On Random Public Obsessions

1. Spelling bee: Never understood why this creates such a big buzz. Is it just another demonstration of intellectual superiority of the indian diaspora in the US, or is it a real competition? Why is everyone so obsessed with it?

As an aside, the girl who came second stumbled on the word weltschmerz. Wait, did I spell it wrong?

2. Fanaa: Yes, its maudlin and full of improbable conicidences. Yes, the plot is full of craters. Yes, the shayari gets a little too much to bear. Yes, Kajol still looks thin and young. Yes, Aamir Khan still looks fat and old. Yes, we differ on the yakkity-yakking Bobo female. Yes, to have Lara Dutta in a blink-and-you-miss-it cameo is bad. Yes, to have Lara Dutta and not have an item-number is worse.

But then all said and done, we have to remember the premise: "Its a Yash Raj movie", and that would explain it all. We are talking about the same factory which mass-produced tearjerkers like Veer Zaara, Mohabbatein and Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham. They do this for a living. What else did you expect?

3. Vinci da Code: Err, the lesser said the better. The controversy and the sensationalization of it, in my opinion, is way past its sell out date. Read it, haven't watched the movie yet. But I wonder how they will manage to implement the trivia-in-the-storyline, a format patented and perfected by Dan Brown. Heaven forbid, if there are any car chases, I would hate for Sophie(?) to exclaim "Jesus Christ" and the Langdon fellow to give us a "crash"-course in what I call reinterpreted history in response.
(Thanks AA for the Vinci da Code bit. Apparently, thats what they would call the movie in Sadda Punjab. Sorry, I killed the joke.)

4. Shiloh Nouvel Jolie-Pitt: I pity her that despite her parents' honest effort to find the remotest corner in the world for her, that's perhaps the last bit of privacy she will ever get. They also made an honest effort to find her a name as "remote". Frankly, I pity her more for her name, for everytime she will have to stand in front of a desk and spell it out, oooof. But then, maybe she never will have to. With those set of genes, I don't think so.

5. And whats with Oriyas these days: First there was the winner Budhia Singh and his "also-ran" counterpart Dilip Rana. Then the NASA awardees and the tea-stall owner's son who made it to the IAS made us proud. Now there is a woman getting married to a snake. Suddenly Oriyas are ubercool and are commanding their own space on the news paper. I wonder if I am missing the publicity bandwagon.


I am getting mo' and mo' cynical by the minute.

*Update*: Few days after this was posted: Desipundit led me to this piece:
On Being Oriya

Quote-Unquote.

And here, over the portals of my fort, I shall cut in the stone the word which is to be my beacon and my banner. The word which will not die, should we all perish in battle. The word which can never die on this earth, for it is the heart of it and the meaning and the glory.

The sacred word:

EGO

Water Water Everywhere

(You can see a bit of the boat in the corner. )

(Horizons blurred?)

A lost cause.

I have no use.
For a muse.
Bad, sad or verse.
I will write alone.

Voyeurism and Social networking...

Was just thinking.... Isn't the entire social networking paradigm feed on our need to peep into everyone else's life and know whats going on? The same need that makes us devour the details of a celebrity's private life in a tabloid. But at a much larger scale, of much smaller people.

My religious/cultural/intellectual affiliations are on the bottom right corner, my friends are aligned to the top right. My life's work is right in the middle of it all. Neatly compartmentalized into passions, sports, music, books, activities. For whatever little its worth, I also get little tokens of appreciation: smilies, ice-cubes and hearts which give me nearly the same joy that getting a smiling face on a perfect score in a dictation did. My page is visited, read, judged. I am judged. In a perverse sense, I have made a tabloid of my life. I have fans too. And like my picture on the top left, I'm cornered.

Just wondering: What if Angelina Jolie was on orkut? She would be rated 100% sexy, obviously. What if Brad Pitt was on too? Would you know from their interactions that they had something going on? Would Osama run a community to discuss his ideas? Would the number of interns on Bill Clinton's friends list give it away?

