X-Rated

Overrated:

Saravana Bhavan. Evanescence. Ghajini. A walk by the lake holding hands. Andrew Symonds. Manchester United. Software Engineers. Centum in public examinations. Selvaraghavan. Dan Brown. Cats. Manual Transmission. Candle-lit dinners. Mobile phones. Caramel custard. Snow. Revision exams. Russian River, CA. Abstract art. Integral calculus. Valentine's day. Yahoo messenger. Organic chemistry. Panneer butter masala. Pomeranians.

Underrated:

Christopher Nolan. Curd rice. Bench press. White chocolate mocha. Gaim. Water. Lemon tea. Creative. Salt Lake City. Cygwin. Offensive/Defensive Linemen. Hand towels. Treadmills. Shotokan. Batman. Teflon. Nail cutters. Mail-in Rebates. Bicycle lanes. ICE Window Manager. Skull caps. Santa clara central library. F1. Bittorrent. DVDShrink. Snooze. Smithsonian. Labradors.

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

Temptations and Damnations

I feel small, I really do and if __I__ feel so small inspite of all the girth that I carry, you should know how miserable I should feel. It is one of those moments where I frantically hunt for my metaphysical gun to end my misery than to live with the guilt. You would too, if you know what I'm talking about.

Temptation is the great-grand-mother of all evil. And giving in to it is easier than making apple pie. Have you ever been so desperate for something that it when came to you, made a swirl at you, and then disappeared out of sight that you threw caution to the wind and lunged at it without a second thought ?? If not, do not judge me from your high seat. Come down, hold my hands and see what I see and feel what I feel. On second thoughts, dont hold my hands - that is just too sappy. Just listen to what I got to say.

Why did I do it ?? Why oh why couldn't I be like other normal human beings ?? Why do I have this uncontrollable dark desires, to try and do unspeakable things when no one is looking ?? Is it my childhood ?? Yes, like many others, I want to blame it on my childhood. On my upbringing. I blame You God, You cannot give me something, then take it away and make me long for it, then tease me with a glimpse. You cannot make mere mortals go through that. We get tempted, we yield to temptation and we end up in shame. Why God, why ??

It happened in a flash. I turned. I saw and I made my move. Tip-toeing myself into a vantage position, with no one watching me, already dreaming about a blissful night, I put the last part of my plan in action. And there I stood, covering the entire door way, the girl hardly few feet away with a sudden fear in her eyes. Of course, It is not everyday that you have yourself stuck in a cul-de-sac with frankenstein's monster sealing the other end. My child, forgive me for what I am going to do. I am just.....human.

As I reached out to my object of desire, the girl let out a mild shriek of surprise. She knew what I was after. She knew she couldn't do anything about it and it was all as good as over. But the helplessness in her eyes, pleading "dont do this to me, I am so young to be your niece", that is sure to haunt me. Her shriek had came out a tad late, but that was enough. As I tighten my grip and turn around to see if anyone has noticed, planning my silent getaway, I see faces. Confused faces, surprised faces, silently laughing faces and some faces which have "At this age ?? You should be ashamed of yourself" written all across. I knew my game was up. Folks, this is what happens to people who go out of their way to satisfy their tiny little idiosyncracies. Shame. Disgrace. A room full of people looking at you with their eyes boring you end to end, with eyes full of incredulity at what they are seeing.

I collected myself and started walking towards the check-out counter with the "Essential: The Amazing Spider-man Vol. 2" by Stan Lee and Steve Ditko that I just picked. As I walked through the "Juvenile Fiction" section of my library amidst all the regulars/onlookers who have to multiply their age by atleast four to be within touching distance of my age, One half of my mind goes "Can you believe it ?? Stan and Steve in one big collectible edition. With venom, sandman, doc ock, electro, the green goblin - the works. My nights and weekends are not going to be the same anymore." The other half couldn't help sparing a thought for the poor kid who just lost the race to pick the book, only by a mere second, a few feet in height, a few inches in width and few tonnes in meanness. "Am sorry kid, I really am. But this is Stan Lee and Steve Ditko that we are talking about. That, and I can never be a nice guy."

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

Brave New World

Every parent worries about sending their children out of home. Even if the kid is the Zodiac killer at heart, somehow the parental genome kicks in. Crucially for both parties, the advice levels are directly proportional to the distance in between. With the New World being a few thousand miles away and images of sun-bathers filling up everyone's psyche, the parental genome works overtime and goes on overdrive. Worried fathers and harried mothers, we present you - The Bay Area.

For the home-sick, there is no other area better suited than the Bay Area. I hear people from Edison and other other parts of New Jersey object. Gentlemen, I agree that you can spit outside and wash your hands after dinner on the road in Edison, but can you ever dream of wearing a viking cut-banian and kibs mark lungi and walk ?? The atlantic winds will freeze you to death. In the bay-area, your neighborhood clan will recognize and walk up to you to share some local information on the price of vegetables in india in your local tongue.

Being stuck in a traffic snarl, can be an enlightening experience in buying patterns. A toyota in front of you, another toyota behind you, yet another toyota by your side, some more toyotas up ahead, more and more toyotas on the opposite lane. Change toyota to honda. Repeat. No wonder one would realise why GM is facing a financial crisis. Its the MPG honey. or so everyone thinks.

Scenes from a temple are nothing different too. Pillayar takes a shower with Tropicana. The priest, for a change, asks "Any more archanais" in agmark tha-nglish. While the middle-aged dad professes his linguistic skills starting every second statement with "you no whaaaat i saiyee", the 10 year old son goes "dad, gimme a break" in impeccable american. But still, the most crowded part in any temple at any given point of time is the free prasadam stall and people still leave their footwear inside their cars for fear of losing them. Told you so.

Apartment complexes are a walkover. Literally. There is a story of an american knocking the doors of an Indian asking where a certain Mr. Ted Smith lives. Legends have a way of feeding themselves, but the general consensus is that our home-grown Indian thought for a while, scratched his stubble and told the american that there are no foreigners living there. What the legends missed out is that on a later day, our man received a copy of the Oxford World Atlas and a Merriem Webster dictionary.

Friend of a friend lands here from Charlotte, North Carolina (the rough equivalent of Madhuravoyil, Chennai or Kengeri, Bangalore). Tells everyone he is here for a good time. Everyone agrees. Picks his list of places to visit. Reads out list. Saravana Bhavan. Pauses. Surveys the room to see everyone rolling on the floor laughing. Yep, For other cursed souls from the mid west - Idaho (Idly ?? You sure you are not confusing anything with Bruce Lee??), Missisipi (Sambar ?? Sir, no. we serve chicken and meat, but no deers), Wisconsin (Yes sir, thats pure vegetarian. It has chicken though) and Milwaukee (Vegetarian ?? We have some lettuce for breakfast. Some more lettuce for lunch and if you are going to come back, the remaining lettuce for dinner) - you have your redemption next corner. Heck, every corner. As long as you, the eater, safely lock your mathematical capabilities back in your closet, you get to eat what you want to. But as things will have it, most of us eat, breathe and think the exchange rate which can cause quite a few hiccups for anyone who is here on a short-term visit and the letters "Save Big Big Money" inscribed on their bed room walls.

Welcome to The Bay Area. Where most americans look you in the eye and give you a "hey, how are you doing" as they go by. Where most educated indians look through you like you were a ghost.

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

Shiny

Stalking the IMDB during odd hours for trivia is a double edged sword. It throws so many interesting movies at you, something to keep your netflix account performing above par. Sometimes, it gives you a movie that has received rave reviews which, after watching it, leaves you with a feeling of having worked on a differential calculus problem the previous night. Head-scratching and mattress-pawing. Case in point: Barton Fink, Othertimes, it gives you a cult movie which makes you wonder what is so cult-ish about the movie, but eventually end up shaking your head in awe because you don't want to offend your movie-literate friends. Case in point: Citizen Kane. At other times, you end up hitting the jackpot. Case in point: Firefly.

Firefly is television show that aired once a week (you say, we have "Velan"). The story revolves around a bunch of protagonists and their day-jobs (you say, much like "Kolangal").It has its funny moments (you say not dissimilar to "Chinna Pappa and Periya Pappa") and it has its moving moments, (you say oh yeah just like "favorite-women's-accesory-or-something-signifying-matrimony"). But the similarities end just there. Firefly, for a change, is also truly refreshing. (you say you give up).


Firefly is a Sci-fi/Space/Western set more than 500 years in the future where mankind has moved on to a different solar system and left our over-grown and over-used planet with nothing but a fancy new name, Earth-that-was. Unsurprisingly, when someone says Space-age Sci-fi everyone thinks about a captain who speaks orders into his wrist watch, his trusted lieutenant whose ears, eyebrows and his pencil share the same shape, an array of different colored beings talking gibberish and different new worlds where stones suddenly come into life to eat you. Joss Whedon (writer of "firefly") begs to differ.

What George Lucas did with Star Wars in the late 70s, Joss Whedon does it with Firely in the 21st century. When Lucas envisioned Star Wars, only the Apollos had reached space. Movies were firmly rooted in anti-war sentiments and personal lives of italian-american mobsters. When Lucas opened a world with so many possibilities, the audience lapped it up. Everything was new. Light sabres, The Force, Death Stars and Sky battles. But when it was done once, it became a "used" concept, which should explain the fate of the new trilogy he made. Joss understands that much of this sci-fi enchilada is additional baggage and cuts it off completely. No ground-breaking CGI, no space wars, no new civilisations and no vulcan salutes. Joss instead chooses to develop his story around the crew of the spaceship, Serenity.

Joss Whedon hits the mark with the way he packages his show. From the promos, one thinks that its a space-cowboy show with gags. That it is, but only as a side show. What it really is a brilliant political commentary on tyrannical pseudo-democracies which go to any ends to protect their secrets. The premise of a federation of states being the norm of the future, with the wealthy core states getting richer and the fringe states becoming poorer. A government behemoth which treats its own citizens as dispensibles. Look around yourself to see living examples.

If attitudes were a measure to a show's success, Firefly would need a bigger scale to measure it's. A captain who has only a hazy definition of what is legal and what is not, but has a clear distinction of good and bad is just one of the interesting characters in this show. Malcolm "Mal" Reynolds, the captain, has a great philosophy. Go about your business doing your job to help you feed yourself and your people as long as it doesn't hurt the helpless. Consider it a bonus if it helps you in robbing the undeserving. Perfect.

