Anchors Away

The Rooster is a funny bird. At odd times, it shivers a bit making you notice it, puffs up quite a lot with so much pride that you think it is going to sing an opera, but merely ends with a cackle. The male ego is something very similar.

When our ego shivered, we dutifully took notice of that and decided we had to feed it with something egomaniacal. For some unknown reason, Kayaking hit us. Consider this. In a country where many of them know only the name of the streets that is right next to theirs and think any other street could be in mexico, your map-provider shuts shop on that sunday driving you somewhat insane. A sleek-looking chevrolet cobalt reminds you that it is ONLY sleek-looking, and throws some strange error message on the panel much like Windows, and refuses to run, driving you completely insane. Now, arent these good enough signs for the oncoming tragedy ?? Being the reader of this blog, you see it. Being the writer of this blog, i didnt.

A newly-dating couple and an elderly-couple woke up from their beds and saw something devilish first thing in the morning. They thought it was superstitious to believe in all that and proceeded with their kayaking trip to monterey bay. They only retured a bit wiser. Monterey Bay, such a beautiful place. Sunny weather, calm backwaters, schools of otters and sea-lions. Perfect runway for our weekend ego-puffing.

The first lesson for any new kayaker is to realise the truth. Kayaks have a mind of its own. I know you think this only proves i am schizoprenic, but yes, the kayak we had a mind of its own. Why would we be making Zs and Ss the water when all we wanted was to keep it straight ?? As we slowly zig-zag our way to much shallower waters, we saw a maze of watersheds into which we need to go. Much like driving an F1 car in monaco when you cannot keep a T5 straight on the autobahn. Perfect.

Elderly couple: through.
Youngsters: through.
We: stuck in the marsh and unable to wiggle our way out.

"Pull away guys, Pull away", shouts brian, our guide for the tour. Bull throws his paddle on the mud in a certain angle to push the kayak away. It surely pushes the boat back to the water due to some property of geometry, but as an undocumented corollary, splashes salty-black-marsh in my face.
"Turn left, Turn left" hollers brian. I seem to overdo the rudder and turn into the other bank. Some more intellectual paddling by Bull and some more mud in my face.
"Paddle backwards on your left", screams brian. I paddle, but on the right.
"The other left, the other left" brian gives up. I get embarassed at that instruction, paddle on my "other left" a bit too hard and bump straight into another kayak.

When we took the final bend back home, Bull and I were plainly relieved that we dont have to look embarassed anymore and before anyone asks us some sympathetic questions, we should probably get out. That was when Mother Nature threw her ace. The skies darkened, The wind worsened and blew against us and the current pushed us back. As we took pity on the elderly couple and saw where they were, they zipped past us like they had secretly-built motors in their kayak. What followed for the next half-hour was sheer masochism with me and bull splashing water on each other, hitting each other with paddles, taking deep breaths and swearing loudly, almost crashing into a pillar on the mooring pad (courtesy: my ability to use the rudder with my feet) and nearly tearing our elbows with some super-human paddling.

When we got out, everyone had already assembled in a circle for the usual parting-ways thingy, the one which we desparately wanted to miss considering the harassment we had done to everyone else in the bay (including those poor otters and sea lions who are contemplating suing us for trespassing and property destruction). Brian started "everyone of you did a brilliant job today, a round of applause for all of you". For some reason, i dont think he looked at us. Heck, we were too busy watching the seagulls to see if they cackle too.

Read on ... (at your own peril, obviously) ...

VCHE

For all those lovable friends of mine who sent me those thinly veiled death threats, thanks. Yes, i do know that christopher columbus beat my by 513 years, but cant a man go on a trip for even two blogs ?? No America, not anymore. Not in this blog atleast.

Have you ever been fat ?? No, we are not talking about "Heyyyyy, hes so cuuuuttee" fat, thats chubby. We are talking "Jeez, what does he eat" fat. Fat. The word oozes of inhumanity. Maybe we should call them Vertically Challenged and Horizontally Endowed (and thus the cryptic title of this blog is explained).

There is one age when being fat does not matter. You still eat your curd rice and your ice-creams without a guilt. The age when senior girls and school teachers find you attractive for some unexplained reason. You laugh at exercise and fitness, while they laugh back at you behind your back. Someone reminds you that you might just explode, and you laugh thinking it is a joke while your body considers the possibility for a micro-second, realises it could be a possibility and shudders. But you are just too hungry and too happy to care.

Then comes the stage where you run short of attires. I have friends who complain that their shoe size is 13 and they have to order a special edition everytime. They groan. They crib. They complain. Now consider yourself saying that your waist size overshot the standard limit and you have to specially order a pair of jeans everytime you need one. Did i you hear you just saying you feel blessed ordering shoes alone ?? Aah, should have guessed.

You try to learn the sax after watching a fat prabhu romancing with meenakshi seshadri. The question that is often thrown at you is "Endha kadayila nee arisi vaangara??" ("Pray tell me the name of the business establishment where you procure your rice from", in a tone which surprisingly has only sarcasm). You tuck in your shirt in an effort to stem the tide, but you notice in the mirror that you are a challenge to geometry. You realise that you are too old to call it "baby fat" and resign to the fact that the right name for it is "flab". You respond for the name "Gunda" ("fatso") with such precision that you start to think if you were a trained police dog in your last birth. The fact that you take your lunch in a hotpack, thus making it look twice its size, does not help to add to your burgeoning popularity. The cricket team's captain sends out a by-runner for you after you bat for an over citing "illness" but meaning "incompetency to run quick singles".

One night, you think about this whole business eating your favorite dinner. Do you have to reduce ?? The first reason that comes to your mind is women. But then, if you start doing it for women, there would be another list of nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine things to do to stay in their "good" books. You realise it was never promising anyways and ditch the idea. You try health. Now, that sounds promising. You try fitness, now that sounds refreshing. You try body building, you hear your conscience laughing. You stick to health and fitness.

You visit the gym even before the bajans start in the next perumal kovil. You curl dumbbells, push barbells, do crunches and run like a rabid dog. You reduce two inches. Ghee is out of the food menu. Sweets are equated to mustard gas. Pizzas are gobbled by friends when you eat garlic bread without cheese. Ice-creams, they look good, period. You curl dumbbells hardber, push barbells faster, do twice as more crunches and run, this time like a rabid dog in summer. You reduce two more inches. You dont get off the treadmill now. You run. You run until you feel the taste of your sweat. You run to beat the guy in the next treadmill. You run to buy those boot-cut jeans which would look good only if you cut two more inches of fat from your waist.

Finally, the boot-cut now fits. You look for everyone from your past and show them what you have done. The first guy comes and tells you that you look like a thug on parole. Ughgh. The second one comes and asks you if you fell sick with some terminal disease. So much for the early morning alarm calls and the running. The third one, a girl, comes and walks past you without even noticing. What, she didnt see even the new boot-cut ?? And only then you know while you were doing all the running, boot-cuts got dated. Darn. The fourth girl comes, this one better say something worthwhile. In she comes, and blurts the words "Hey, how are you ?? by the way, we thought you looked better before, when you were slightly built". Note the replacement of the word "fat" with "slightly built". Remember what i told you ?? You search frantically for a strawberry-caked double sundae which you missed all this while. If there is one thing you need now, its that. Before indulging on your sundae, just remember: Being fat is not disability, Being fat is not a crime, Being fat is simply being illiterate and also (although cliched) those who matter dont mind, and those who mind dont matter. (There, we now have a message from this blog. phew)

Read on ... (at your own peril, obviously) ...

A Kedy, A Lady and A Few Fingers

When someone who regulary cooks is out of town eating chips and warming their feet in hotel bath tubs, cursing comes to you like second tongue. Food, on the other hand, doesnt. With past experiences at turning a kitchen into a mess that makes war-torn somalia look like lalbagh in comparison (definitely, in another blog), you hesitate. But hunger tests your perseverance, and like the million times you have done already, you give up in this duel with hunger.