My life is my own. A private space. My role in your life is also my own, and yours. And ours, to share. Do these have to be gauged by what we have to discuss over a public forum? What can I discuss and not discuss with you? How much am I answerable to someone for what I wrote to you? How much can I manipulate their opinion of what you and I share? Why this public display of our private conversations? Someone will scan our scrapbooks. Will read the lines, in between the lines, assume, extrapolate, fill in the missing bits, question you, question me and undermine our roles in their lives. Among other things.

Is there any need for it?

Chasing a perfect sunset...

In the way of my sunset...

Bell

Can't proceed...

... without writing about this!

So how is the feeling?

You feel precious with all the glitter and gold. You feel like a christmas tree. Decorated. You look at yourself in the mirror and snap your eyes shut, Is this really me?

Its your debut. The heavy anklets bought strictly out of greed, make that brief walk tough. You can find your way, but you still need to be escorted. Someone whispers in your ear, keep your head bowed down, wouldja? You wonder if that instruction just for today, or for the lifetime.

You sit in a room full of people, within the boundaries of four elaborately decorated pillars which somehow divide you from the rest of the world. They mark your stage. You are the superstar. You are even dressed like one. Its your day, your stage, your spotlight. And the best part is, you don't have to memorize your part.

People walk in and out of that room, pause for a brief second, stare at you in disbelief. God, you have changed so much. You look at them for reassurance, perhaps. My status has changed, not I , you try and tell them.

You look at your parents and speak to them, and realize that this is the first time in days, that the three of you have had the chance to sit together. You joke about what a strange feeling it is. Your dad looks haggard and tired. Your mother is doing a great job of concealing her state of mind. But you know the truth. Com'on, she got depressed everytime you left home for the dreaded hostel.
You look at your relatives who seem to have a more important role in your life today than they ever had any other day before this.
You look at people who always played an important role, and feel terrible about not being able to spend time with them.
You look at your soon-to-be-other-half, and wonder if it is the same person you have known all this while. He looks so different.
You look at your new family, and wonder a million things.

There is paraphernalia of assorted things which are otherwise difficult to acquire. Fruits, vegetables, rice, nuts, leaves, flowers, threads, shells, pots, pans: Some things old, some things new, some things borrowed, some things blue. Like all these things which wouldn't have met each otherwise, two long-lost-friends meet at a distance. If it wasn't for you, they wouldn't have either. The drone of the chant, drowns the sounds of their joy.

You sit for what seems like eons, all the while focussing on sitting straight. If you hunch, the pictures won't look good. The blood circulation stops to your feet. You are way too distracted thinking of the easiest way to manage a quick shake of your leg, without losing your temporarily acquired coy demeanour.

You hear your name being called from different corners, you turn around and look, and *click*, the flash blinds you.

You rise up, sit down, bend down, walk about, play inane games, pour water, pour ghee, throw rice, hold a thousand things, give them back, move something from one place to the other, then restore it to the original location. You hope you are not doing anything wrong. Hope it doesn't affect anything, you drop a brief prayer.

The priest recites the vows on your behalf, explains your new role. If it wasn't in the third language you suffered studying through school, maybe you would have learnt something. Hope it doesn't affect anything, you drop a brief prayer.

Then there are seven supposed quick trips around the fire, during which you lose count. Did I take 7, or did I somehow take 8, or 6? Hope it doesn't affect anything, you drop a brief prayer.

And everyone, joins you in their own way. In unison they all drop a brief prayer. And give you their blessings.

And its done. The new life begins thus.

Desipundit>>A new life begins thus

Weltschmerz

I am tired ... Now I will just chase someone else's utopia.

So, Jessica Lall died, eons ago, and the supposed killer(s) got off unscathed.
She died in a room full of people.
They say, the blindfolded lady in robes with the weighing scales died 7 years after that incident.
In a room full of people.
Some people died of bird flu, and some others of gastro. All within miles of each other.
In a far away land, a dictator died of natural causes.
Is that a matter of choice?

And then the chicken died. Culled, they say.
Cows have gone mad.

Some individuals and their identities were murdered.
Some others died in character the other day.
Some thought processes too.
Some expressions .
Weak ones.
Culled.

Blood pressure drugs reduce risk for alzheimers'. Jogging alone is bad for health. Antibiotics cause asthma. Antibiotics cure asthma. Chillies prevent cancer. Coffee causes heart attack. Coffee prevents liver cancer. The risk for Cardio-vascular disease is directly proportional to the circumference of the waist. Circumference of the waste.