The show probably stands out because of three things. First, In a day when reality shows where you have to be bizzare - from making a complete idiot out of yourself on national television by being a mockery to eating live bugs for a fat purse - to be popular, a show which packages socio-political commentary mixed with fantasy is a welcome change. Second, Joss Whedon tells the world that you don't need a movie on two jailed prisoners trying to escape from a maximum security prison or a bunch of mentally-disturbed patients under a ruthless nurse to move you. You can even do it with an unknown cast and a bit of heart. Lastly, my favorite, that non-violence is not always the best solution and little push never hurt when it comes to people who deserve a shove.

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

Full Circle

Earth

"Will he or won't he ??". I was thinking when I walked up to Dawson's room with my tablet in my hand. About to open the door, I just remembered the last time I entered his room without knocking and the next hour of reminding on professional ethics in door-knocking. The fact that his room didn't have a door to begin with didn't strike him somehow. That and the phrase. "May I come in ??", I somehow managed. "Yes", belched a voice.

"Hi Dawson", I started.
"Uh?? Me ??", said Dawson.
"Mr. Dawson, I mean.", I said correcting my self quickly. I am in no mood for his sermons on professional ethics in addressing people now.
"Better. Yes, what can I do for you Robert ??", said Dawson, least interested in what he can do for me. Always infinitely interested what I can do for him.
"Sir, its about the new project I had in mind."
"Ah, the potty you mean", said Dawson, popping a bunch of grapes into his mouth, making no effort to hide the sarcasm in his tone.
I bit my lower lip in anger. "Dont let your emotions blow. Job needs to be done", I told myself. "The Porty, sir. P-o-r-t-y".
"They sound just about the same you know ??", asked Dawson, leaning into his chair further. The Porty, My Porty was known to Dawson's circle as the potty, because they think that is where my invention is destined. I disagree. I disagree vehemently.
"Dawson, just give me one chance. Porty would put us on the global map forever", I said earnestly.
"Oh yes ?? And how are you so sure??", said Dawson, his voice going to that gravelly tone which he uses to browbeat people. Not good.
"Its because I see people are going to need it soon. Look at my analysis", I showed him my tablet. "See, this is the projection of increase in population over the next few years. This here is the growth of Porting market that I project. If we go into test production now, we should be onto full scale production within the next two months and should be out with the first Porty in 3 months and hit maximum production in 12 months. In two years, we would have recovered all our production costs and we get to make profits out of it", I could see Dawson shaking his head and I stopped.

"You know what Bert ?? This makes absolutely no business sense whatsoever", said Dawson looking at his well-manicured finger nails, rendered out of the expenses account offered by the company.
"What ?? But I just..."
"You gave me some numbers. That's all you did. Numbers that don't mean anything".
"But Mr. Dawson..."
"Listen Bert, How many years have you been in this industry ?? 4 ?? 5 ?? how old are you ?? 27 ?? 28 ?? Marginally less than my experience. I have seen numbers, Bert. I have seen them all my life. And you know what I have seen more often ?? Your kind. The one that comes up with nothing but ideas that burn a hole in everyone's pocket. Your idea is futile. That is all there is to it".
"Sir, This analysis is ...", I tried to drive my point about how painstakingly I had conducted a research out of my own free time to arrive at these numbers, talking to people, understanding their needs.
"Bert, let me ask you this. Is anyone using this potty of yours??"
"No, but ....", I started
"Ah see, There we have it. No one is using this and you expect me to fund it. Bah", Dawson went off before I could interrupt him and say that this was the precise point. That no one was using it because no one has invented it. Not yet. But Dawson was in no mood to give up. "And you say this makes business sense ?? I don't know what they teach you, but they teach you to imagine a lot. You think people want to port ?? Do you actually think they are going to leave what they are doing here and port off to some place ?? Are you out of your minds ?? Boy, how did you even land this job ??"
First, I hate it when he sounds patronising. Second, I hate it when he asks me how I landed this job when there are probably a hundred others who are curious to know how he landed his job. "Hold on to your tongue, Bert. This is not the first time", I told myself.
"Bert, you, and all your bretheren out there, think that you are doing the toughest job out there. Trying to make random things, Invent things. Do you have an iota of idea how hard it is to be in The Hot Seat ??".
I looked around his room. It was bigger than the one I had to share with three others. It had twice as many shelves and an ice-box. That didn't sound too hot to me.
"I just didn't join some skool and come out and get a job. I had my foundations in this business and I know how it is run. Do you know how many decisions I have to make each day which would affect thousands of people ??". I stopped and gave it a thought. Single shot espresso or double shot espresso was probably the only one and it seemed neither tough nor affecting thousands of people.

"By the way, you are in tools. Aren't you ??", asked Dawson, with the tone that sent out many loud and clear messages to me. "Yes sir, I am". "Have you finished your daily tool sharpening quota" would be the next question. "If you haven't done the job you were given, you should probably not try anything else" would come later. I understood where this was going. I would like to tell him he doesnt have to put me on the defensive reminding me that it is he who has to judge my work when the time comes. I would really love to tell him that "tools sharpening" is not where my interests lie. I would like to tell him to look at the idea as an idea and not as something that is going to rain money from day #1. Most of all, I would like to remind him that a tonne of his self-laudatory poetry is welcome if only he could show a bit of constructive work. But I cannot. I do not have the power to.

I walked back slowly to my workplace. I am sure Dawson and his friends would be having a private joke on Porty. I could see other eyes boring into me as I took my seat. Deep down inside, I knew Porty was going to work. Something tells me that there is someone who would badly need this invention. In the loneliness of my room, I picked up a mini-Porty that I had made in the hope that I would be allowed to give a demonstration. I touched my creation lovingly. All around it. I imagined a future where people would be able to port freely. I imagined a future where there would even be coaches fitted with Porties. I imagined a future where a life couldnt be lived withour Porties. I laughed at my own dreams. "Goodbye Porty, the road ends for you here", I said and broke it into pieces and got back to sharpening stones for the hunt later tonight. There were mammoths to be killed.



Heaven

"Dang !!!!", He screamed in anguish.
"Honey, what is wrong now ??", out came The Missus, clearly pertrubed.
"He did it again. He did it again", He was in a mad fit and it showed up as a serious cyclone in the calm waters of the dead sea.
"Honey, you should cool down. You could destroy a few countries with your temper", said the concerned Missus.
"I dont believe this, darling. I put them alongside happily grazing dinosaurs and you remember what he did ?? He asked them to file a report of their weekly kills. In triplicate. Bam. Out of the blue, one day they are all extinct. The coroner says severe stress. You know how this made Me the laughing stock in the Gods' Council. I put this species into evolution alongside Noah. What do we get ?? 90% of the animals Noah selected were rejected because they dozed off when he was giving a presentation on "An Incisive Look into the Learnings on How to Efficiently Board The Ark". Now, who wouldn't ?? I put him in the neolithic and what do I get ?? A blanket ban on creating fires because he so intelligently put his finger inside one, got burnt and decreed it dangerous to use fire in any form whatsoever. And now, guess what he did now ?? He rejected the idea of The Wheel saying it was not viable and didn't have a future".
"You dont say !!!", exclaimed the surprised Missus.
He was now looking distraught. "Now I have to redo the whole thing again. Right from Adam, Eve and The Apple. And this is not the first time. I hate doing this again and again. I am not a robot", He sounded unsurprisingly tired. "Honey, I dont know what to do with this species. They are in my charter. I need to put them somewhere, somehow. But I am wary of putting them anywhere", He sounded resigned.
"Honey, you shouldn't be losing your sleep over this. Just put them somewhere, where they could cause very less damage. Now, I got to get back to preparing lunch for you.
Why don't you just put them somewhere and join me in the kitchen in a minute ??. There are a few vessels to wash"
He walked to his drawing-board. He had decided enough is enough. He looked up at his giant chart of creation. On the x-axis he had the species written alphabetically. Amoeba, Blue Whales, Cats, Dogs, Hippopotamuss. He scanned the list looking for his entry and picked it up right beneath "Manaclers". He looked at the y-axis, containing ages. He gave it a good thought, sighed deeply and shoved it in the slot marked "The Second Dark Ages - 20th century and later" and pressed the "Restart Earth" button.

Epilogue

Epitaph for a Tag that originated in Ganja Turtle's blog.

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

Raa Raa Raa Ramaiah

One of the valuable lessons that Rajinikanth has taught us is to call Ramaiah here and tell him to divide his life by eight, and most importantly, to realise which eight he is in and act in an appropriate manner. Once Ramaiah knows this and follows it to the letter, he inadverdently finds that the answer is 42. Just like our Ramaiah and the eight phases of his life, a blog(ger) has eight phases too.


"Yettu Yetta blog vaazkhaya pirichukko, ne yenda Yettil ippo irukka nenachukko"
"Divide your blog life in eights, and keep where you are in your sights"

"Mudhal Yettil veesadadhu vasanam illa"
"No dialogue is a dialogue, unless spoken in the First Eight"

This is the phase when all and sundry with whom the individual is in touch with owns a blog. He scornfully thinks, " All these yuppie-wannabes have a blog because its free. Just ask blogspot to charge a monthly fee for it, and everyone would be back to corner-gazing and chin-scratching as their hobbies". So true. Hear, hear.

"Rendam Yettil adikadadhu balti-yum alla"
"No sommersault is expertly done, unless done in the Second Eight"


After a change of heart, now blogging is way of expressing oneself. It brings out the best in him. It helps him be a creator. It helps him speak his mind. Yadda-yadda. Standard issue dialogue include disclaimers about how he is new to blogging and hopes "people like the blog" and also "give their valuable comments". The cocky few actually advertise the fact that it is their blog and they write what they feel like and care the least what others feel. No prizes for guessing all that indirectly means "see, am only trying to look cool. this doesnt necessarily mean that you shouldnt comment you know".


"Moondram Yettil podadadhu padamum alla"
"The jazz goes fizz, if not done in the Third Eight"

The angry young (wo)man strikes back with a revenge in this phase. Every possible practice of the society is questioned. Corruption, Red-tapism, Religion, God-men and all similar hot-topics get thrashed. Bureaucracy, Theocracy, Aristocracy, Plutocracy, Democracy - All slaughtered. Radical ideas proposed. Old beliefs disposed. The outlay of the site changes every week. He is the man of the future. He is the future.