Vendaikkai or Bindi as the hindi speaking junta would call it, is called Okra in these parts. But to name a vegetable ladies finger needs either absolute romanticism in the breath or a severely psychotic brain in the head. Now you know what the lady and a few fingers are in the title. No points for guessing who the Kedy is.

Ladies Finger Curry. When i opened an internet page, this one was with the least complications.
Take kadai. Ha.
Heat Oil. Ho.
Cut LF. He.
Pour Oil. Ha Ho He.
Add Salt, add masala, Fry. Yawn,
Cant someone throw me a real challege was how i reacted.That is how i usually react when life takes a quentin tarantino-ish turn.

Did your overtly cleanliness-conscious mind make you clean the LF with water just before cutting it ?? You going to have LF halwa for dinner. Turns out that you clean them up a day back, and wipe it with a dry towel if you want it to have a semblance of a fry than some sort of solid stew coz LF in itself yields some watery substance.

Did you pour oil, and then think about jothika in the idayam ad and pour even more oil ?? The cut LF would feel like fish after Exxon Valdez.

Did you just spray the chilli powder to make it more "Indian" ?? Congrats, you just invented an eco-friendly solution for rocket fuel.

In an effort to make it more eater-friendly, you got reminded that adding salt helps, but forgot how much ?? Aahh, you are the new moses of our times, you have your own personal red-sea aka hyper-chillied-super-salted-semi-solid.

When the operation was done, it was successful, but the patient was dead as a dodo. I debated donating this to someone. But manslaughter and homicide are serious offences out here. So in went the first piece with a paratha. Standing in the midst of my kitchen, as my own preparation found its way into my throat, i felt it. Cut here. Da Vinci, with paint all over his body and face. Cut back to me in the kitchen with a turmeric stained tee-shirt. Play Wagner's "Ride of the valkyries" here. Cut back to the freshly painted Monalisa. Cut back to my LF fry. let the message sink in with people, wait for a few seconds. Cut back to all those angry people who are chasing me with rocks, stones, pickaxes and a Uzi.

12;15 pm on a saturady might not be a great time, but it dawned on me. It doesnt matter how someone else is going to judge you as long as i eat my food and manage to stay alive. You Hiltons and Meridiens and Oberois, Move over. Move friggin over.

Read on ... (at your own peril, obviously) ...

Ammy In My Tummy

Hunger is a funny thing to have. Mind you, it is not like Intelligence which sticks around for hours together doing nothing and sinks without a trace when you need it the most. Hunger is more cat-like in that it lurks there all the time, makes sure you are defenseless before pouncing upon you mercilessly.

The initial pangs of a massive attack had surfaced when i was surveying the pantry. A few loaves of bread. Good. Blackberry Yoghurt. Better. Mango Smoothie. Even better. Strawberry Smoothie did you say ?? Perfect way to start your weekend morning.

As the yoghurt cans shiver at my menacingly approaching profile, my room-mate interrupts me. There better be a good reason.

"They all have Gelatin."
"Gelatine ? I did not buy dynamite."
"I said they have Gelatin. Ughgh"

By the way, If i forgot to mention already, my room-mate's eating habits are indistinguishable from that of a rhinocerous. Dark Green. So green that the tava used to make egg scrambles is made to lie around locked in a cupboard which is quite some distance away from the rest its bretheren. An ughgh from someone like that could mean a lot of things.

Ah, well. "Gelatin" reads the ingredients chart on the pack. Given the current situation the only thing that could stop me was Cyanide. But since it is a discomforting thought to have stuff that rhymes with explosives in my intestine, i fell back upon the Right Honourable Wikibaba. After a few anxious seconds, he gives some good news and some bad news. The good news is that the one that explodes has an 'e' to it. Thanks. It is reassuring to know that food cannot explode after consumption. The bad news is that the one without the 'e', the one that is present in all those delicious looking yoghurts, is primarily derived from hooves, bones, tendons, ligaments and cartilage of vertiberate animals. I debate the idea for a second. Eggs are okay. In fact eggs are doubly okay. But boiled hooves and cartilage ?? Blech.

Hunger just shook its body. I see it pawing the sand in anticipation. Hmm.

Read on ... (at your own peril, obviously) ...

The Anatomy of an air-travel

Take a BMTC bus, remove the conductor (preferably his age-old leather bag too), fix the windows and weld them tight to prevent ambitious youngsters to try a trick or two, clean up the usual paaam-paaam bulging-honk, drive it into a room which has wallpapers of cloud formations pasted everywhere and make violent shakes . Yeah, that is how your first trans-continental flight feels, and that includes movies much like our buses down here. no wonder airbuses are called airbuses. And when i say a bus, i mean a bus, only a bus, and nothing else but a bus. They only had to screen some rajkiran movie and i would have happily told myself am on my way from madurai to madras.

If you are a travel-phobiac who lives smelling lemon and eating avomine (anti-throwup tablet) when travelling up a hill, you going to have a ball when the flight lands. I had one, and if i hadnt actually controlled the urge to throw up, the guy sitting next to me would have had one too.

As you slowly doze off thinking of all those tv ads with nice seats and feathery pillows, waiting for your pretty looking airhostess to cover you in sheets as you dream about home, you see a passing-by hostess give you a hopeless pillow and sheet. Now what you saw on tv was the business class, and unless you have a singularly impressive relationship with your travel and business managers, you can only cross it with a sigh as you walk your way to economy.


"Sir, would you like pork fried rice or beef stew" is a question that can throw me off even if am on firmer ground. It is a question which would probably make my great-grand father pick up a cannon from his british times and shoot us off the air. Everytime someone says pork, i dont see little white pigs playing happily in a picket-fenced lawn, but big, black, hairy ones rolling in ditches. Cant really think of a better appetite-killer. I gave a feeble "I asked for a vegetarian meal". I think the lady suppressed a laughter out of respect for her job. "Your last name ??". anticipating silence. "Sir, we dont have a vegetarian meal in your name". disappointed silence. "but we seem to have an unused veg meal in someone else's name. would you like to have it". On any other day, or if i was in a restaurant at home, i could've made faces and walked off. But since to walk off i would need a parachute and the south china sea is not exactly my favorite landing spot,i said yes.

She brought me something which she thought was vegetarian. I thought it was stale pongal with spinach and tomatoes. One spoon of it goes in and i thought we entered some turbulence zone. No, this was a turbulence in my own personal universe since if what i ate was vegetarian, then the Earth is a parallelogram. "Err.. is this vegetarian" "Sir, yes sir" "You sure ??" "Sir, yes sir" and that is when it dawned on me that the word vegetarian is such a relative term. For a bengali brahmin, if fish can be a vegetarian, for someone who loves snails and squids, chicken is probably pure vegetarian. Ah, no, i dont pick my menu from discovery channel. thanks.

Read on ... (at your own peril, obviously) ...

To Infinity & Beyond

After the interview with the guy behind a bullet-proof glass, who wanted to just look at my academic record, and thankfully, not my criminal record, my visa got stamped. Yeah, i understand, no major incidents, just go to chennai, meet up with friends, meet up with embassy officials, get visa and come back the very next day. peace. fun always begins later with me.

first things first. packing. all this hype about the world being a smaller place with the internet is nothing. if the world had been so darned smaller, why would i have to buy two oversized suitcases which can actually fit in two-slightly undernourished adults ?? And if you thought buying two suitcases and later buying stuff to fill it up is trouble enough, just wait till you have to stuff it in. It throws up a peculiar problem. First, you find the suitcase is big, so you make a new list of items to carry and then you realise the new list would need few more suitcases. now you cant go and cut down on your items coz you have made the list after careful scrutiny. Eventually you give up coz if you think of taking anything more you will have to be couriered through DHL on cargo.

the second is the travel plan. in my company, the current emphasis is on saving costs. saving people from gruesome death by being crushed by co-passengers comes a distant 23rd. so our travel desk finds this route that no one had ever heard of and route me through it. bangalore-bangkok-tokyo-san francisco. did i hear you sneer ?? more than the trouble of flying this route, its the explanation you have to give people who suddenly develop such an interest in your itinerary and grill you as to why you arent flying through frankfurt or singapore. "daringly different" is a decent enough answer, but hey, i also get to play marco polo doing all this multiple hopping across asia.