Is that a matter of choice?

I don't know how to deal with death. I have lusted for life, always. Reality and utopia, between them have a disparity. Despair-ity, which I don't understand. Hence, today, I chase someone else's utopia.

No title.

I avoid writing about discussions which are political or controversial in nature, so will try and give a passive third-person narrative.

This was a discussion over a formal dinner. The participating entities included two natty Frenchmen F1 and F2, a Korean K1, two singaporeans S1 and S2, (all named thus to protect anonymity and prevent ambiguity), and of course, the very non-anonymous Indian: yours truly. The topic of discussion was Lakshmi Mittal's bid to take over Arcelor.

For the uninitiated, Mittal, world's richest non-american, has made a "hostile" bid for Arcelor, the detailed analysis of which can be found online in abundance. This bid has sent the price of the Arcelor stock and the pulses under the white skin racing.

So, S1 asked the frenchmen about their opinion on this proposed merger/acquisition/takeover. The opinions at the start of the argument were predictable, plain vanilla - Jobs will be lost, hostile bid is contrary to practise, Mittal will control a bit too much etc etc.

Then came the part of the argument which was strange to say the least. The part of the argument which has been labelled as "cultural differences" in papers for lack of a civil word. F1, F2 firmly argued that this takeover would compromise the quality. Of what? The quality of life. As corroborative evidence, they quoted the example of the slums in Mumbai. The quality of life in EU was supposedly already pretty good, the best in fact, and there is no scope for improvement. This was peppered with the *characteristic french shrug*

K1 argued that as European the firm is a brand, and the brand value will be lost, and pointed it to the French wine on the table, and said "This cannot be replicated". (perhaps, by then he had enough of it to swear his allegiance). To this S1 quoted an article from the Time magazine which described how the Chinese have managed to replicate French Wine to such a degree of accuracy that even connoisseurs are confused, and that its more cost-effective. All of them vehemently shook their heads to this and said it was impossible. Even if its expensive, K1 claimed that people will still pay for it, since its all in the name. A brand is like an insurance for which you pay a premium. Hmm... Nice parallel that.

S2, like a typical Singaporean, kept quiet through it all.

Brands? Quality of life? Is that argument remotely convincing?

Xenophobia, certainly. Nationalism, chauvinism, jingoism to various degrees, perhaps. Maybe, the french ideas are like they prefer their wine to be: vintage. But what really bothered me was, why did I feel the undercurrents of racism in it all. Its easy to be passive towards it when the news aggregator bundles them up as "all 3xx related-->" but, you really feel the pinch of it when you are right in the middle of it. Like I typecast them using alphabets, I and I1 - I1000,000,000, yes, we are typecast too, because of the colour of our skin.

(As an aside, strictly within the boundary of cultural prejudices, it was strange to see a Korean talk about brands, and genuine stuff.)

In any case, it's just a matter of time.....

After-thought: Very tempted to quote Russell Peters. If you know what I am talking about...

Valentine Baba ki jai!

That was the subject of the email I received yesterday from a friend. Very innovative indeed.

So I wondered, if we changed the wish from "Happy St. Valentines Day" to the above, would it please the Shiv Sena and Bajrang Dal and whoever else thinks its a "bad" influence on Indian culture? As they fervently claim, love and the expression of it must be a sacrilege to Indianness. And hence, poets wrote volumes about lovers canoodling in the parks in springtime. And, emperors spent collosal sums of money to build what are now known as wonders of the world. And, we pray to those who loved since they loved. Not only that, 64 different ways of eating the forbidden fruit were described in detail in a book, which makes excellent dinner conversation in the western world. (Are we a fairly bad influence on them too?)

For the record, I detest 14th of Feb, though for a completely different reason. My abhorrence springs from the fact that I think this pop-movement was a started by card companies to generate revenue. Don't you think the popularity is a very good example of superb marketing? Who had heard of Mother's day, and Father's day and Friendship day, and every-other-day till maybe 15 years ago?

Also, belly full of Helium or otherwise, I detest heart-shaped balloons. Yes, even before Dil Chahta Hai.