"Naangam Yettil polambadadhu polambalum alla"
"Lamentation is not what lamentation is, if not lamented in the Fourth Eight" (and btw, this translation sucks)

Things that were red hot one level above, cool down a bit here. Our angry hero(ine) returns to earth and struggles to get a foothold. Work is pressing, almost all problems that he could think of have been written about and he has to create new ones. Problems are strange in the sense that they find you when they want to and it doesnt work the other way around. So, the blog changes from a social commentary to a personal diary. Blogs that demonstrate his will power (how he fought with his classmate for a pencil-with-sweet-smelling rubber and, importantly, won it when he was in third standard b section), charity (a sum total of Rs. 11 dropped in the Tsunami Fund Box when his evening snack costs twice that) and how he is worried about arranged marriage (ah well, this we cant dispute. can we ??).

"Aindham Yettil Podadadu Blade-um Alla"
"Incruciating boredom is not rightly inflicted, if not done in the Fifth Eight"


Finally, for the good of mankind, life has caught up with the blogger. With posts that redefine the word personal to a new level having come to a full stop and staring down the barrel of the next performance appraisal, our blogger must now resort to easier ways of keeping it going. And what better than mindless forwards ?? "I read this somewhere, I think you may like it", followed by terrabytes of data. Oh well, you didnt have the time to read through it, might as well pass on the pain to the rest of us. Foreseeing an eventuality scenario where there are not enough interesting forwards (which is an oxymoron more often than not), the blogging community has invented something that would surpass counting sheep as the best-pastime. Tagging. Once he has revelaed everything (5 bestest friends, 6 names he goes with, 7 things he cannot live without) that is revealable, the blogger slowly starts slipping into oblivion.

"Aaram Yettil kudukadadhu Build-up alla"
"A build-up falls flat, if not orchestrated in the Sixth Eight"

Comebacks are a universal concept. We all love them. Inspired by school life, where we fail in the first, second and third midterms, quart and half yearlies, first and second revisions and finally manage to turnaround with a sizzling 41% in the final revision which technically counts as a comeback, the blogger makes one too. Only as limp. Heck, even Sachin Tendulkar's come back from a tennis elbow wouldn't have had such fanfare. "I am back" reads the blog title, regardless of the fact there is probably only the service provider who would care and that too for additional wastage of precious space on his server. In an effort to show that the blog is alive and kicking, our man adds new tags overnight - one is a webcounter, the other is a bar to chat with, the third doesnt do anything at all, but sort of looks good so gets to be there.


"Yezham Yettil podadadhu Senti-um alla"
"If you want to wet some shoulders, do it in the Seventh Eight"


When ET leaves, henry thomas cries. drew barrymore cries. all their friends cry. From the way the box office responded, the watching public cried. Armed with a bigger vocabulary and better photogenics than ET, somehow, the blogger now pulls the same trick. Citing the war in iraq or the unrest in afghanistan or the imbroglio in kashmir or, in an attempt to gather mass sympathy, all of the above, the blogger announces his imminent demise from the blog world much to the consternation of fellow bloggers and friends. They had this blog to make them feel better about their own. Now, who would fill this enormous gorge ??

"Nee Yettam Yettuku mela irundha nimmadhi illa"
"Rip, in the Eighth Eight"


All good things should come to an end. That is just a statement and should in no way be considered as an eulogy for the blog. Nope. What was once teeming with friends is now orphaned in cyberspace that even those spammers who go "hey, you have a nice site. visit mine where i discuss about what color of inner wear to wear on a summer sunday" do not visit the blog. In the end, everything evens out. Even such odd blogs like this one. Amen.

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

Never Cross A Woman

Present Day


Rosemary, dressed in her best party attire, read the note for the tenth time . The note that Hummus had written last night before he ran away. It was to the point, "I am leaving to find my life", so typical of Hummus - Idealistic. She wasnt unduly worried about Hummus running away - "no one should be overtly worried about runaway puppies, they would always come back", she thought haughtily. Her worry was entirely different.

Late last night

Hummus entered the house not looking very different from a zombie.
"Hummus, is that you ??" came a voice from inside the room. Hummus, who had tried to tiptoe his way to the terrace where he would have slept through the night, stopped dead in his tracks. Drat.
"Yes honey".
"Did you get the diamond tiara ?? I have promised all my friends that I would make an appearance with that on my birthday. I cannot bear to lose face", came her commanding voice, still from inside.
"Ah, honey .. there were, ermmm, some complications".
"What ??", out came rosemary - her face smeared with a white substance all over, save her eyes, which either prevented wrinkles or ageing or preserve her tan.
"I reneged on the deal", said Hummus.
"Hummus, you were on a job ordered by the King himself. What do you mean you reneged??"
Hummus burst with anger. "I couldnt do it, Rosemary. I cannot split up a couple who are going through an ordinary misunderstanding just because the king has a liking to the girl and wants to marry her after she is divorced. No matter how much he pays for that. I was a priest before this, remember ?? I preach love, not hate. And I wouldnt have taken this hate-job if not for paying your bills".
"Hummus, you are a divorce attorney. Splitting married couples is your job. If people dont fight and split, you dont get food. Most importantly, I cant pay my beautician. Just go out there, encourage them that a divorce is the best way out, get the pay-off from the king and get me my tiara. My birthday is midnight tomorrow".
"Ah, err. Honey, I cant do that anymore. I just gave them the whole of the initial pay-off I got from the king and sent them to Gaul where they can live safely".
"I dont believe this .. This means that ..."
"Yes, this means that I betrayed the king and he will have my head when he knows that it was I who sent them out. But you dont worry about...."
Rosemary cut him in half sentence."..that I dont get my tiara for the birthday..." and then she broke out crying over that incalculable loss leaving a flustered Hummus to imagine how he couldnt get the guts to put his profession into use with this woman.

Present Day
Rosemary tossed the note away carelessly. "Damn you Hummus. You have made me lose face. I will make you pay. I will make everyone pay." Rosemary had made her plan.

By late evening her friends congregated in the grand ball room which had been constructed entirely out of Hummus's retirment fund. Rosemary appeared from the top of the stairs with a grief stricken face - but carefully made up so that those tears dont take away the new glossy cream she had bought the other day.
"Friends, I have an announcement to make. The King has abducted my husband, and as we talk here, his life would have been ended by the executioner".
A collective gasp filled the room. Cries of "Oh poor baby", "Oh Rosemary", "Dear Lord" emanated from her friends who rushed to hold her - not without being too careful that their expensive coiffures remain undisturbed. "Perfect. Their sympathy is mine. Now for Plan B", Rosemary thought. She continued in her voice that rang more of disappointment than sorrow, but only for a keen observer. "I just have one request to make on behalf of my husband. All of you know how much he loved me. You all know how much he cared about me and how much I meant to him". The hen-pecked spouses nodded their heads in unison, although they knew the real story. After all, it was the same everywhere. Rosemary continued, "Hummus was a happy and content man. But before he was dragged from this very hall by the King's Guards, he had just one desire unfulfilled. That he couldnt buy me my tiara. He swore he would come back and get it for me, but it is now too late". The men-folk in the room kept their somber faces. "As Hummus's friends, I have one thing to ask out of you. I ask this in the name of Hummus and in the name of the love that he had for me. ".
"Tell us what you need to Rosemary, we would do it for our Hummus", offered Asparagus - the harried husband of Shannon.
"Just perfect", thought Rosemary. "As a mark of respect to Hummus and his true love for me, I propose that each and every man in this great hall gift his wife with the costliest tiara that he could ever find. That would be a token for our friendship to Hummus", she said.
Asparagus felt like he just walked inside a bear cave soaked in mountain honey.
"But ... but ... we just bought our wives expensive gifts for thanks giving", groaned Asparagus.
"...and for christmas and new years...", said Tinnitus.
"..you forgot their birthdays..", said Discus.
"Its not even 2 months since New Year's and we need to buy them new gifts??", asked Asparagus, glancing carefully towards his wife.
Rosemary couldn't belive her luck. They had fallen for it hook, line and sink - just as she predicted. She launched into the final part of her scheme. "Two months since new year's ?? Is this what all this means to you Asparagus ?? A random gift to your wife and nothing more ?? Is the cost of a tiara so insurmountable that you have started cooking up ridiculous excuses ?? Its about setting out a day off for your wife and showing her how much she means to you. Its not about the gift or its cost Hummus, its about love and how much you care for your wife - who loves you regardless of if you give her a gift or not".

Asparagus thought about it for a second. Even if it was a celebration of his love for his wife, why does it have to be on rosemary's birthday ??
Tinnitus considered the fact that his wife's love over platinum far exceeded her love for him and despite all that, he loved his wife daily, and most importantly he didnt need a day to declare that.
Discus wondered that if the cost of the gift didnt matter, maybe he should get her a nice robe and leave it at that instead of burning his fingers over a tiara.
All three of them took a good look at their respective wives, who were listening to every word that Rosemary was saying with rapt attention, and weighed the future of their marriage if they chose to ask these questions aloud. They looked at each other, and they knew the answer. Non-existent. In anycase, what harm could it do ?? This is just a fill-in arrangement for this year. To appease all the womenfolk. By this time next year, they would have forgotten everything about Hummus and Rosemary. In unison, they broke into a bright smile and said "Of course, anything for our sweet-hearts. After all, its just for this year. Isn't it ??".

"Just this one year", Rosemary said aloud. "You wish", she thought inside. "Hummus, I would make you pay. I would make everyone of your kind pay. Men would live to regret this day. Revenge will be mine.".