The third part is keeping up with your folks. It doesnt help if you are the first in the family (the first circle of blood relatives) to fly across an ocean. The tens of cousins who flew in and out like it was an evening movie are stale news and are not considered for the time being. A barrage of tips as to what to eat, what not to, where to eat, w.n.t, how to eat, h.n.t can cause severe repulses in your already clogged neural system. Universal facts gain unprecedented importance and you are recited them regularly by every family member in turns. "Dont ask for strangers for directions", "get home early", "obey all traffic rules", am so glad they skipped toilet-training me again.

the fourth and final part is the toughest part, to pretend you are all excited about this trip. If you can fake it, yep, you are there. no puli kaachal (tamarind gravy), no paatti (grandma), no mom to fight with, no folks, its actually pretty difficult to look excited you know.

Read on ... (at your own peril, obviously) ...

The Perils of Nomenclature

The stars gave a message on the day I was born. Just that my dad was busy deluding himself that he is now the proud father of some sort of neo-alexander and failed to notice it. No, the stars did not want my parents to give me back to them when i was 16, you read a lot of hindu mythology for your age. They just wanted me to have a name starting with the thamizh alphabet "Na". Dad grinned coz he had already worked out a name for me, star or no star. The stars gave up with an audible sigh. When the odds are stacked against them, they safely quit and become black holes.

One thing my dad didnt realise at that time was there were many other dads who had seen the same movies he had, who had a son born at the same time, who had got hit by falling meteorite and for some unspecified reason decided to name their son with a "unique" and "hip" name. Sadly, the idea of global perspective was lost on them. Result, one just had to call my name and an army would turn up in response. Actually, that wasnt the biggest problem.

I had to sit for half my life in the front bench because a few bone-head professors wanted the class to do a mexican wave when they call out the roll numbers, and Roll No. 03 comes within the spit-zone of most of them when they lecture. They never gave me an umbrella allowance even,

I get the report card first in school which means the teacher is fresh and raring to let me realise the imbalance of wielding authority in the relationship we share. His dotted-cane simply slurps and asks for a quick bite.

Having a name that rhymes with baloon, and looking like one doesnt help much.

Actually, when i sit back and think, maybe it is not __that__ bad.

- Can't really seem to remember an occasion when people had a problem trying to find my name from a list. Now, that could be because an apparent lack of people trying to find me. Can't really blame them. In biblical times, No one really went in search of Lucifer.

- Am so glad my surname is not Babu. Gives me the feeling that i am wearing loin-cloth.

- Often, my nick is the same as my name. It is a real challenge to make a shorter nick than a four-lettered name. (Three letters in my mother tongue).

- North Indians neither chew my name and spit it out like paan nor do they mistrust me like am a ISI agent from the south. I am not Senthamizhchelvan or Muthamizharasu or ShenbagaPandian.

- Non-Indians are happy too since my name is not as orally challenging as Parthasarathy or Vijayaraghavan or Kasthurirangan (Seriously, we need to have them in mind before we name our children).

- In the blind man's world (Read: A world with Mpumelelo Mbangwa, Romesh Kaluwitharana, Sidath Wettimuny and Ryan Sidebottom), the one eyed man (Read: Me) is King.

Man, I love my name.

There, Enough narcissism for the day.

Read on ... (at your own peril, obviously) ...

Here Goes

"What the hell" could be your first reaction. The idea that someone actually blogs about this could put you off. You havent seen the other blogs i have seen, this would probably get the booker against that.

"26 years and you are saying this is your first time, tsk tsk tsk" might be your next reaction. FY Kind I, we live in India. What an american teenager gets to do countless times before he goes to college, an Indian adult would be praying to all Gods to do even once. Well, not all Indian adults per se, we've definitely improved over the last decade or so. But nevertheless, most of them atleast.

"So, you got lucky. Big deal, huh" is your next possible reaction. Let us not get too judgemental , shall we ??

"Considering the lofty standards you have set, what did you goof up this time" is probably around the corner. Uhmm, yes. I think i just kept on laughing which would've been, uhmm, slightly uncomfortable for everyone else involved. Yeah allright, it doesnt matter what others think and as long as you are happy its okay. But this is not just about me, is it ??

"So, how did it feel" would be your curious next question. It felt a bit strange to begin with, but once we got the feel of it, it felt .. it felt like i was in the air, flying, the clouds were under me, me soaring through the skies with absolutely no one to stop me. I guess it takes some time to used to it. Should check if every first timer fumbles a bit, laughs to himself, and slowly enjoys the feeling.

"So did it end, and if it did, how did it end" is a natural question. Oh well, all the usual crap about "all good things should come to an end" is taboo. Saying "it was good until it lasted" is probably rude. But i have to say, for some unknown reason, i felt my stomach churning towards the end. The feeling as if, as if someone is pulling you back to earth from the sky, when you were just enjoying the feeling.

"What next" is what i hear. Uhmmm, given a chance, i guess i would want to do it again. Regardless of how other are going to see it, or if am going to get that familiar stomach churning feeling, am going to do it again. 26 long years is long enough to be desperate for more.

Thank you Indian Airlines.

Read on ... (at your own peril, obviously) ...

Veni, Vidi and Annegato

I Came, I Saw and I Drowned. If you so badly wanted to read tolkien for some reason (which could range from "just want to check what all this hype is about" to " sheesh, elrond and aragorn have common ascendants") and you saw the silmarillion and you had this inkling of "hey, now __that__ looks like a small book to read" and you picked it up, Congrats, you just won yourself a life membership in the Fools' Guild.

The Silmarillion is small, and LOTR is huge. But that would be like saying "Sanjay Bangar is a much-feared bowler than Shane Warne because he bowls faster". To put things in perspective, LOTR has three important battles (Helm's Deep, Pelennor Fields and Isengard) and one great war (The one in front of the Black Gate). Silmarillion has five great wars, numerous important battles and countless minor scuffles (that you could rate alongside the tom bombadil part or shelob).

If that wasn't enough the big-bad-ass villain turns out to the boss of Sauron, and he is not as lame as sauron to have just a bunch of sun-fearing Orcs. Our man has goblins, werewolves, an array of balrogs (LOTR had just the one doing a catwalk in khazad-dum, while here we have them whipping up some serious smoke), a whole family of dragons and, guess what, the great grand-mother of shelob. And you have the easterlings, the dwarves, the eagles, the valar (the god of the gods) and the maiar (demi-gods), and by the looks of it a sword in your hand to cut me up. Whoops, point taken.

The Silmarillion has a mind-boggling collection of names which sound absolutely nutty when read but have some inner-meaning when broken up and translated. I cant seem to remember a time when remembering names was a problem. Sounds strange ?? Check this out: "finrod, feanor, fingon, fingolfin and finarfin". I am sure on first read, they all sounded the same. No, they arent. And that is 5 of the zillion names out there which sound very similar too. Would it have been easier if the characters were named in a more-understandable way, like "Chellamuthu" and "Thangapandi" and "Mannick Basha" ?? Hmm, Nah. That would've reduced JRR to the levels of Rama. Narayanan, and that would be sacrilege.

One person, by virtue of their existence in middle-earth with its strange customs, has more than one name by rule of thumb. His/her parents give him/her a name which usually has something to do with "everlasting light" or "sweet scent of victory". Our man grows up and one day runs into a dwarf and befriends a whole horde of them. They get so impressed by his "songs" and they call him something in the dwarvish tongue, something like "the steadfast" or "rock-solid". Our man doesnt stop there, goes into elf-land, falls in love with an elf-maiden and along with the maiden, gets a whole list of elven names, "swordking" or "orcslayer". After all this, as if names werent enough, our man fights lot of orcs, ends up losing his hand or fingers and gets names like "One-handed" or "Nine-fingered". Phew. His ration card would've looked certainly strange.