So, after careful consideration, in search of something not so cloying and yet practical, (and succumbing to peer-pressure of giving a gift), I have decided to give my valentine a potato as a gift. Why?

Its unique, can be eaten in various forms (baked, fried and mashed), its full of energy (high carbs) an nutrition, everyone loves it and the best part is: it is sometimes shaped like a heart (Not the oh-so-sweet-oh-so-red type, but a real one like in bio text books).

Here's looking at you, kid!

A Fiery love story

She was a-little-over-four years old and he exactly a month younger than a-little-over-four. They had been friends for the longest time possible and spent all their time together.

He learnt this little trick of holding a matchstick between the forefinger and thumb, balancing the matchbox on the back of his hand, tossing it up in the air and striking the match. Its quite a feat, if you know how to do it right.

One day they were playing under the bed, and he decided to demonstrate his prowess by demonstrating this trick. Somehow the matchstick slipped, and the "modha" (the small cane stool), which was carefully hidden under the bed, caught fire. Before they could control it, it rolled over and the bedsheet caught fire, followed by the whole bed.

So he, the one with the trick and the intelligence, asked her to get some water to douse the fire. She, the one without common-sense, found a soap dish: the wrong half, the bottom half. Obviously, by the time she would get to the room the water would fall through those little drainage holes in the soap dish.

Girly Girl panics and screams "Aag". Parents come to rescue.

They get fired.

It was a bad accident, a misadventure that could have ended badly... Thankfully, both of them got off unscathed. And lived happily ever after.

One scar however remains: This story is often narrated as "They set the bed on fire".

Yes, they struck a match at four.

Rang De Basanti

( Paint It yellow: Indian Yellow to be precise!)

Reviewing Rang de Basanti is the in thing to do. I shall conform. But instead of the ubiquitous dissection of every aspect of filmmaking and a detailed study of characters, I will make it an inane and brief questionnaire for all those who have watched it or plan to watch it. Will add more questions as and when they occur to me. Here goes:

The theme of the movie:
a. Coming of age movie
b. Patriotic movie
c. Both
d. Neither

The time period of narration:
a. Historical aka. "Period movie"
b. Contemporary movie.
c. Both
d. Neither

Colours?
a. Sepia
b. Vivid with all hues of the spectrum.
c. Both
d. Neither

Characters are:
a. Black and White
b. Colourful
c. Both
d. Neither

Rate the end of the movie:
a. Melodramatic/ Conventional
b. One with Poetic Justice/ Unconventional
c. Both
d. Neither

Entertainment factor:
a. Fun
b. Thought-provoking/ Serious
c. Both
d. Neither

Dialogues?
a. Predictable
b. Entertaining and Funny
c. Both
d. Neither

Songs?
a. Brilliant
b. Exquisite
c. Both
a. Neither

There I am done. So you c?

---
And for completeness will add this piece of trivia that goes with every review of Rang De Basanti:

Did you know Alice Patten is the daughter of Chris Patten, the last British governor of Hong Kong?
---

"Azaadi hi meri Dulhan hai."

---

*Edit*

Roo-ba-Roo,
Roshni

They Pass On The Torch of Life

Somedays you take the sorry route of quoting someone else to cover up the self-induced vaccum of verse or prose, or written text in any form. Routinely recite this one when watching cricket, which happens occasionally. I can't locate the silly point or the gully, though I know the on-side from the off-side. Never figured the googly, though pretended to. Yet, like all Indians, cricket is still religion for me.

Vitai Lampada
("They Pass On The Torch of Life")

There's a breathless hush in the Close to-night --
Ten to make and the match to win --
A bumping pitch and a blinding light,
An hour to play and the last man in.
And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat,
Or the selfish hope of a season's fame,
But his Captain's hand on his shoulder smote --
'Play up! play up! and play the game!'

The sand of the desert is sodden red, --
Red with the wreck of a square that broke; --
The Gatling's jammed and the Colonel dead,
And the regiment blind with dust and smoke.
The river of death has brimmed his banks,
And England's far, and Honour a name,
But the voice of a schoolboy rallies the ranks:
'Play up! play up! and play the game!'

This is the word that year by year,
While in her place the School is set,
Every one of her sons must hear,
And none that hears it dare forget.
This they all with a joyful mind
Bear through life like a torch in flame,
And falling fling to the host behind --
'Play up! play up! and play the game!'