An year later, In Gaul

Spaghetti Readymix liked Gaul, the people were friendly, the sun was bright, the breeze was pleasant and the romans were on the otherside of the border for good. However, he was surprised with a peculiar festival that seemed to have gained wide popularity in Gaul over the last year. A day was chosen for men to profess their love for their women. Funny, he thought, when there were 364 other days open to do precisely the same. But the single most important reason the women were happy was the gifts, which was the same reason why the men looked crestfallen and broke. Travellers from far away say all this originated in Rome when the widow of a priest's wife declared the day of her husband's death as a closed celebration among her friends and it had seemingly spread across the world. "Unsurprising", thought Readymix, "considering the penchant of women to display their gifts to their friends". Even if he could accept the concept of setting aside a day for love, Readymix could never bring himself to understand the frenzy of business that centred around the day. Illusions'n'trix offered discounts on their jewels, Mushy-mushy-Greetinx offered a rebate on their merchandise and if that wasnt enough, even Stonehenge Menhirs Inc. gave special discounts for people buying special heart-shaped menhirs - as to how it would symbolise love is anybody's guess. Spaghetti Readymix sighed in resignation. He was a happy fisherman. Happier than he ever was when he was a priest/divorce attorney in Rome sporting a different name. But even he couldnt avoid breaking into a sweat when he saw all those posters about Valentine's Day and how his fellow men cursed the name for bringing this day on their fate. One cannot blame Readymix, after all, he was known as Hummus Valentinus until an year back.

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

The Hand That Rocks The Cradle

Countless years ago:

Crossing the last mound to the plains, I could see their camps, overflowing with swordmasters sharpening their blades. Getting ready because they know I dont stand a chance in the Challenge. Getting ready because once I fall, they would have a job at hand. To slaughter people. My people. Heck, how wouldnt they not know ?? Even I know I am going to lose. Unless someone intervenes. Unless He himself intervenes. Just at the moment when I was foreseeing an abject failure, something hid the noon-sun from my face. I looked up, and there he was. The Champion. standing at a towering height, dwarfing me by four counts to one. He looked like the one a girl would love to take home to her parents, only he would end up devouring them all for supper.

Now, now, now. Dont panic. Yes, he has a spear. He has a shield. He is probably 20 feet tall and crushes stones like they are butter cookies. But dont be afraid. Yeah right. Think. Think what I need. All that I need is a weapon. A weapon to knock that giant of a fighter down. Only it is a tad too late to find a weapon to kill a monster when he is so close I can see my reflection in his head-guard. The head-guard. The head. Hmm, why didnt I think of this earlier. No time to find a weapon. Just enough time to use anything as a weapon. Anything. Even this shiny stone. Father, Lord, God, whoever you are, If you are there somewhere, which I know you are, help me. Help me. Please.

Sometime in the near future

"I did itttt", I screamed on top of my voice and the missus just dropped the bag of washclothes she was carrying.
"You startled me", she said in a tone that would cut through air.
"I did it, sweetheart. I beat all those jokers who laughed behind my back. I knew I would and I just did", I was talking incoherently.
"You licked your own elbow ??", she asked, the sarcasm not showing.
"No no, I just got my time traveller working", I said proudly.
"Ah, good. Now let me move on because unlike you, I have some real work to do".
That was when it hit me. Damn. How careless have I been.
"Honey ....", I said in a tone not too different from a kid who broke the windshield of his father's BMW playing baseball.
"What now ??", said my wife, still not seeing the flashing redlights on top of my head.
"You see, the time machine is a complicated device. I was able to get the photons in place...."
"What did you do ??"
"... and even the neutrons, it was just a child's play to get them play ball.."
"I dont like the sound of this, what did you do ??"
"....but you see the mastozons, they were in a different league. I could get them move one way, but not the other. Which means, I can send things back in time ..."
"What did you send ??", now I can see a thin line of panic.
"...but I cannot get them back until I get the mastozon blaster up and running .."
"What did you send ??", touching the red.
"...which should be anytime soon ... so, dont freak out, will you ??"
"Oh harold, what did you send ??", she screamed dropping down the basket. Well and truly panicing.


Again, countless years ago

He was a kid. Just a kid. And he was unarmed. Yes, irrespective of the damage done to my skull, I remember he was unarmed. I also remember him going down on his knees to pick up something. To begin with, I was on my guard, wondering if he had some hidden device to split the earth right from under me, you know like that moses guy. But when he lifted a pebble, only a pebble, I was wondering if this some local way of declaring a ceasefire. In fact, I could even see it coming and I wanted to crush it with my fingers just for theatrics. And then, two things hit me. One, the fact that the kid was a magician far more experienced and talented than what he looks like and two, The White Giant who hit me hard in the face two seconds earlier. Nice trick kid, to hide a Giant in a Pebble. Ah, now things are getting murkier. Time to die. So long fellow philistines, it was a pleasure plundering with you.

The White Giant chimed twice indicating that the last spin and tumble were done and drained the detergent into the Valley of Elah.

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

Around The Coast in 8 Days

Double Whammy

A setback or a double blow.


Whammy 1: When your friends who come to pick you stop in their tracks looking at your suitcase which looks like KingKong's weekend backpack. One of them actually wonders if you are going back home straight. All of them give sly smiles.

Whammy 2: After you have explained to them about your planning capabilities and how you have handled every eventuality that could ever arise, you find that you have missed (a) your tooth-brush, (b) your winter jackets and thick gloves and (c) the powercord to your laptop. Considering the fact that (a) you have to brush atleast once a day, (b) you have travelled to the east coast during winter and (c) you have beaten your chest like a bull-troll to folks that you would "work from home", this should qualify as a triple whammy. Look on the brighter side, you have enough innerwear to last you a few years on a remote island.


Dog-tired

Exhausted to the point of open-mouthed panting like a dog.

New Yorkers are in love with quite a bunch of things. Honking is one. Definitely. Walking is another. An average newyorker would spend a good portion of his life walking down the pavements than, say, breathing and blinking. The whole of NewYork is just a big grid with avenues running north-south and streets running east-west. Pick two numbers in random, and that would be a spot in the city. Of course, you can rent a car and drive inside NYC, but you also need to convert your entire ancestral property into dollars to pay the parking fees, this is assuming you are lucky enough to find one. Second, you have to hope that your car remains in the same position and the same way as it was parked. Third, and the most difficult part, is that you have to renew your insurance policy against accidental runovers by cabs. So I walk. From WTC to Wall Street. And then I walk again. From Wall Street to Battery Park. And then I walk yet again. From Battery Park to Brooklyn Bridge. Since I havent dropped dead yet, I start walking again, from Brooklyn Bridge to Broadway. And mind you, all this in the first day. United Nations, 5th Ave, Park Ave, Lexington Ave, Broadway, Times Square, Central Park - If I had walked in a straight line wearing a cotton garb over a matter of principle on Retail Rights on Distribution of Sodium Chloride, I could have atleast made it big (mind you, no disrespect to the gentleman in question). Sigh.


On A Wing and A Prayer

Hoping to succeed relying only on good fortune.


Getting stuck in a car in the downtown of any city is a nightmare. If it is washington, d.c, its worse. For some reasons, the route to a specific destination does not involve straights, pillayar temples, lefts, nayar tea stalls, rights and a corporation water tank. In here, it is north, blocks, south-east and avenues. Since my sense of direction would make me belong in the leagues of Roald Amundsen and Edmund Hillary, directions were out of question. After having incurred the wrath of The Chimp by waking her up at 4 in the morning (which was after she crashed at 1 am after a bad day at work), I couldn't goad her to go faster, lest she would throw me out of the car and run me over just to feel better. With the clock inside her car ticking away to glory, I started seeing scenes of being stranded in the station with my monster suitcase. Usually, as a thumb rule, most of the folks here I have spoken with knew only the name of their street. A handful knew the closest running street. Almost none could remember two streets from where they stay. A street few blocks away and you would be a suspect sizing up the neighborhood. Imagine a monster running out of a car at 5 in the morning and asking such questions. Considering my luck, if I startle a finger-itchy cop, it would be bye-bye-blue-sky. But then, since I was on a prayer (title appears; applause), the two gentlemen who put me on the right route and the ticket station clerk who sent me to the right gate in that alibaba cave of a train station could have had wings (title re-appears, applause again) hidden inside their shirts. Thanking my stars, I later tell The Chimp that the train was late. The Chimp doesnt even react, but says that her clock in her car was fast. Cliches. I love them.


A Fool's Errand
An attempt to do something that has no chance of success.

You are in a party where the motto is to get sloshed. You turn to your left and you see someone gulping down beer. To your right is that lady who is shaking a martini. Behind is a big group debating the pros and cons of white wine vis-a-vis red wine by using themselves as test subjects. And right ahead is the big cellar which is a whos-who of the world of booze. You dont feel lost out, because you are a genius. You have strategically planted a bottle of apple cider which comes in a case that would easily pass for champagne and looks surprisingly close to it in texture. To cap off your genius, your pour it onto a transparent glass and use your sleep-weary eyes as a substitute for that dipsy look. People think you are going to get wasted if you take another sip, and you prove them wrong by driving down another mug. Alls well. And then, at the end of the party, your best friend's wife expresses her sincere disappointment that she has run short of apple cider and hopes that you can manage with mountain dew because everything else has alcohol. Someone puts a pin in a big balloon.

Good Samaritan

A good samaritan is one who helps another in a time of need with no thought of reward.

Someone who cancels his date with his girlfriend to show you around his town and get you good lebanese food for dinner - Mall

Someone who lets a stranger inside their house just because someone else vouched for it (the sanity levels of that someone is under heavy dispute) - Appu

Someone who walks the walk and talks the talk with you (literally) inspite of having walked down the same alleys a million times over on a weekend which otherwise could have been spent peacefully - Vish

Someone who takes every effort from picking you up from the airport on your day in, and your safe way back to the airport on the way out, goes one more step and puts you up in his apartment right in the heart of manhattan (10 blocks from Times Square - no kidding) - Bull

Someone who actually bunks work just to give you company inspite of having a bad hair day at office, cooks your dinner and puts up with your eccentricities - The Chimp.

You were unbelievable folks. Really.

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

2006 - In Style

Courtesy The Christ and The Anti-Christ (well, one of them anyway), we had a week off before the new years, and this year's prep up to the new year is by far the best. It all started off with a drive through Nevada to Vegas, some lavish Roulette and Backgammon at "The BellagiO", An indoor beach inside a night club, Vodka (of course, shaken; not stirred). That was followed by some parasailing near the Golden Gate bridge, some white water rafting, rock climbing, an amazing bungee jump near the Edgar Hoover Dam and to top it all, a bird's eye view from a suite in The Ritz to see the ball drop at Times Square. And yeah, I also killed Gold Finger and Blofeld while stopping a doomsday nuclear warhead 0.07 seconds before it exploded. C'mon folks, if you could believe all the stuff said earlier, you could as well believe this. Thanks to the one friend I have who swears by a supposedly active social calendar I have, my entire week preceding the New Year was based within an area 3 miles in radius. So, There, I do not have a calendar, I am not social and active is as far as the pole star.