Silmarillion answers most questions that one might have, and it answers more than that at times. If one thought multiple names to people was a problem, swords, horses, towers, plains, seas, caves and forests have more than one name too. Thankfully, Tolkien didnt know any other geographical phenomenon.

Timelines are not respected in the Silmarillion. Tolkien runs through 300 years in two pages and a few generations of people in a couple of paragraphs. If he had been around to do a LOTR-ish expanded writing of The Silmarillion, even a cat with all its nine lives intact wouldnt have been able to finish it on time.

The book deals a heavy blow to your ego with its intricate details, gives you feeling that you have alzheimer's with a spate of family-trees of great houses of middle-earth, and challenges your reading ability with the first two chapters which are an exercise that would leave you with a feeling if this is the language you studied since kindergarten. But like an Old Trafford pitch in english summer, which makes you work hard early in the morning and eases out as the day progresses, it opens out to be another tale of friendship, love, betrayal, loyalty and honor. All in all, Two Thumbs Up from me to The Silmarillion. If you liked LOTR for the details, you going to love The Silmarillion. Five family trees, Three maps, A complete character/name index and A Tolkien fans' delight, an elvish dictionary, come with the book. Howz that for "details".

PS: If you happen to know Italian and Annegato happens to be some sleazy word, blame it on google.

PS2: If you have any questions on Akkalabeth or the War of The Third Age, dont ask me. I havent come there yet. I just read the part which says "This is the end of The Silmarillion" and i am still yapping in my own personal sunshine of gloating, even though there is 1/6th of the book to be completed.

PS3: The "Unfinished Tales" would remain Unfinished with me. Until i am done with PGW and Pratchett atleast. So long JRR, for making all the train journeys worth it.

Read on ... (at your own peril, obviously) ...

SageSpeak - All Is Never Lost - VI

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"You say something now", said an eager looking Iris.
"bwa"
"well, of course, something __other__ than bwa ghe wa, whatever that means".
"....", John looked like a lost puppy.
Iris giggled, said "chweeet boy" and gave something like a nibble on his cheeks and ran in.

Kathryn walked up to him and said "I am happy for you".
"I know", said a now calm looking John.
"But you didnt have to drink, you know .. She would have said Yes anycase".
"..."
"Breaking the promise you made to your mother, I dont know John, I think you shouldnt have drunk. But hey that is just me. You got the girl, Lamar and Crow would get their due and all is well."
"Kathryn, I didnt drink"
"What??"
"I said, I didnt drink"
"Again, What??"
"I couldnt bring myself to do it .. I couldnt bring myself to drink that darned thing not just because i promised to my mom, but because, because i hate the feeling of having something in me that controls me rather than me controlling it"
"Yet again, What??"
"Well, yeah .. I went a bit overboard there .. dont mind .. Bottomline is I didnt drink .. I just splashed some stuff on me to look drunk"
"But, why would you do that"
"I dont know, if i goofed up today also, which i could have so easily done, I could feign ignorance and blame the alcohol when i meet Iris again", said John with an innocent look. He just couldnt look sheepish".
"But John, do you understand that if you had screwed up today, considering the magnitude of what just happened, She would've never even looked at you ??"
"I know kathy, I know .. But i had to take my chances .. I had to give a shot .. Even if i had failed today, i would have tried again because i know something"
"which is ..."
"No matter what you do or no matter what happens, Love will always find its way."

===========================

The Oldest Member adjusted his suit. He was looking at an inebriated Arthur running into scores of people, trying to balance himself and get out of the bar in one piece. The Oldest Member couldnt bring himself to imagine how it is going to be when Arthur would meet his girl that night. He didnt know if Arthur could find his way back to the right house. He didnt know if Arthur could find the right girl that he wanted to talk to. He didnt know if Arthur could find the right words to tell her.

But he knew something. Love will always find its way.

Read on ... (at your own peril, obviously) ...

SageSpeak - All Is Never Lost - V

In a dark, dinghy, smokey room which doesnt have any specific location or a name since it is not going to help the story move forward, two dark figures had just opened a bottle of Premium Scotch.
"So, he is going to kiss Iris, is he", asked a malevolent looking guy.
"Well yes, i have made sure of that", said Lamar with a cigarette perched in between his lips in a strange fashion.
No, Lamar did not make a 180degree turn in a swivel chair, he did not have red/green/blue lights focussed on his face, he did not have a taxidermic leopard in the room and there were no drum rolls to signify that he was the bad guy. He was the bad guy, just that. No frills attached.
"Why are you doing this Lamar", asked Crow who has been given this name since referring to him every now and then as malevolent looking guy is sort of difficult.
"Iris spurned me and there was no better way of getting back to her with this nerd. What more, we get our assignments done as a bonus".
"Whats in it for you this time??", said a sadistacally enthusiastic Crow.
"I've told John to sneak in to the girls hostel and walk up to her room and do the honours. If he gets caught, he gets thrown out of college and Iris loses face. If he gets caught in the act, he gets thrown out of college and Iris loses face. If he comes out unscathed, still Iris loses face. Its a win-win for me".
"I'd pay anything to watch this mayhem", Crow, suprisingly, sounded like a crow.
"Me too".


Lamar and Crow picked the best seats of the auditorium. The dark bushes near the outerwall of the Girls' Hostel. John was entering the hostel through the main gate. For a man who had just gulped 360ml of Whiskey, he was walking surprisingly straight and for a man who was supposed to kiss a girl in her room inside the Girls' hostel, he was surprisingly zany. He was supposed to climb up throught he pipe, thought Lamar. What is he doing walking straight upto the reception ?? Trying to call her down for a kiss or something ??

John stood in the open area outside the vacant portico. As Lamar was planning how John intended to keep his entry, a cry rent the air. "Irrrrrriiiiiiiisssssssssssss", screamed John. It would've woken up Rip Van Winkle. Unconnected to this story, An alien watchcraft that had strayed in for surveillance, got a rude jolt and flew back to its mother ship saying this blue-green planet is full of nazgul beasts, thus Earth was saved from an invasion.

The lights started to come out in random order and the whole of the hostel was waking up, curious to know what was happening. A drunk-looking man, shouting a girl's name, from the portico of Girls' Hostel definitely meant business, and such things did not happen so often. Iris walked into the moonlight and looked up at John.
"Ireeshshsh", John sounded like he had been drinking a gallon of whiskey.
"John, you are drunk and a real lot at that", said Iris in a flat tone.

The whole hostel had gathered by then and was awaiting the turn of events in bated breath. Kathryn was by Iris' side, holding her hands in support. Crow and Lamar were scratching their heads at where all this was going. Iris still had a poker face.

"There is just one thing i gotto say before i leave. No, its not 'I'll be back'. I'm in no mood for bad jokes today. I just wanted to say, among the millions of things that swarm this planet, if there is one thing i truly love so much more than anything else, that the thought of losing it makes me think death would be an easier way out, that is you".

Before he could finish, he saw Iris running towards him. By reflex and going by his past experiences with a "Charging Iris", he decided to beat reatreat and run away as far as he could, and hide in the hills. But somehow his feet broke up its relationship for lack of self-respect in the relationship with the brain, and he stood like a statue. Before he could wriggle out, Iris was there and W-H-A-M. No, slaps given in the cheek were given with the full face of the palm. This was something different, This was soft, in fact very soft, like a peck and it was over before John could say "Abstract Classes Implemented with Templates in A Component Object Model Environment". [ It would've been romantic and easier for the reader if John could have thought about something simpler, but considering the limited areas of interests he possesses, the reader is bound to make it through this excercise. ]

"What took you so long, you brute ??"
"bwa ghe wa ??"
"You didnt have to sing, you didnt have to fight. All that you had to do was to tell me this".
"bwa ghe wa ??"
"I know how much you value your mom and the promise you made to her that you wouldnt drink. But today .. today you had to do it just because you wanted to pour your heart .. oh john .."
"bwa ghe wa ??"
"I have always liked you .. I have always wanted to talk to you .. I have always wanted to spend time with you .. but everytime i tried, you came up with something seriously dumb to put me off .. but now, seeing how important this whole thing is to you, i cannot hold myself back John".
"bwa ghe wa ??"
"I ..."
"bwa.."
"Love .."
"ghe .."
"You."
"wa".
"Wowwwww", erupted the hostel which was waiting in anticipation.