Sir Henry Newbolt (1862-1938)

Themes explored...

Solar Eclipse of a "para"-normal kind

A little girl came running all excited and announced that she knew her grandad's email password. She didn't relent to the pestering by the curious-everyone. Only after they bribed her with goodies, she proudly revealed the secret key:
Star-star-star-star-star-star.

Sandmen: An antithesis to Calvin's Snowmen.

Chronicles of a Birthday Girl.

Its birthday time. Tomorrow I am getting a year older. Somewhere along the line, birthdays stopped being important. Somewhere along the line, I stopped reminding people of my impending birthday. Somewhere along the line, I became old. OLD. Many years ago, balloons gave me the cheap thrills I sought. Now nothing less than hot air balloons would do the trick.

I dont recollect a better part of the past. Yes, age is catching up on me. A few slices of the Birthday (cake?):

The Third: My cake was shaped like a castle. Exactly like the one in the book of rhymes I had. My creative addition: my favourite red car was parked right outside. From the book:

What are little girls made of?
What are little girls made of?
Sugar and Spice and everything nice
Thats what little girls are made of!

The Fifth: My birthday dress was red and white. Checks. And it had apples in front. I distinctly remember thinking: Mango is a summer fruit, and apple is a winter fruit. And my birthday is in winter, hence it should be apples on my dress. Yes, logic came early to me. (Now I am in an eternal summer where mangoes and apples are available through the year)..... My birthday cake had five dolls. Their heads were made of biscuits, and had candles stuck on them. And their brown eyes were drawn with vanilla essence.

The Sixth: I received Readers' Digest (Richard Attenborough's) "The Living Planet" as a birthday Gift from Ma and Papa. Glossy books you would love running your fingers on, and they smelt so fresh. I was fascinated by the picture of the volcano. I promised to myself I will see a volcano, among other things, some day.

Few Years Later: I had a crush, a first. He hand-made a card. I still have it somewhere. It was before the sketchpen lined, crayon filled cards made way to the sweet-smelling-yet-fake cards from Archies/Hallmark. Till date, I havent understood the need for them.

The Sixteenth: I felt pretty. The dress was blue and red. Bright. The big group of people had made way to just a few close friends at home. I also felt grown up, rejected the hype around birthdays. People felt irrelevant. I felt irrelevant to people. But thankfully, this feeling was superficial. Between 10 pm and midnight that day, I received 15 phone calls, from people who mattered. To whom, I mattered.

The Eighteenth: Ma donated the defining words to history: "I give you your freedom". Used in quote-unquote a million times since, I still haven't understood the drama around hitting 18. I remember feeling responsible. Feeling adult. That's the day, I think, I lost my freedom.

The Few Fun years: Characterized by Midnight Birthday surprises (which weren't surprising at all), big get togethers, noisy celebrations. We made plans of the big life ahead, which was ironic since figuring what to wear in the morning seemed like a big decision then. I miss that. Sometime in one of those birthdays, I also received my first bottle of Escada Margaritha Ley. My love affair with perfumes started. I have the bottle. Still. Almost empty. Smells as sweet.

2002: Four days before the dreaded GRE. Remember being full of words, big ones: The "phobias" and the "-isms" finally got a name. Normal distribution was the common enemy in more ways than one. I also spent time figuring how Dave and Joe and Harry managed to live in a strange lane full of different coloured houses, where noone got along with anyone else. Remember being worried sick. About future. About the present. About why I couldn't manipulate the past. Remember watching "Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham" and not forgiving myself for it. Till date.

2003: Four days after I landed in Singapore. I missed Chennai, I missed Bangalore. I missed the comforts. More so, I missed the people. I lived in denial, so much so, that I didnt want any new friends. Phone rang almost incessantly all day. Considering the fact that noone knew my phone number yet, I felt important.

Last year: My close friend and partner in many a crime forgot my birthday. And I spent the whole day believing he was playing a prank and would call 5 minutes before midnight. At 230 am (Midnight IST), I realized that he really forgot. Will give him grief over it for ever and a day more. Hence etched it here.