In anycase, here is a random collection of stuff that would probably benefit the reader. Three Songs that have been playing throughout, Three Books I read, Three Movies of brilliance I watched, Three acts of suicide I attempted and One useful fact.

Talk by Coldplay has to rank in the top somewhere of any alternate rocker's playlist. Is it something that easily comes to british bands, the art of making easy-going music ?? With clear influences from Radiohead and U2, Coldplay are on their way to the top, if not already.

The fact that Joaquin Phoenix has given the performance of his life meant nothing to me. But the idea that Reese Witherspoon is in the reckoning for an oscar nom piqued my interest about Johnny Cash and his works. And there, I listened to Long Black Veil. I havent listened to the original. I havent listened to the other covers. I know that they wouldnt stand a chance.

I was never the intellectual types when it came to music and No, this is no attempt at modesty. I nod my head vigorously when I listen to Carnatic and when no one is looking at me I yawn and make faces. Western Classical would probably not have me making faces, but I would definitely yawn. In an attempt to strike a pose of a well-rounded individual (for you sniggering folks, thats a metaphor) , I took my first dig at Beethoven and due to divine intervention, I run into Fur Elise. One of those songs which probably even cattle would listen to in rapt attention. Heck, It held me (read: troll) for the entire three minute stretch. Cattle should be cakewalk.

Most blurbs for books shamelessly lie about "Riveting Action" and "The Genius of a writer". The one for Artemis Fowl said "Refreshing" and that is true to the letter. A magical story with so little of magic. A fantasy story without a dragon or a dark lord who chases hapless kids in dreams. A story with different species, but no old man to shepherd the lead character. And lastly, an utterly amoral (although not for long) hero. Eoin Colfer, You rock.

Reading one book with 800 pages can be tiresome. Writing one can be worse. To write seven such books should be herculean. To keep them all interesting, Nope, I ran out of superlatives there. That is exactly what Stephen King does with The fifth book of the Dark Tower series: Wolves of The Calla. How King manages to hold our attention by alluding slyly to pop-culture (fans of harry potter, watch out ;-) ) is beyond me. In anycase, the sixth book lies at a hand's reach and I cant wait to get to it.

For someone with very limited knowledge of books like me, Christopher Priest is a lost name. But for someone who thinks Christopher Nolan is the next best thing to happen to hollywood like me, this would ring a bell. Yes folks, Nolan is currently onto three projects - A batman sequel, A movie called The Exec and a Movie adaptation of Christopher Priest's Prestige. Inspite of 80% of the book being in reported speech, Priest manages to keep the suspense until the last page. Cant wait to see Nolan's script-writing genius take this to the theatres.

Gael Garcia Bernal gives a true-to-life performance of the charismatic Che Guevara in his early 20-s in the spanish movie The Motorcycle Diaries. Filmed in such eye-catchy locations like The Andes and The Atacama, the movie talks about how a young doctor called Ernesto became an icon like Che. Would recommend all those yuppies who wear a Che T-Shirt to watch this movie first. Mental note: Cancel plans for trip to Vegas. Save aforesaid money for trip to south america.

A fledgling director approaches a studio with his retro script called American Graffiti. The studio, in a current daze of indie films, approves it after finding a producer. The director, then casts two relatively unknown guys as leads and a completely unknown guy for a minor role. Later, the studio threatens to stop the movie and scratch the project, only for the producer to pledge his own skin to get it through. Thankfully, the movie made enough money and everyone got their careers in motion. The director, later made another movie starring the actor who played a minor role and both of them became marginally popular. The name of the movie was Star Wars and the character offered was one Han Solo. The producer made some name for himself, you might have heard the name Francis Ford Coppola somewhere. And yeah one of the lead heroes, A Richard Dreyfuss starred in a moderatelly successful movie called Jaws and the other one, A Ron Howard won something called an Oscar for directing a movie called A Beautiful Mind. Folks, watch American Graffiti and you know the reason behind such great movies like Star Wars and Indiana Jones. Well, let us not talk about the prequels shall we ??

A POW camp in Germany '44. A cold-hearted commandant. A wily barrack-superintendent. A mysterious spy amidst the american prisoners. What is new, you ask. I have seen The Great Escape, you say. No, my friend. You still havent heard the best part. Now add Billy Wilder into the equation and you get a cynical hero, a tireless captain, a smart lieutenant, two comic grunts and some good music. In case I forgot, a truck full of humor that would have you laughing and cheering on. Stalag 17 beats any other WWII movie by a landslide with its depiction of clear-cut characters, all defined in-depth and deep humor and emotion. If you are a WWII movie fan, dont miss this for your life.

It is being brought to my notice that people propound a theory that making Lemon Rice is one of the easiest things on Earth. That is a lie. There are people who squeeze lemon after lemon in an attempt to change the color of the rice to golden yellow, only realising later that its the turmeric powder that does it and end up eating lemon puree with rice toppings. Easy, my freaking left foot.

When I was a kid, I had a great joke in my sleeve. Seriously, at that point of time, everyone would burst out laughing when I throw it at them. These days, I would be lucky to get out in one piece. The joke is a humorous song. Now, think of something really tragic because you are going to end up tearing your guts. You have been warned. It goes thus: "Washing powder Nirma. Aaya veetla Gurma". Bwahahaha. In anycase, all that is irrelevant info. The point being, finally, I made Kurma which would get atleast 35% marks in any scale.

I decree Drumstick as the King of Vegetables. Regardless of all the mushy bagyaraj jibes about how it helps in you-know-what during you-know-when, there is nothing to beat the flavor it gives to Sambar. Absolutely. Makes you think you are Sanjeev Kapoor.

The one useful fact, as promised, for all bloggers. When you are seriously running short of time to update your blog, shamelessly make it into a hodge-podge of stuff that you did over the last week. Sometimes, it just works. Trust me.

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

First Kiss

You never forget it. And I dont either. Because sometimes, Its the only one you got. After reading Ganja Turtle's blog on our long-gone quizzing life, my wheel-chair bound memory galloped into a staggering sprint. There is so much to write about - winning, losing, swearing, whooping, hi-fiving, nail-biting, disgracing, elevating. So after carefully treading through the lot, I decide on this narrative, one of the earliest quizzes when Ganja and I partnered.

Back in the spring of 97, when ganja turtle was lean-and-mean with a 3.14-pack abs (you really have to see it to believe it. But I would advice that you try it on an empty stomach) and I was slowly learning the ropes in the quizzing profession adjusting to an unwashed jeans and hawai slippers, we left for coimbatore to participate in an intra-college fest called Confluence hosted by GRD college. Those were the days when the rest of the world always thought that madurai was a black hole fit only to release new vijayakanth movies and the natives were equipped with a Standard Issue sword three feet in length which was used to end disputes amicably. Some conceded that we might be able to spell the word "quiz". So, when we cleared the prelims and made it to the finals, we wouldnt be surprised if our prelims paper was double-checked just so to make sure.

As is a tradition in most college quizzes, the quizmaster had his own favorite team, whom I would call bunchajokers for want of a better name. We largely went unnoticed. One would expect that all this seemingly insulting techniques would make us roar and get pumped up. But since the ganja turtle couldnt care less and I care even lesser, we still remained with that half-doped look.

Now, I would like to give a brief peek into our long-running relationship with Dame Luck. When we wink at Dame Luck for a harmless coffee, she doesnt stop at turning us down. She either calls her body-builder brother or Assistant Commissioner father or kicks us hard in the solar plexus. On our better days, she does all three. That day just happened to be one of our best days.

The quiz was turning out to be predictable. Bunchajokers giving the right answer, the whole crowd applauding like they won a lottery, the rest of the teams fighting for the second place and we falling back upon "Pass" as the universal answer. Half-way through, we were still admiring at the big egg we had against our name and Ganja was losing it. Now, those were the times where I was out in the team for nothing more than moral support and chat company. If Ganja wasnt going to answer, the quizmaster might as well move to the next team. But since he doesnt know all that, he proceeds with his question. Something I suspect he asked to help us get on the scorecard. "Long, Fine, Short. If you add the word 'leg' to all of the above, with which game would you associate the phrases to??". They say when you are about to die, your whole life pans in front of your eyes. When you are in the gutters in a quiz, you forget your own name. With Ganja refusing to even hear what the quiz master says, I took the liberty to give it a shot. Three fateful seconds later, I gave him an answer. "Football". Freeze. This is a landmark moment. One I could proudly write as a note and pass for a valid reason in commiting suicide. Imagine being bred in a cricket-crazy country. Imagine remembering all useless cricket statistics about Gary Sobers having the record for the highest score in a maiden century. Imagine talking for hours about cricket with all your friends. Imagine associating "Long leg, Fine leg and Short leg" with football after having a mental breakdown in front of a crowd of good-looking coimbatore chics. Do you feel like mail-ordering me a shotgun ?? The collective "oooohhhhh" from the audience touched new levels in the disgust-meter.

With absolutely no respite, the gruelling quiz went on with us adamantly refusing to get on the board. When all hope was lost, Dame Luck, who had previously beaten us to pulp, turned back and gave a teasing smile. As every quizzer would know, a question that you would love to crack always goes to the next team on the list, thereby making it go through the longest of orbits before it reaches you. Usually, the team just before you in the list cracks it in the last second and leaves you heart-wrenched making you dive headfirst into alcohol after the quiz gets over. "Who was the first Indian sports personality to be signed by Pepsi". I lifted up my head like a man who went hungry for 1 week would do when he hears the word "gruel". "Sachin" (God, let this come to me). "Jadeja" (You know how much this means to me). "Pass" (There, There, Easy) "Time's up" (keep it coming, keep it coming) "Azhar" (I am not asking for a win, Just save us from total disgrace, will ya) and "American College, you have an answer ??". Summoning up all my energy, I muster "Kapil Dev". Freeze frame again. Moment of truth. Dame luck now gives a shy smile. "And finally", says that megalomaniacal patronising buckethead quizmaster "american college gets on the board. give them an applause people". For the first time, I realised an applause isnt pleasant all the time. Sometimes its like someone accidentally caught you when you were blabbering your girl friend's name in the sleep. Embarassing.