"Waaaaaaa", screamed Lamar and Crow because they were hit by two blocks of wood simultaneously.
"See David, I told you right, these chicken thieves, they always prowl our poultry by the night .. told you we can catch if we set them up traps right" said Ruffian #1.
"You right Goliath, let us just teach them a lesson to these thieving rascals"
The last thing that Lamar and Crow remembered was being stuffed in the mouth with some cotton. The next morning, even the doctors were baffled at the systematic coloring of their body in a hue of black and blue.

========================================

The Oldest Member cleared his throat like a conductor, "So son, beer can always help when you need the last thrust to put you into orbit". It was too late by then, The beer mug was empty and Arthur was on his feet.
"Shir, dhank yeu".
"But son.."
"I kennot faind wardshsh to dhank yeu faar dha helb dat yew haf daan". Something was not normal, felt the Oldest Member. That was when he saw four other mugs being cleared by the bar tender.
"Were you been drinking ??"
"Shair, Naw Shair", Arthur only had to stand or do something that he felt like was standing and everyone would know if he is drunk or not.
"Baatt I yam goink tho meeit har shair .. raight naaw .. and iye yam going tho thell har everything in mai maind shair .. And Iye wil alweish remeimber yew faar al dha hyelp shair", he didnt even wait for the response and ran away to the door.

The Oldest Member was interrupted by the Barley, the bartender, busy cleaning the mugs. He had a strange curled smile on his lips, "That wasnt how it happened, was it Sir ??"

========================================

Read on ... (at your own peril, obviously) ...

SageSpeak - All Is Never Lost - IV

"Fine. We screwed up with the music idea. Now that doesnt mean we are going to give up, Are we", asked Lamar.
"I dont know Lamar, this is her favorite song and i screwed it up no end", John was kicking himself.
"Hey, it wasnt that bad you know", said Lamar, popping up a chocolate into his mouth.
"Really??", John's voice had hope pasted on it from the left to the right.
"Well, actually it wasnt as bad as getting hit with tomatoes and rotten eggs was what i had in mind"
"Now dont say that Lamar, am already down"
"Kid, dont bother. I have an idea"
"Another ??" asked John incredulously. He had had enough eggs and tomatoes to make a Sub and he was in no mood to want for more.
"Yes, but this time we hit the right spot. Tell me this, what turns on a woman".
"Errrmm, a life size picture of a bare-chested hugh jackman ??", queried John, not too sure with himself.
"Well technically yes. But what else ??"
"I hope its not Thermodynamics coz i was never good at ..."
Lamar couldnt take it anymore and he cut across, "Bravery".
"Eh ??".
"Bravery. King Arthur and his Knights, Bravery. Alexander, Sword Fights, Diving into danger, Mindless acts of violence, Bravery.", Lamar was getting hysterical now.
"Oh".
"Have you ever been in fights before ??" asked Lamar.
"They used to call me 'The Terminator' back there in Dunceshire" said John. What he intentionally forgot to mention was the fact that he won the title by winning an "Eat All That You Can" contest.
"Then we have a plan. Iris is no exception and you impress her with your bravery".
"Is it really that simple ??"
"Just shutup and listen."

The next day morning Lamar and John went to the cafetaria. In walked Kathryn, Iris' confidante who had a soft corner for John.
"What are you boys doing here this time of the day ?? 8am is like midnight for you, isnt it ??", asked Kathy.
John and Lamar looked at each other. She had a point. They werent quite used to 8 in the morning.
"You are here to meet Iris, arent you John ??".
John looked down.
"John, dont do this to yourself. You took Iris' favorite song to the cleaners the other day"
"Kathy that was an accident", said John.
At the same time, Iris entered the cafetaria. As if she could sense the presence of John, she didnt even turn this side and walked up straight to the bar-stools.
"I better get going before she sees me with you. Take care John".
"Bye Kathy", said Lamar, with a funny accent.

While Kathy was turning to leave, in walked the biggest man John had ever seen. Standing side-by-side, He would make John look like a hobbit. No, in fact he would make him look like a dwarf. Better, he would actually make him look like an Ewok. The big man turned and walked towards Iris and stood in front of her. John could clearly see the change in Iris' mood. Dilated pupils, increased breathing, fidgeting fingers and sweat. She __was__ in trouble.
"Go get him, John", said Lamar.
"What the", started Kathy.
By the time John had moved in for the kill. If it meant sending big-boss-man to hospital to win Iris over, he'd go one step further and send him to the Intensive Care Unit. Maybe that would account for a chocolate fudge sundae on a weekend date.

John touched him from behind, turned him over, looked at Iris, said an inappropriate "Hi", turned towards big-boss-man and said "That is not the way to talk to lady".
"And who are you", said BBM in a gravelly voice. One is not sure if it was cheesy dialogue that spurred him to say it that way, but it sure had a challenge tied in the end and was dangling in front of John's face to be picked. John, was only too happy to see that.
W-H-A-M. John's punch got him right in the jaw.
"Awwwwwwwwww" screamed Big-boss-man falling to the floor.
"Awwwwwwwwww" screamed Iris, she had spilt coffee on her favorite tee-shirt.
"Awwwwwwwwww" screamed the rest of the cafetaria, the punch was so brutal.
"Awwwwwwwwww" screamed Kathy as she stepped onto something and lost balance.
"Awwwwwwwwww" screamed Lamar, coz Kathy had dug her stilletto-heel onto Lamar's toes.
"Awwwwwwwwww" screamed John, regardless of how cool he wanted to look, the punch hurt his knuckles.

Before BBM could get to his feet, John hauled him up. He saw Lamar showing his thumbs. That was the signal, he was doing good then. BBM was not living upto the reputation his size had promised. From the corner of the eye, he could see Iris walking upto him. BBM was now calling her name in despair. How dare he ?? Two more jabs to the face. Iris was now fast approaching. Lamar was now showing the "punchbag" signal, which meant John had to go on an overdrive. BAM, BIFF, KAPOW and all that meant BBM was screaming Iris' name louder. When John gave him a punch to his guts, and BBM went down on his knees, Iris had reached John.
"John", she said in a really pacified tone.
John didnt see this coming. But true to the plan, he didnt turn around. "Never look back, keep doing the mugging job, that makes you look you are sincere", Lamar's words. Golden words. Lamar, I would spend the rest of my life writing your assignments. Lamar, The Genius.
"John", Iris laid her hands on John's shoulder.
"When she touches you, it means the job is welldone. Turn around slowly. Dont make it seem you are desperate", St. Lamar's holy gospels.
As he slowly turned around, he now had Iris's face in full vision. "Now what is this expression she had in her face ?? It definitely isnt a smile. Is this how women generally look when they are in awe of someone ?? Should ask Lamar when i get back".
T-H-W-A-C-K. John thought if Iris had surgically implanted a metal-girder for her right hand. The last thing he saw lying on the floor and holding his jaw was Iris holding BBM up and walking him down.

Kathy came huffing and puffing. "Do you know who he is ??"
"....".
"Do you know who he is ??"
John wasnt sure if she repeated the question again or it was the after-effects of having a jawbreaker few minutes back. Anycase, he was too dazed to care.
"....".
"He is Gideon".
John didnt know him. Gideon wasnt a scientist and if he was no scientist, John had no reason to know him.
"...."
"and Gideon is Iris' younger brother".
"....". This time John was speechless with shock.
"He comes here to talk to Iris and convince her to meet the guy whom her parents have seen for her. That was why Iris was a bit apprehensive"
"....". John was losing touch with the human world.
"and in case i forgot to mention, Iris loves Gideon more than anything else in this world"
"....". What was the point in talking anyway ??

