard.
The harder you try, the more difficult it gets. Sounds more like a sex therapist talking!
I might be on today, massive kidology expected.
On a long enough timeline, the survivial rate for everything falls down to zero.
But I forget more names than I remember, so that makes me it 3 names forgotten for every 5 names heard.
The harder you try, the more difficult it gets. Sounds more like a sex therapist talking!
I might be on today, massive kidology expected.
On a long enough timeline, the survivial rate for everything falls down to zero.
Saturday, July 5, 2008
So Far So Good...
...But no effin' rain...
You sleep at 1, you sleep at 4,
You wake up in sweat,
The pleasure starts all over again.
Rain gods must be harassed these days, but there is beautiful weather in Bangalore and home!
You sleep at 1, you sleep at 4,
You wake up in sweat,
The pleasure starts all over again.
Rain gods must be harassed these days, but there is beautiful weather in Bangalore and home!
Sunday, June 29, 2008
It has been an year...
... Since I last worked, the long holiday comes to an end today.
I begin my masters today, hopefully, things would turn out right.
If life is indeed circular, then things would mess up just a little bit before they turn out right.
I begin my masters today, hopefully, things would turn out right.
If life is indeed circular, then things would mess up just a little bit before they turn out right.
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