But what this meant was Ganja had finally woken up from his slumber. I think the fact that I answered a question would have made him seriously think about life, universe and everything. In any case, that meant that Ganja was back in the groove. In other words, everyone better run for cover. Suddenly, the entire scene changed. With a blistering rear-guard attack, Ganja brought us into contention for a podium when the rapid fire round started. Every other team, which had looked like hotshot cowboys, had to stand aside when big-daddy revved up his sixshooters. Ganja went murderous. We stacked points. The other teams gasped. Dame luck just beckoned us to sit with her on a big mahogany table for dinner. At the end of the carnage, We were tied for the first spot with bunchajokers and the contest, which was a no-contest until Ganja woke up, went into a tie-breaker.

The tie-breaker is Dame Luck's favorite round where she throws a stilletto at us and proceeds to watch us die slowly. Tie-breaker. One question. Winner takes all. With all the infinite amount of wealth displayed by the organisers, they forgot to get buzzers for the quiz and so it was upto good-old "raise your hand first". "If A is Alpha and B is Beta, What is E". Two hands went up in the air in unison. That smug-looking bugger in bunchojokers and Ganja. "Ah, I think bunchojokers went first. I am sorry American College", the know-it-all quizmaster had a look in his eyes which said "get it over with guys, a team from madurai in the finals in itself is too hard to handle, them winning will be catastrophe". Smug-looking bugger gives his answer without a hesitation. "Gamma". There. Freeze frame. Reality strikes. All the hard work, down the drain. So near yet so far. Always the bridesmaid, and never the bride. Another day at work. Dame Luck's Coup-de-Grace. The quizmaster had a look on his face like he got a pile-drive. "Thats Incorrect. And the winner is ....American College, Madurai". If I were to weigh the incredulity in his voice in Gold, I could buy Fort Knox twice over. I also remember counting exactly six pairs of hands clapping. All our classmates who had disowned us after my "football" answer. The rest of the crowd was busy acknowledging the existence of Madurai in the Tamilnadu provincial map. Dame Luck hadnt deserted us. She had given us a peck on the cheek.

As me and Ganja walked down the stage to raucous screams demanding us to throw few whiskeys for the night, I told Ganja "Cool da .. But i wish if we had cracked it than winning it by default. He should have asked you the question.". Ganja, in his drawly voice says, "But I didnt know the answer".
"But .. But .. You raised your hand, you moron".
"Yes, I did".
"What if he had asked you the question ??"
"We would have lost", said Ganja, matter of factly.
Freeze frame. Dame luck didnt give us a peck on the cheek. She gave us a full-blooded, deep-throated, french kiss.

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

The old shoe

Lord Hanuman moved Mount Sanjeevini without breaking a sweat. Yes, he had to cleanup a few demons on the way, but thats another day at work for him. I just had to move from one apartment from another and I think I broke a few ribs.

The idea of a new beginning and all that rosy imagery was there. But what I had failed to count was for every rosy beginning, there usually was a lousy ending. With one room-mate having successfully waltzed his way back to India and busy distributing sweets to eligible women, it was upto the two of us to bring in any semblance of the house having had only human beings as inhabitants. Blessed with an older room-mate - which means a higher level of wisdom and a sense of keeping a half of the house clean - meant that there was only one room that needed intensive care. Mine.

The biggest war-torn province of any house is the Kitchen. Considering our adventurous spirits in the culinary area, there can be times when it can look like someone used the washing machine instead of the blender and spewed food all over, but not always. Gives a nice colorful look, but breaks your back when you have to wipe it off. The amount of eateries left uneaten would have made a grand banquet dinner in somalia. Sweet, sour, spicy, bitter. Snacks, bites, cereals and cakes. Juices, cordials, shakes and ice-creams. And I still havent gotten to the doughnuts and cookies. Gowrava prasadhams come second in stature.

After having two room-mates who singlehandedly (pun intended) revived the american economy and were indirectly responsible for a vault in the american GDP, all that we got was boxes. Big brown boxes. Amazon, Best Buy, Circuit City, CompUSA, Sony Style - the whos who of american shopdom was lying belly-open in cardboard inside our apartment in astonishing numbers that I could actually ship myself back to India in them. Thankfully, banana skins and orange peels were disposed from time to time.

A few cut fingers courtesy the grill in the kitchen, some ripped off nails courtesy the surface of the hopelessly stained shower-room, an irritated eye with copious tears courtesy an overactive cleaning liquid which took its job a bit seriously, you would be forgiven if you think I was a disgruntled war vet. Equipped with tonnes of wisdom that will eventually be forgotten after this post, I stop for a minute and think of the people I know doing this for close to 60 years now without a single sigh. I think of myself complaining about the temperature control at work. I stop thinking because all this is too philosophical for a monday morning.

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

Thank you folks

If this site is still rated PG and is not full of tarantino-esque vocabulary, If I still havent bought that Uzi and made a sieve out of a select few who have "screwing up someone's life real tight" as their motto, one would have to thank a few folks who do the unpaid job of acting as anti-depressants. Ms Harrison, Dickenson, Waters, Knopfler, Fenley, Page & Co. Rock music, or for that matter any form of western music, is seen as a stream of music where you have to dope to listen to music, get a tattoo of a mythical monster on your arms, ride bikes, date leather-clad chics and most importantly worship the devil. To break that myth and get people started on listening to good music, here goes a list of songs that are truly greats, in every sense of the world. If someone, anyone, gets an interest, I think my job is half done.

I wasnt born listening to this music. Ganja Turtle has seen me scream "18 till I die" and "backstreet's back allright". But then, courtesy a lilendian (who is a actually a pretty big indian), I was cleansed. What follows is a list of songs which you really have to make a effort in hating. There are thirteen songs, each by one band who have stood the test of time. 13 Songs in Arunthur's Dozen.

1. Sultans of Swing - Sultans of Swing - Dire Straits
When it comes to Knopfler's vocals, there are two schools of thought. One says knopfler sings, the other says he talks. But when it comes to his guitar, there can only be one school. One that agrees his guitar talks better. My first song that didnt involve a bunch of boys crooning about love. And what a song at that. A live version has Knopfler rubbing shoulders with Clapton. That is like Hitler and Mussolini teaching Criminal Sciences.
A-side: Money for Nothing

2. Time - Dark Side of The Moon - Pink Floyd
As volunteers of this new generation, one of our chief attributes is procrastination. Right from snuggling deep inside the sheets in the mornings (which is okay) to checking online communities and posting on flame wars (which is not), we procrastinate. One way to wake up and get a life is to buy a brand new shovel and ask your best friend to hit you hard in the head. A safer way is to listen to Waters singing "Time". That is a wake up call that would work even on Kumbhakarnan.
A-side: Another brick in The Wall

3. Won't get fooled again - The Who
A hard thump from the drums, an electric riff, topped off by the always-hyper pete townshend. A song that rips apart anyone who promises a revolution or a new beginning or any of that happy bullfeces. "Meet the new boss. Same as the old boss". One tight slap on the face. Maybe they should play this to the Dravida parties in tamilnadu. Dont bet on anything happening with them though.
A Side: Sparks

4. Hard day's night - The Beatles
It takes great innovation and hardwork to make a whole generation go crazy and run behind your songs. It takes harder work to pick one song out of a whole list of chart busters. I have to settle for Hard day's night purely for the adrenaline in it. From start to end, Starr (one of the lesser populars in the band, for whatever reason) keeps up the beat with lennon oozing love in his lyrics, my favorite beetle George and everone else's favorite Paul bringing up the rear. If your girlfriend likes a ride on the wild side, try this. Its on my list anyways ;-).
A Side: Yesterday

5. Take it Easy - Eagles
Imagine the bright blue sky. Imagine a cool, but not cold, breeze blowing across your face. Imagine the sea to one side and a park on the other. Throw in the setting sun. Pedal your bicycle. Let go of the wheels and close your eyes. Be one in the nature. Wait, there is something missing, isnt there ?? Just add "Take it Easy" somewhere in the picture - playing inside your head or on a player or in the nearest cafe. Adds a fresh new flavor to the whole setting.
A Side: Hotel California

6. Purple haze - Jimi Hendrix
Ganja is crude. Hashish is outdated. Cocaine can be dangerous. The easiest, quickest, safest way to go on a high is to buy a nice pair of headphones and play Purple Haze. The riffs by the left-handed Jimi Hendrix are not of this earth. Definitely. When he screams "Excuse me, while I kiss the sky", it feels exactly that. Just dont listen to it from a terrace without rails.
A Side: Voodoo child

7. Burning for you - Blue Oyster Cult
In the days of Hip-hop and Rap, a song which doesnt cuss you and your family is a bonus. Expecting it to serve any purpose is a joke. This song serves two purposes. Apart from a racy number by bloom, it also helps if you dedicate this to your girlfriend who is just going to read the title and fall flat. I cant guarantee the girlfriend going p-l-o-n-k, but I can guarantee you playing the air-guitar shaking your head like you just found that it is there for banging.
A Side: Dont fear the reaper

8. Highway Star - Deep Purple
Rumour has it that once when God misplaced his bow and arrow, he was so distraught and walked into a recording studio, Looked at something that looked like a weapon, picked up a guitar and turned up for a recording. The result: Highway Star. Move over folks, I listened to it live.
A Side: Smoke on the water

9. Jailhouse Rock - Elvis Presley
No song list can be complete without The King. People say a thamizhan cant keep his posterior to the ground if he hears "tappanguthu". Jailhouse Rock is another of those cant-keep-me down numbers. A cut here, A slant there, A jerking knee here, A shaking hand there, A sideburn that almost touches the chin, A crop of hair right in between your eyes and some magical vocals. That should do some justice to the song. Throw away all your trance-loving friends and check out the real deal.
A Side: Hound dog

10. Cocaine - Eric Clapton
Guilty pleasure. Again, you are left with a thought if it was clapton who was drugged when listening to this song, or was it you who is stoned because of listening to this song or is it both of you ?? But then, you dont bother because as long as you are high, nothing else matters. A song to listen after coming back from a hard days work, sitting on your couch and loosening your tie. As clapton himself says when you got bad news or if you want to kick 'em blues, Cocaine.
A Side - Layla