Dad wrote a touching mail stating he never realized when I grew up from a small baby to an individual with a mind of my own. I took that as a compliment. I think he wanted to use the word "lady" somewhere, but I didnt fit into the role too well. After reading the mail, I cried for an hour.

This year: Pretentious as it my sound, I gift myself: a real yet surreal alter-ego, my nemesis. A quick trip to Malaysia, and a blog written with narcissistic fervour.

New Year. New resolve.

I shall write.
Again.

Of Routines and Fragile Bonds...

No post for a long time... Life has sunk into a pattern, a routine which springs few surprises. Its not that I am complaining.

Every morning, I wake up and make my way to the bus stop on the other side of the road. I use the overbridge. Every morning I cross her, exactly midway through. Indian lady, early 30s. Everyday, she smiles at me, I smile back. Its an expression of familiarity, just that I don't know her, yet. And yet, in the strangest of ways, we have formed a bond, of brief good mornings.

Yesterday, I was a few minutes late, and she came a few steps ahead. Our secret pattern was dented, ever so slightly. On seeing me, she gave me the biggest, widest, toothiest grins ever. I could see her breathe a sigh of relief.

Sometimes, I wonder if I should stop and talk to her for a brief second. But I am usually in a rush, and in all likelyhood, so is she. We don't have time. We never have time.

Ah, routine...

Pop Wisdom!

Everything will be okay in the end; If its not okay, its not the end.
--Frog

On Advertising...

Real-estate agents routinely leave their "elevator" pitches in the postbox. I routinely drop it in the trash can before getting into the elevator. Not this one: found this a few days back.

I have no comments, just one question - What was he thinking?

Of Blogging and the big O...

Two bloggers were jailed in Singapore under the sedition act. Race and religion are sensitive issues, the law would try to preserve this delicate balance of harmony and peace. Hence, a punishment was inevitable.

In an isolated set of incidents, an institution, their ads, and bloggers’ opinions on it have wreaked havoc in the Indian blogosphere creating heroes and villains alike. The incident, though not as serious as the one in Singapore, is dramatic enough to make the story worthy of a “K” prefix… All of them: bloggers and the bloggers blogging about those bloggers, are superglued to this one concept: “Freedom of Speech”.

What bothers me here, is our Opinions, strong Opinions, our expression of those Opinions, how much are we are entitled to express in the public domain, and how much restraint should be practised.

I spent some time mulling over it. Under a broad generalization, there is an inherent contradiction in my opinions about the above incidents. On the one hand, I feel the Bloggers (A) had to be reprimanded since they shouldn’t have expressed their opinions the way they did. On the other hand, I could join the peace march for Bloggers (B) and brandish a flag about their right to express theirs…

I eventually figured the key to untangle the mess, to put things into perspective. Abstract and fragile as the idea may seem: its what we call the Social Responsibility. Bloggers (A) didn't use theirs, Bloggers (B) were acting on it. Simple.

With great power, comes great responsibility.
--Peter Parker/Spiderman

The view outside

From the moving car!
Posted by Mo

This pic is absolutely my favourite. It was taken on the highway, and we couldn't stop the car. Even if we could, who wanted to get outside?

Winter's gold, Aspenglow

The road (not) less taken
Posted by Mo

Mulling over the Transience of Life

Snowmen - by Calvin
Posted by Mo

Trip to Canadian Rockies, Part 3 Alpine Glow

First rays of the sun hit the snow-covered peaks and it looked like someone set it on fire. The full moon was still waiting, as if to witness it. Words can't do it justice so I let the pic do the talking, but in short: the view took my breath away.

The picture is a bit grainy and asymmetric, and there are two street lights standing right in the front in full view, but this pic was the first one taken, and here the moon is in all its glory. Which makes it Perfect.

Trip to Canadian Rockies, Part 2 Maple County

It is a strange country out there. The Queen of United Kingdom is the constitutional head, French is the national language, and yet it is American enough... From a die-hard British/French/American chauvinists' point of view, something doesn't seem right, isn't it?