"I'm ruined", One would be pardoned if he mistook John's tone for Darth Vader's.
"Not yet", said Lamar.
"Oh, am sorry. You have another plan to completely kill me or something ??".
"Hey, dont scream at me. How was i supposed to know", Lamar shot back.
"Lamar, you told me a thug comes to meet Iris every now and then to blackmail her for money and i have to beat the crap out of him to impress Iris. If you dont remember that thug happens to be her brother and she loves him so much that she almost powdered my jaw with one punch".
"Let us use a technique that has never failed"
"Funny, you said something close to this the last time".
"Just listen me out, will you ??".
"Just dont get me killed, will you??".
"A girl might not be impressed with bravery or music, but there is one thing that always gets her. A Kiss".
"What ?? I gotto kiss Iris ?? You got to be kidding man"
"I know you are so scared. Its natural. There is another way to handle this."
"Which i presume is to dress myself as Mrs. Doubtfire".
"Easier. Just load yourself with good alcohol, it is a fear-repellant you know"
Lamar thought to himself, "Fear-repellant, thats a nice word".
John felt like Iris punched him again. "Lamar, i cant drink alcoholic beverages. You know it". Indeed, the whole of the college knew John doesnt drink. Most of the times, he succeeds in making such a noise that even the regulars go into dry spells to save themselves of his sermons. John had promised his mother [" John, Never touch alcohol .. It liquidates your brain and you end up becoming a vampire" ], amongst a few hundred other things, that he would never taste alcohol since it was prima facie for him to even get out of town. For John, promises made to his mom were unbreakable rules. If it was Do or Die against a promise to his mother, the obvious choice was to Die. But after three hours of relentless trying to convince John, Lamar used the magic word "John, you have to do it .. not for me, not for you .. but for Iris". Unsurprisingly, that did the trick.

Lamar bought a nice, green colored bottle of Whiskey. John disappeared into his room for a few hours.

Read on ... (at your own peril, obviously) ...

SageSpeak - All Is Never Lost - III

"Now that we are into operation I2, let us get the basics right. What are you planning for this years fiesta", Lamar asked.
"I'm presenting a paper on the implementation of nano-technological object modules in a neural network with ...."
"Stop it man, are you trying to frighten her into liking you or something ??", screamed Lamar.
"But .. but, this is what i do", John was now crestfallen. Technology and Education were the only two things he was and could ever be confident about.
"Now, why dont you sing one of Iris' favorite songs ?? She would come running to you then".
John went on the defensive saying "Song ?? Me ?? Sing ?? She ?? No Lamar, I dont think thats a good idea".
"Aaah, John, you do not know your real talent"
"I don't ??", querulous John.
"You are a wonderful singer, do you know that ??"
"I am ??", squeaky John.
"When you sing in the shower, the whole hostel comes to a stand still"
"They do??", stupidly proud John.
"Now, stop asking smart aleck questions and listen. I will find out Iris's favorite song. All that you have to do is to practise it and go on stage. Simple".
"That's it??", relieved John.
"Yeah, and now am going to my own brand of investigation to find out the song that she likes"
"Lamar .. I .. I .. ", John's voice was getting progressively squeakier by the minute. He thought it was gratitude, Lamar thought he had a bad throat.
"Aww .. Come on John, what else are friends there for .. By the way, did you finish my Component Oject Model Assignment".
"Rightaway Lamar", slightly guilty John.

D-Day and John was sweating profusely. One cannot really blame him. An hour before the show, Lamar managed to get the lyrics and played the song for him once. If it were a mathematical proof, John would've been able to derive it backwards by now. But Rock Music was a whole new ball game.

"Lamar, I cant do it"
"What??", anger got a new dimension with the way Lamar asked the question.
John couldnt face him, he turned to the side and started "No Lamar, The closest ever I got to music was when I watched the church choir practice on sundays. Now, with all the crowd and Iris in the middle of it, I would be glad to become a deaf-mute for the rest of my life than to go and sing on stage. Lamar ?? Lamaaaarrrr ??".
"...and we present you, the one and only, Joooooooooohnnnnnnnnn Anderrrrrrrrrrrtoooonnnn", Lamar had sneaked through to the stage and made an announcement. On the way down, he whispered, "Dont worry John, my friends are in the crowd. They'd whistle and start clapping and the rest of the crowd would catch up".

John's heart couldnt sit in his cavity and was running all over his body. But one look at Iris's face, it got back to its place and started beating normally. John knew it, he just had to look at Iris, and everything would fall in place. His voice would change, the music would be soothing, things would be in slow motion, and if he really did a good job, Iris would come in running to give him a hug. After all, this is the stuff that movies are made of. John made up his mind. He is going to rock today.

"I could stay awake, just to hear you breathinggggggg". A few dozens of the seniors, who were busy talking to their juniors (since they were the only ones who listened to their tales in awe) near the speakers, fell off their chairs. Iris showed visible signs of uneasiness and by the time when he got to "I dont want to miss a thing", the audio managers had run to check if their equipment was allright. If there is no written proof that says John brayed his way through the rest of the song, its because everyone felt that would seriously offend the Donkeys Community.

John wasnt inhuman. He knew he sucked. He had heard himself a million times over in the shower and he knew he hopelessly sucked at this. If a small 6x6 room made him feel his voice was killing, in an auditorium equipped with Surround Sound, he was Genghis Khan. He searched for Lamar, and most importantly the fixed-applause. But the claps promised by Lamar never came. Instead, John felt something that tasted like egg yolk-mixed with tomato sauce on his face. As he wiped off his face and looked to Iris' seat, it was empty. The damage had been done.

Read on ... (at your own peril, obviously) ...

SageSpeak - All Is Never Lost - II

John Anderton was a man from the country side, and he was proud of it. One could see it in his walk, hear it in his talk and feel it in his laughter. John was the first in his family to ever make it out of school. The fact that he made it in his first attempt and coming first in the whole of his county was something that had become a folklore in those parts. John's mom was very reluctant to send him to the big city which "had no semblance of the values" and was "morally corrupt". But at the thought of seeing her son in the graduation suit, which she had never seen happen in any of the families she personally knew, she let him go, but not without a truck load of free advice.

When John stepped into college, computers were the only thing that meant anything to him. An angel running straight into him, knocking his stuff to the ground, picking it up, pushing back a wave of jet black hair and apologising profusely while holding his hands was definitely not what he was looking forward to. John hadnt seen anyone remotely beautiful like that in his life before. But remembering his mother's words of caution ["Never look at city-bred woman. They suck your life source through your eye-balls and sell it for chocolates"], he looked at her feet for so long until the heel-clad feet left with an audible huff and were replaced with boot-clad trunks.

"Lamar Burgees, I assume we havent met before", a six-foot-two-inches piece of steel introduced itself by extending an iron pipe.
"John Anderton, from Dunceshire" said John, shaking what everyone seems to call a hand.
"Iris Hineman, First Year, Computer Science, Home-coming Queen in Grace County High and our classmate", Lamar seemed to know her horoscope.
"Oh" was all that John could manage.
"Pretty, Ain't she ??", asked Lamar uninterestedly. John hadnt thought of any such girl as pretty, but If ever he had to call any girl pretty, he wouldnt think twice before choosing Iris. He couldn't give an answer, but his face was a remarkable index to his mind.

John stood out in college, although it was not in a way he would have liked to. His trousers were seen in retro shows and his hair-do was passe by then. But no matter what, there wasnt a single soul in sight to shake him off his dominance when it came to computers. It was like they spoke a language that no one else understood. If his sense of dressing was greeted with laughter, his capability in problem solving was met with awe. That meant that he had all the girls coming to talk to him ["Do not shake hands with girls, they maim fingers for kicks"] and asking him out for coffee ["Never drink coffee with a girl, she drugs you and takes your posessions after you faint","But mom, i dont have anything that someone could steal from....", "Shut up and listen John"]. But nothing seemed to happen from one corner which John was expecting with all his heart. Iris was unmoved. She used to thread her way through the crowd, and not even turn. Each day that happened, John tried even more desperately the next day, and each time that happened he had a feeling Iris left early that day.