11. Roadhouse Blues - The Doors
One genius per song is a good mix. Two makes you feel heady. Thats exactly what a rendition of Roadhouse Blues does. Jim Morrison on the vocals, Ray Manczarek on the keyboard. You could just hitch a ride to The Elysian Fields with that. Morrison writes one of the most pragmatic lyrics of all time. "The future is uncertain and The end is always near". Ah, its great to be pessimistic.
A-side: Light my fire

12. Susie Q - Credence Clearwater Revival
All bryan adams/bon jovi/MLTR/Marc Anthony fans, take a number and stand in the queue. Here is a song that tells love the way it is supposed to instead of asking the girl to paint your love or asking if you have you ever really (thrice - that is very important, gives an emphasis you see) loved a woman. The lyrics in Susie Q are simple, straight, precise and to the point. "Say that you will be mine, baby all the time, susie Q". Isnt that all it boils down to ??
A-side: Bad moon rising

13. When the Levee breaks - Led Zeppelin
You hitched a ride to the elysian fields with two geniuses in one song. Try 4 now. Page, Plant, Bonham and JPJ. Such songs happen once in a lifetime, and if you are blessed, the band exists when you are alive. Bonham keeps a heart-pumping rhythm from the opening, with page freaking out in his regular style, and JPJ, as an exceptional bassist prowling in the background biding his time and keeping the song alive and Plant joining in with a drawl in his voice. Makes you understand why god gave you two ears in the place of one.
A-side: Stairway to Heaven

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

Sin V

There is a thin line between a Gourmet and a Gourmand. And it is pretty okay to cross it once in a while. Really, Kevin Spacey or not, It is okay to indulge in good food because that it is its purpose. With so many exotic cuisines abound, this blog, for a change, aims at giving the Gourm(and)et prior notice of what s/he is getting himself/herself into before ordering the "Soup of The Day". It can be embarassing to scream one's head out like I did after ordering "french onion" and finding an egg in it. (Go on, spill your guts laughing). However, this should not be misconstrued for some kind of assurance by this blog that it would provide useful info at any point of time in the future. That being said, let us cut to the plate.

If you are bored to death, you can watch Animal Planet or go to a Zoo or go to a Cambodian Restaurant. If you are a non-vegetarian and you just snort at this, be rest assured that the menu will make you think you are a practicing vegan in comparison. Crab's claws, Squid's eyeballs and Frog's legs are okay if they are on the white basin in a genetics research lab, not on the menu and definitely not on my table. Usually, when I think the menu isnt good, I order a milkshake for fillers. This time, I didnt because I am not Indiana Jones to be okay about having an eyeball for dessert. Thanks to the waitress who looked at our faces, read the lines, gave a wry smile and let us out without a question.
Minus: A menu straight out of the wild
Plus: An experimenter's dream

For moderately spicy food, music that tells you the origin of many a song by hindi music directors and some gorgeous looking waitresses, hit a lebanese restaurant. With most of the dish names sounding curvaceous (Fasolia, Balila and Tabil - I have a feeling these were already used in some thamizh song), and most importantly __all__ vegetarian, it comes down to getting the right combination and enjoying the other bits. Dont worry about the protocol, I remember spreading all the dishes on my bread and eating it like sandwich.
Minus: Curvaceous all right, but the names of the dishes could be more universal. It feels bad when a beautiful waitress giggles at your hopeless pronounciation of the dish.
Plus: Veggie folks, rock on.

For that cattle like feeling, visit an ukrainian restaurant. My salad had a tonne of lettuce. My friends "Kiev Cutlet" had two tonnes of lettuce. My main dish had, guess what, lettuce wraps containing carrot and beetroot. Each wrap the size of a cricket ball, and three of them at that. With our intro of "we are new to russian cuisine" to the owner of the restaurant, and him looking at our plates eagerly, all that we could do was to put a broad smile, make a few "hmmm... thats good" reactions and graze the table. After answering a "you guys enjoyed it" with a thick russian accent by saying "you bet", I felt one with a Jersey Cow. A perfect hangout for Vegans, Pacifists and Eco-warriors.
Minus: Check if you have grown two horns on the way out. It is a distinct possibility.
Plus: Even the water tastes like vodka, or say they say.

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

Big Bang

"Congratulations Lews. The Ingtar-Lews comet is on its expected trajectory and in around 15 minutes, we would have it crashing into the planet Klendathu as we predicted. With the complete obiliteration of Klendathu due to the impact, we might get some answers to how our universe was even formed. We are going to be part of history Lews, in fact, we are history", said Ingtar, the head-professor of the institute.
Lews was not thrilled. "But sir, what if....", said Lews in an angry tone tearing the paper of the notebook in which he was writing.
Ingtar took his seat in front of his panoramic terminal which would capture the comet making contact. "What if what, Lews ??"
"What if there is life ?? We know we can divert the comet with our weapons. We know we could've did just that with just one directive from our institute, but we didnt. What if there is life that could be saved while we are trying to televise a comet crashing into a planet for some unintelligible scientific reason ?? ", said Lews. The voice that Ingtar heard wasnt the the voice that he usually heard from Lews.
"Unintelligible did you say ??", remarked Ingtar. Ingtar didnt want to lose patience on his best graduate student."My boy, science is everything. science is anything. science is nothing. Let me ask you this. Did you observe the reports given by The Galactic Conqueror on the planet's composition??"
"Uh .. yes".
"Do you think any lifeform would actually prefer to live in that atmospheric conditions, considering the percentage of the poisonous gases ??"
"No".
"Then what makes you think there could be life on that planet, Lews ??", queried Ingtar. He was not going to give up on Lews.

"I do not know, but something tells me there could be life on Klendathu. something. Just a gut feeling", a nervous Lews said toying with the piece of paper in his hand which he had rolled into a ball. He did that when he didnt know what to do next.

"Impact in T Minus 3 minutes", chirped a recorded voice.
Ingtar was now at his educative best. "Son, you are reading too many science fiction novels. They are all-fiction-no-science authors who didnt have a glimpse of Klendathu like we did. What makes you think there is some other intelligent life form out there ?? If there was one in any of the other planets, dont you think they could have tried to talk to us ?? Dont you think we would have visited any planet which had inhabitable conditions and searched for life ?? I suggest you turn to your monitor to watch the impact, you wouldnt want to lose it for your life", said Ingtar, now turning back to his terminal.

"Impact in T Minus 2 minutes".

Lews was still looking pointedly at the paper ball. What Ingtar said made sense. In a way. If there was some form of intelligence, they would have definitely made contact with them. When Klendathu was discovered, and named after one of the great nebulan gods, it was noted for its absolute uninhabitable atmosphere. Life was simply unimagineable in those conditions. Maybe Ingtar was right. Maybe he wasnt.

"Impact in T Minus 1 minute".

"I wish I knew what the people of Klendathu called their planet in their native tongue", said Lews looking up. Ingtar swivelled in his chair. Two of his hands still turning the right controls on The Galactic Conqueror, while his other two hands were cupped together to indicate he was thinking. He looked deeply into Lews' eyes, all six of them, and said "mmmm .. maybe third rock from the sun ??". Ingtar laughed thunderously at his own joke.

Impact in T minus 10 seconds.

Lews opened the paper ball in his hand and looked at his drawing. An image of an hommonus from klendathu, like they show in the movies, with just two hands, two legs and two eyes, holding hands with a femmenus, again looking physically similar. He sighed and took a deep breath. The pure nitrous-sulfur filled his lungs. He shivered at the thought of having to breath oxygen for a living on Klendathu. He looked at the drawings. "I am sorry. I really am". He threw it into the dust bin.

Impact in T minus 1 second.


Credits
========
Eugene M Schumacher
David Levy
Robert Jordan
Robert Heinlein
Bonnie Turner
Terrie Turner

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

VancouBrrrrr

Someone rename this place to that. It is cold. Yes, Alaska is colder but am from chennai where anything below 10degrees celsius is "unusual" and 3degrees is inhuman. 0degrees is only theoretical. When the rest of the city walks with just an overcoat, you are advertising the fact that you are a tourist when you are wearing that skull cap and a pair of woolen gloves. If some paranoid cop is around, you are probably advertising that you are a planning a bank robbery with that skull-cap pulled so close down your scalp. But Thanks, I'd rather dodge bullets than getting partially paralysed.

In certain circles, I am called Rob Mckenna. I think I have the inherent capability of awakening water spirits wherever I go. But this time, the water spirits just didnt wake up. They performed a full-fledged orchestral symphony. It was bright and sunny until the flight reduced altitude into seattle. And then it rained. It rained like God was engrossed in the latest episode of "Kolangal" and forgot to shut down the garden hose. Right from the moment we landed in seattle uptill the time we came to vancouver holding our lives between two arbitrary lanes of the Interstate 5, trying hard to avoid aquaplaning (which I have read only in books) and gruesome death by roadkill (which seemed like reality at one point of time). It was like someone was deputed with the sole purpose of sitting on the top of our car and pour buckets of water on a regular basis. Whoever it was, did it exceedingly well.

But the clincher of the trip was three apparently unconnected events.
A. Me and my colleague deciding to save some costs for the company and deciding to share a room.
B. The stewardess asking more than once if we needed one room or two.
C. Me trying to figure out places to visit in Vancouver and Google sardonically including www.gayvancouver.net

We insisted on having separate umbrellas to walk in the rain.

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

Cultural Tsunamis

The biggest challenge in adapting to a foreign country, apart from having to adhere to road rules and desist from mindless littering, would be handling cultural shocks, said a few of your well-wishing acquaintances. "Heh", say you, rather haughtily.

In-flight, when you saw the lady next to you order some whiskey to go with her dinner, all that it had was a familiar ring to it. Matter of fact, It was so familiar that one could've mistaken it for a hang-out in chennai. When the girl from the window-seat crossed your seat, with atleast one piercing done for every 5-square-thumbs of skin, it felt very normal again. Back home, even we are moving from ears and noses to till-now-unexplored areas like tongues, eye-brows and belly buttons. Cultural shock ?? That was not even a mosquito bite.

That clean shaven guy holding his girl friend by the waist and playing an interesting game of guessing what she had for breakfast without having to ask her ?? nah, whats out of the ordinary there ?? Havent you seen people do this in pubs before ?? Another clean shaven guy holding a guy by the waist and playing a similar interesting game, ah well, not that you have seen this regularly, but as long as they are okay, it shouldnt be anyone else's problem. A mild "woah" and nothing more.

At the gym, a newspaper hits you in the eye. Someone who tries to read a newspaper for news is going go to be slightly disappointed with that bunch of papyrus. With more than 50% of it filled it with advertisements for liposuction, breast implants and escorts services, it more than just hits you in the eye. All that it entices out of you would be a mild shake of the head. Shock ?? Fat chance. A quick glance into the supplement given for TOI would say we are headed in the right direction with promises of weight reduction and complexion enhancement within weeks.

As you finish your run in the treadmill, ruminating all this, you sort of feel proud that you havent been hit by anything as remotely as a culture shock. A lack of other things to feel proud about makes this all the more important. You feel at home anywhere you go. You connect with ease. You are a cultural monolith. You are neither shaken nor stirred. Surprisingly, You are not a vodka martini either.

Then you notice that the shower-room in the gym has walls only on three sides and a flimsy curtain for a door. A curtain. A white curtain. A strand of cloth which someone could accidentally lift, take a look, say a polite sorry and visit the next shower and leave you in tatters. You also notice the relative ease people are in at seeing a fellow-exerciser in bare-minimal garments. In a track shorts and tee-shirt, you are overdressed for the occassion. You have two choices: You can pick yourself up, give a smile as if you entered this place by mistake, stink all the way to home. Or be a part of the crowd (in other words: strip), enter an unprotected shower-room (in other words: run the risk of being scarred for the rest of your life), prove to the world that you are part of the shower-room culture and leave with your newly acquired "cultural monolith" title intact.

Tic-tock. Tick-tock. Tic-tock.
A one-mile walk back home laced with sweat: Bearable.
No more bragging about "connecting with all cultures": Acceptable.
Chastity unharmed: Priceless.

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

No Point Everyone

Yep, our price has fallen badly. Yep, 1/3 of the earth is land and 1/2 of that land if full of software enginners, so much so that you feel like living in 1984 where everyone is as unique as everyone else. But if you look below the surface, there are still perks at being a software engineer.

One of our greatest powers is the the power to spread misinformation. Sivya Dingh needs an heart transplant ?? A mail that needs to be sent to 10 people within 10 minutes to avoid 10 years of bad luck ?? Microsoft giving 10cents for every recipient of this mail that would buy a cotton candy for a poor child in somalia (of course, with a malnourished somalian kid's picture attached to it) ?? Some poor man suffering from an itchy syndrome which can be cured only if this mail reaches a million recipients ?? Fear not, the software engineer, with his evergrowing address book filled by friends, friends-of-friends, friends-of-friends-of-friends and god-knows-who-they-are is your savior. One mail and it spawns off another 10, each in turn spawning off another 10. You do the math.

Being a software engineer gives you an incredible opportunity to play know-it-all. Imagine a crowd with lot of young women you would kill to impress. Imagine a few suave gentlemen in their best evening dress sweet-talking their way through the crowd with their overpowering knowledge of Literature and Music. Imagine you staring at the stars waiting for your fairy to come down from there. Sucks, doesnt it ?? Fear not all that is required is to spot another bewildered software engineer. With a few knowing glances, a quick message of subterfuge is delivered and they close in on the kill. What follows would be a session of "use your favorite keywords" that would leave everyone else in the crowd gasping for breath, seeing the sheer intelligence of the parties involved. While instantiating a container instance in a .net framework, does one have to continually debug the kernel threads, so that throughput is optimised and turnaround time is minimised or should one ignite a daemon process to monitor the hardware diagnostics from panic-ing ?? The crowd shudders at the depth of knowledge. The gods throw up looking at the quantity of horsesh*t.

Being a software engineer also saves you from having to invest money in a new wardrobe. These days, there are a few that companies double up for Gap/Levis/Duckback/Chudarmani/Viking.
Listed in DASNAQ ?? Release a t-shirt.
Selected as #1 in an unheard-of survey run by a magazine where the company has a controlling interest. Release another t-shirt.
Need a message to boost the morale of people in the team, no, we have had enough t-shirts already, make it a jacket.
We have become an ISE-MMC level 6 company, was it a jacket last time ?? Make it a sweatshirt this time.
Thankfully, they all remain at the periphery of the human physiology and are usually designed with such incorrigible colors, unsuitable sizes and gratuitous messages, you can safely shove them in your trunk without feeling guilty.

Have an awesome restaurant in mind, but your purse looks ultra-thin ?? You need to wait only until the next invitee comes from offshore. The software engineering industry proves that There Is Indeed Something As Free Lunch, giving us our only chance to visit the oberois and TGIFs. To show them a taste of India is what we say, to check out that new restaurant which had glowing reviews is what we actually mean. As the visiting chap sheds tears, partly over the spice and partly at their fate, we gorge on the choiciest items from the menu - in descending order of price.

Last but not least, It gives us the golden opportunity to play arm-chair critic. Sitting in the comfort of an a/c cubicle, with an ergonomically designed chair, and unlimited internet access - the next best thing is to pass judgement on all and sundry. Our favorite pastimes being "Politics is a gutter" (but we dont vote - we take time out to enjoy the holiday after weeks and weeks of monitor-gazing), "India will never improve" (ah, the exchange rate - how i love thee), "Education of children is a priority no one seems to understand" (CRY ?? what is that ?? Isnt it the art of shedding tears ??), "I hate people publicly displaying affection" (and that is strictly applicable only until i find a girl). The keyboard warrior needs no reason to fight, he only needs, by definition, a keyboard. So much for freedom of expression.

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

The Way We Do It

A san-franciscan likes to surf, he has the amazing pacific knocking at his door. A new-yorker likes to party, what place better than the big apple and its clubs. A madras-ite loves to eat - sundal, dosa, pizza - anything that could have possibly been on a menu works fine. A coimbatorean, well, actually they dont do much - what can you expect from a town which has a few houses on either side of a national highway ?? The same can be said of a madurai-ite, but by those who know only about the madurai meenakshi temple. But beware, the madurai-ite has some hobbies up his sleeve. We, ladies & getlemen, love watching movies.

"Eh, we also watch movies. What is the big deal", you ask. I presume you are from coimbatore or madras. Always on tenterhooks. Yes, everyone watches movies. On the fourth week after its release. After booking the tickets through the internet, taking the best seats in the theatre. Watching the movie in pin-drop silence. Getting old. Yawn. What is the big difference between this and knitting a sweater ?? In madurai, we choose a firebrandish style of watching movies. Watch a movie on day #1 or go get a life. That was our Code.

We havent heard about reservations in madurai outside the railway station. Seriously. Reservation is a symbol of the snobbish bourgeoise who prefer to sit at home sipping their lemonade and turn up at the theatre 10 minutes before the bell, while the hardworking proletarian sweats outside the ticket counter to be slammed with the "house full" board in his face just when he puts his hand inside the counter. All this because he doesnt have a computer with broadband. Bah.

The first thing one needs to change is the mindset. You are going to a movie, not a date. So cut that designer shoes and branded shirt. People come there to watch Ramya Krishnan/ Khushboo or Amala or if its a telugu dubbing movie, all three together. (There, you now know am a fossil without having to resort to carbon dating). An old jeans, hawaii slippers and a wrinkled tshirt are a man's best friend. Remember to look absolutely local, but dont cross the thin line between "downright badly dressed" and "i am a black marketeer".

Once you hit the ticket counter, remember all those wildlife videos you saw on NGC and Discovery and how survival of the fittest is indeed a globally valid and fruitful idea. Remembering those WWE videos and some sumo wrestling videos would also help. If you are claustrophobic, dont remember it. It might just save your life. Remember the power of gravity, people who are climbing in the roof __will__ fall. Remember the power of murply, when they fall, they will fall on __you__. In tune with the proletarian way of life, the theatres in madurai send out a message of brotherhood. There are __no__ classes of tickets. All tickets cost the same and people get to sit __anywhere__ in the theatre (of course, with the obvious exception of the projector room - see, i know you are from either madras or coimbatore. very cocky). Compare this to the following rant by a filthy-rich man with an extended family, who comes late and interrputs you with this, exactly at the time when the villain makes a challenge to the hero and our star delivers his punch dialogue: "Hullo, C-17 to C-29 nambil ki ticketu. Jaga jaldi kalli panleinna nambal theatrekarana koopidraan". ("seat xx to seat yy are ours. vacate, or we will call the theatre folks" in a certain accent only too familiar to people back at home). Marx and Engels - Your dream lives on and it lives in Madurai.

After all the hardwork, I enter the theatre and now, I have multiple choices to pick up a fight. I can step on someone's foot repeatedly, I can bully someone into conceding a chair so that my entire gang can sit together end-to-end, I can throw my legs on the chair in front and expect him to understand, continue the fight I started in the parking lot or can settle scores with the cricket captain of the team that beat us last week. To add to this already-simmering cauldron, the theatrewallahs switch off the air-conditioner (assuming it was there to begin with) which makes me loosen two of my shirt buttons and pull the collar behind, thereby looking like my parents' worst nightmare in flesh and blood.

When the movie starts, the theatre erupts. For just about anything. Did some star appear on stage ?? No, it is just a title card with some arbitrary name of some unheard-of supporting actor. But who cares ?? Erupt again. Make him feel good if he is in the theater. At this point, all I can hear is the deafening noise of whistles and all I can see is the dark silhoutte of rectangularly cut lottery tickets in the screen. Someone just set afire a cube of camphor on his palms and is running to the screen. One can see two cans of milk ready to be disposed. The audience is so possessed that even Father Merrin would think twice before stepping in.

You sneer at the uncivilised lot. You think an endurance race could be easier. You are suprised at the obvious lack or order. You think movie watching is an art only enjoyed by the elite. "Eek, is this a movie show or some sort of tribal ritualistic dance" you ask. I would love to give you a well thought out answer. But you see, the camphor is already up in the screen and the cans of milk are emtpied coz just now my thalaivar (leader) made his appearance singing "Naan autokaaran autokaaran" (I am an autodriver) and i really need to get going for my group-tappanguthu (another symbol of universal brotherhood where the dancers and dancer-nots synch in perfect harmony - also a tribal ritualistic dance too, you are indeed prophetic - you should be from either madras or coimbatore). Go on, watch a movie making sure your crease doesnt get wrinkled and you dont break into a sweat. Good luck with that and So long.

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