"It is Iris, isnt it ??" asked Lamar, shaving his ragged beard into some strange heart like shape.
"Yes, but how did you know" said John in a mournful tone.
"Your attempts at impressing her are not yet on national television. Otherwise everyone else seems to know about it".
"Except her", an additional note in the already moaning voice.
"Hey, you have the right intentions, but you dont seem to have the right technique. Do you really want to impress her ??".
"Yes", John's voice had the same eagerness a young pup has after it has tasted its first biscuit.
"I will help you do that"
"Thank you .. Thank you..", John was now visibly shaking.
"But on one condition, you have to write all my assignments".
"Of course .. of course..".
"So we start our operation today"
"Eh ??"
"We codename it 'I2 - Impress Iris'".
"Oh".
John had never made a deal with someone who had a beard like that. It looked like someone squashed a toad on his chin. But for some reason Lamar insisted that it was in the shape of a heart, and John, with this deal on, didnt want to offend his messiah.

Read on ... (at your own peril, obviously) ...

SageSpeak - All Is Never Lost - I

It seemed to be another sunday afternoon at the pub. The Television was blasting some heavy music, Barley was busy mixing up his drinks and The Oldest Member had taken his favorite seat to watch the race that was due to start in the next hour. At the stroke of 1, in flocked the regulars. This was considered perfectly normal considering the following for motor-racing in that part of the town. The Oldest Member took a deep look at his familiar surroundings. He was a real old soul as anyone would have guessed when they look at him for the first time. As everyone from a lost generation, he wanted everything to be perfect, more so on a sunday afternoon. His thoughts ran thus: The Ivy League-rs (in their impeccable trousers) has ordered their vodka martini, perfectly normal. Their rivals, The Geeks (wearing their dusty tees which read "The Geek Shall Inherit The Earth") had ordered their bloody mary. perfectly normal too. After the race was over, The Oldest Member knew, these two gangs would be at each others throat no matter who wins and that the pub would look like carthage after a raid by hannibal, which was, by any measure, perfectly normal again. Arthur had a mug of beer in his hand and behind him .. Wait, Arthur had a mug of beer in __his__ hand. That was not normal. In fact it was probably everything that meant the opposite of normal and such things were a thorn in The Oldest Member's flesh.

He walked up slowly to Arthur's bar stool, positioned himself subtly in between Arthur and the screen in a hope to get his attention, and grunted his arrival as he sat in that bar stool which squealed even louder under his weight. Without looking up, Arthur said, "Do you know you stink??". The Oldest Member was taken aback, no one had the audacity to talk to him like that. After sniffing himself for a moment and making sure it wasnt that bad, he turned to the other side pretending not to notice this in-your-face candor. Arthur said, "I asked if you knew you stink". After some difficulty, The Oldest Member composed himself and thought this was taking a bit too far. Arthur wasnt giving up, "I know you cannot reply, because you are ashamed of yourself maybe.. ". This time The Oldest Member had had enough, he turned towards Arthur with his usual straight face and started off earnestly, "Arthur ..", when Arthur started, " .. but i had to drink you and that is my curse" and gave an empty look into the brimming beer mug.

The Oldest Member knew what was wrong. No, Talking to Beer Mugs was not wrong. He had seen people do more than just talk with beer mugs. But a Beer Mug in Arthur's hand was akin to an olive leaf in Idi Amin's head. If a young, eligible, college-going man was talking to beer mugs in such vaccouos tones, there could be but only one reason, a reason The Oldest Member could understand only too well.

"So, you think she doesnt like you, is that so ??" said The Oldest Member, looking at the television screen.
"Yes, but .. but how did __you__ know", said a bewildered Arthur.
The Oldest Member didnt want to reveal that it was written all over his face, he thought it took out the clairvoyant pretence he intended to put in.
"I know because i should know", said the suddenly-saint-looking Oldest Member.
Arthur couldnt understand what it meant, but thought it sounded pretty meaningful in some way that was beyond his intelligence and gave a look which was getting alarmingly emptier by the minute.
"Whatever i try, she is not impressed .. and guess what happened today, she didnt even want to talk to me. Its all over and i just drown in a mug of beer only that it stinks like dead cattle. How do you manage to do it day in and out ??" asked Arthur, keeping the mug away.
"If you had accustomised yourself with the intricacies of consuming quality beer, you wouldnt be crying over anything", retorted the Oldest Member.
Arthur wasnt sure what the Oldest Member meant. "Do you mean to say that drinking this yellowish looking frothy liquid which stinks from here to yonder, actually makes things work ??"
"Although i dont agree with most of what you have just said, but yes, i mean it", the Oldest Member sniffed victory now.
"But how ??", an exasperated Arthur cried.
"You surely havent heard the story of John Anderton or Thomas Anderson ??".
"Errm, do i have to listen to two stories ??"
"Maybe one, John Anderton's"

----------------------------------------

Read on ... (at your own peril, obviously) ...

Old Question - New Blog

Yesterday was Sunday. Tomorrow is Tuesday. And courtesy Julius Caesar, we can say with infinite confidence that today is Monday. Yes, that is what it is. Monday. Nice, plain, simple. Monday. A day when you wake up with a feeling if it was the alarm that woke you up or was it someone with a shovel. How is this one different ??

- That six-foot tall mushy-looking teddy, holding a red heart shaped comforter in its hands with a lot of desperation on its face, sort of gave you the creeps and you could never imagine that you would actually buy it for someone. Soft dolls - Ruled out.

- The last time you had a Candlelit Dinner was when there was a powercut in your home. Romantic candlelit dinner - Ruled out.

- Chocolates give everyone bad tooth, regardless of which day you eat them. And no, even pepsodent doesnt save you. Toblerones and Nutties and Chocobars and Kitkat - Ruled out.

- Roses are red
violets are blue.
Do women really like them ??
You dont care, do you ??

Any trace of flowers - Ruled out.

- Carrying a card and standing near the phone booth waiting for the girl to cross you in slow motion looks good only in Karan Johar movies. In real life, you would be lucky to get away without a police complaint.
There, all those music-playing cards which wax and wane with love - Ruled out too.

Now now now, wait a second, Let us get this straight first. All this "I-am-what-i-am" kind of phony talk, Why do you do all this ?? Is it because you are genuinely someone who sort of thinks this whole mushy concept is way too overhyped, or is it because it freaks you to see school children carry cards and roses while you were carrying cricket bats at that age or is it because you realised the hopelessness of your case and the futility of your situation and resigned to some universally-accepted fact ?? Well, errmm, we are not here to discuss that, are we ??

This monday is no different. You still had to put up with some wayward driving from frustrated fellow-human beings. You would have to attend a few meetings and by the end of it, you would know how it would feel to be a zombie. You would have to fill up your weekly worksheets for the last week and plan the chaos for the oncoming one. In the evening, you got to pack your bags and make sure you dont take brigade road, lest you go into a tizz. You going to get your tasty curd rice with pudhina thogayal in the night, you going to watch "Spies" on the history channel and you going to hit the bed at just about the same time as last monday, and, as a matter of fact the last 100 mondays.

So, with all due respect to St. Valentine - Sir, Please Rest In Peace.

Read on ... (at your own peril, obviously) ...

Dho Dala

Usually, finely cut logs are used. But just because you are on top of the food chain, it doesnt mean you can put an axe on them when you feel like. Get a huge gas burner that they have in restaurant kitchens.

Take the biggest drum that you have at home, fill it with cauvery water to the brim. Usually, its okay to add a few bathing scents. But no, not today. Keep it simple, stupid.

Pick a bottle full of Gingelly Oil. No, you are not going to make murukku or cheedai (Thamizh Delicacies, Very very Tasty tasty). The golden the oil is, the better.

Pour the oil on your head and let it sink right inside your hair-roots. Take the smell of the oil in with a deep breath and rub it in your scalp. Rub it in your head until you wash it clean. When you have reached a point where you can see more smoke emanating from your head than from the gas burner, stop.

Lift the water drum with all that you have got, and just topple it right on top of your head. You lose breath, you dont give up. The water is hot, you dont give up. Your folks think you are crazy to do that with your shirt and jeans on, you dont give up.

Turn the clock to zero my lovable,
Look around and life is beautiful,
Am starting up a brand new day.

Read on ... (at your own peril, obviously) ...

A Few Open Letters

Dear Mr. Michael Schumacher,

I apologise to you for calling you a bad driver. How can there be a __bad__ driver to begin with ?? All drivers who do not intentionally/unintentionally kill other occupants of the road __have__ to be good drivers. By the way, I wanted to ask you a few questions about your experiences on learning to drive a car.

1. On the first day of your driving class, when you walked towards the car with the trainer sitting in, did you feel like someone threw in a lit-flare bundled with a gas cylinder into your stomach ??

2. When you sat in the car and looked at the road, did you feel like you were in a over-sized casket, with the belt present just to make sure you dont escape even if you have a change of mind ??

3. Did you feel elated when you applied the first gear and the car moved without stalling, since most of your friends stalled it countless times, and later embarassed to know the fact that the clutch you had was dummy and the instructor was the one who had the real clutch ??

4. Did you notice that, all of a sudden, everyone in the public was wearing a red tee-shirt with a huge telescopic viewfinder on it, and the words "Hit Me" written in a large font ??

5. Did you feel cursed when you had to include "Inability to keep the car going in a straight line" as one of your current personal problems ??

6. Did a bunch of school kids, who were waiting for the school bus, run helter-skelter for their dear lives when you made your first U-Turn ??

7. When you got out of the car after this exercise, did you end up with a pain in the back, neck and the shoulders and wondered if it were some sort of sadistic bonus for your job ??

8. On the way back home when you rode your bike, Did you suddenly feel an increased love for her ??

If the answer to all the above questions is "Yes", you are on the verge of getting someone to give you company at the top. Thanks.

Read on ... (at your own peril, obviously) ...

An Enchanted Evening

An Enchanted Evening it really was. Pleasant wind, full moon, clear skies and .... and around 1000 people around. If you were expecting a lit-candle and a woman in red, dont. If (and that is a Times-New-Roman, size 128, all-bold, underlined font there) and when that happens, this blog would never mention something on those lines.

It was "Shakti" Night in bangalore and true to our wallet-conscious mindsets, we had settled for the cheapest tickets of the lot. Most of the crowd in our gallery had settled in, but surprise, surprise, a bunch of front-row seats were vacant. Laughing at the ignorance of the folks inside, we dashed to the front row. What was better about those seats was that it was only a few feet away from the last row of the next class. So close that I could get up, roll today's newspaper and whack a fly on someones head who paid twice as much as I did and that was like super cool. As we sat there basking in our own trivial triumph, We saw the breathtaking view there before us, probably better than what even the highest class could afford. Yep, we had an unbeatable view of the monstrous speakers that were mounted one over the other. Just that big, black, holey monster apparatus from left to right and nothing else.

Finally, we managed to find three seats in a row and we dug in. And only after we dug in, we realised the hopelessness of our case. We had SMS-freaky girl to our right, Undecipherable-dialect-speaking loud-mouth-daddy with equally-confusing-dialect-speaking louder-mouth-mummy and constantly-wailing-baby behind, mmmmm-its-so-cooooold-[snuggle]-isnt-it-sweetheart-[snuggle-closer] couple in the front and carnatic-head-bangers (head shakers who fly kites in thin air, literally) all around. Given the options that we had, the only thing seemed to be head banging and we jumped into it posing as carnatic know-alls shaking our heads so violently as if we took The Chair after a long walk on the Green Mile. While we were depressed with this pre-concert setting, the host lightened up the situation by venturing on to the stage and thanking the main sponsors, "Windsor Manure" (Windsor Manor) and also requesting the audience "not to eat their insides" (which turns out to be a request for us not to eat anything inside the auditorium).

Inspite of all this, Shakti rocked. For any newbie to indian-rock-fusion, this would have opened atleast a billion gateways into music. Shankar Mahadevan, a new addition to Shakti, did his bit with vocals. Mclaughlin has the guitar in hand, but he makes it sound like the veena. Shrinivas has the mandolin in hand, but makes us hear a violin (agree, that bit was crazy, but ask any newbie to such music and he'd probably wager on shrinivas playing the violin). Selvaganesh had this ganjira in hand. Smallish, odd-looking, simple instrument. But the "thani aavardhanam" (Individual Showcase) which he did with that was simply as(t)ounding. And then came Zakir. I have a feeling he was having a philosophical conversation with the Tabla than just playing it. Towards the end, both the percussionists got into a dialogue, joined by the other three and ended in a crescendo which would've left even the tight-fisted asking for more.

On the way out, i realised something. This concert had chairs, audience who did not smoke weed, and no one climbing on top of another screaming. If it had been Shakira in concert instead of Shakti, errmm, that could've resulted in a whole new blog altogether.

Read on ... (at your own peril, obviously) ...

Sania S(a)lam

For the first time in recent history, Indians are looking forward to a Grand Slam with hope. Sania Mirza has arrived at the Grand Slam scene and she becomes the first Indian Woman to ever play in the third round of any Grand Slam tournament. Agreed, there are 63 others who have made it that far and the finals and the cup are taking things too far. But with a country of a billion blistering barnacles, it feels great to see a shark now and then. No, no. We are not trying to do a "Mera Bharat Mahan" with our chests puffed up. So many sites and blogs have been doing it already. So let us just stick to the basics.

Women's tennis used to be hot one point of time. And when i say, am not talking 'Madras Hot' here, we are talking the real 'Sahara Hot' here. The Quintessential Drooler's Favorite, Steffi Graf. Evert had gone by then, and this blonde german was setting the courts on fire with her forehands and a few harried housewives' patience off it. There was this one time when steffi lost the first round in wimbledon against an unknown Lori Mcneil. After that match, till date, Lori Mcneil has never been heard of, save in some quizzing circles. The only reason i can think of is the multitude of curses and hexes that would have been thrown in her direction. Considering the number of cursers i know personally, Lori Mcneil should be happy staying in one piece. Atleast steffi won all that was there to win, but the story of Gabriella Sabatini was probably even more spectacular. A regular loser at the fourth round or earlier, the popularity of Sabatini rose to such mind boggling levels that our "Page 3"s were filled with rumours of Sabatini and Shastri and later, of their break up. No clue if Sabatini and Shastri knew all this, but lot of school kids used to talk about it :-D.

Life was peaceful and everyone was busy with building fan sites for Mary Pierce and Martina Hingis and Anna Kournikova. Like a pair of violent tornadoes ripping apart a populated sub-urb, in walked The Williams Sisters. One is never sure what hits them in the eye when they see them. Is it their game or is it the splash of colors which they got exclusively designed ?? Govinda and Ramarajan would hang their faces in shame. At exactly the same point, everyone else in the circuit either got tired, or more likely, scared and almost all the grand slam events would be Williams-Fests. The sisters running amuck in the court, with the father doing his antics in the players' pavilion. Women's Grand Slam finals were hardly watched and the time of tennis-hungry men was coming to an end.

Just like Nirvana saved the world from glam rock, there came an influx of stars who are watchable on and off court. No, not Anna Kournikova. She was neither. Heck, she got reduced to posing for Sahara Airlines of late. We are talking The New Face of Tennis. Kim Clijsters, Elena Dementieva, Maria Sharapova and the subject matter of this whole blog, Sania Mirza, if i may say, with that new nose-ring she has got. They dont just look pretty, as a bonus they beat the Williams Sisters right at the start of the open, thus saving so many people from heartburn. If Sania can do it tonight, she just doesnt make India proud. She'd throw us back to the heydays. Bowlfull of pakkodas, bottle full of sauce, house full of friends and eye full of candy. Go Sania !!

Read on ... (at your own peril, obviously) ...