So, in what seems like a good attempt to assert their unique identity, they use the maple leaf. In fact, Use of "use" would be an understatement: they overuse the maple leaf. So from the flag to the plastic leaves which decorate shop windows, to boxer shorts: it is the maple leaf everywhere. And then there are the subtle variations: Maple syrup in bottles shaped like maple leaves, Cookies shaped like maple leaves stuffed with maple cream. Surprisingly, I didn't see as many "real" maple trees. The only leaves I found shaking and swaying in all their glory with the wind were the ones on the ubiquitous flag.

Trip to Canadian Rockies, Part 1 a.k.a The Harrassed Flier

Travelling to US is on my list of least favourite things to do. Unfortunately its usually unavoidable.

Phase 1: 5 am, Changi International Airport, "Pre"-check-in procedure for a US bound flight.

She: Ma'am, could I ask you a few questions
Me : Sure.

She: "You are travelling to US"
Me : Is that a trick question?
"Yes." *Smile* "On transit to Canada."

She: "So what are the contents of your bags?"
Me : Oh, you don't want to ask a girl that!! At this moment, I make a mental check -- Zillions of clothes- winter clothes, going-out clothes, sporty clothes, shoes,.... did I forget anything? "Just Personal stuff!"

She: So, who packed your bags!?
Me : "Me, of course." Is that a rhetorical question?

She: Did anyone else give you anything to take with you?
Me : How I wish! A few more clothes would do me no harm. "No."

She: Are you sure ma'am?
Me :Sure, confident, lock kiya jaye? " Yes, very sure."

She: Do you have any electronics with you?
Me : Just a digital camera!

She: Ok, from now till you board the flight, please don't accept anything from anyone!
Me : *Kinda scared by now* I was just planning to get some books from the book shop, and theoretically that would be accepting something from some one, right? (Ha ha ha, the Smart alec strikes back!)

She: Of course you can.

Phase 2: Around 6 am. Boarding Gate

He: Miss, can you take off your shoes, belt, jacket and also remove all the cellphones, coins, knives, swords, bazookas, Ak-47s, matchboxes, lighters, fire extinguishers, nailcutters etc. from your pockets.
Me: Ok. Wow! Thats a long list.

*I trudge across and pull my shoes on.*

She: Can you take off your sneakers again?
Me : AAAAArrggghhhh. "Yes, of course."

She takes it and puts it on the table, then takes a small piece of paper and touches it all around my shoes. She puts the paper on a measuring device.

Me: MY SHOES DON'T STINK!

The machine label says something about "radioactivity". 3..2...1..*Beep*. She nods. I put on my shoes.

Me: Thanks and have a nice day.

The adventure had just started.

So we are 96% Percent similar to Chimps..

I thought being born in the year of the monkey was the worst part of the joke on me!

These boots are meant for blogging?

Continuing with new girly avatar that I seem to have assumed, I post a link to this. Found the link to this super-popular blog quoted in one of those "blogs to watch out for" columns in the paper today.
Even if you are not obsessed with the shoes, or not obsessed with someone who is obsessed with the shoes, still if you would notice, the Manolo, he has a strange way of writing.

There is no way a band like this would make it across the border

I didn't say that, the masked man did!

Slipknot was here yesterday, and under a lot of restrictions, they performed in front of few hundred people. I have never seen a Speed Metal /Nu-Metal live act ever before, so it was a one-off experience.

The live-show was incredible, with few of the nine-member masked band doing nothing on stage except walk around jump on and off everything and emote the lines. You really open your eyes and watch. When the vocalist speaks, there is a dramatic helicopter sound in the background, to corroborate his dramatic lines like, "We have a big family of friends". It was no wonder they have been voted the Best Live act.

But... the big but comes right here..... It was no music... 30 minutes through the show, my ears became comfortably numb, I couldn't cope with the 450 BPM, and my breaths and heartbeats were seriously out of sync. Some years ago, I would have probably enjoyed it, but now, I think I am growing too old for it. Give me some good old-school rock/metal anyday.

There were adrenaline junkies all around, and as I have wondered before, I couldn't understand the point of mindless fan following.

A thousand wishes such as these...

Outdated review, but I am pretty outdated too. I finally, watched "Hazaaron..." last weekend. Afterwards it was a deluge of ideas. I will start from genesis:

My dad's is a huge family, so as expected, I have lots of cousins. My cousins are a wide age bracket too: The oldest being 50 and youngest 15. And the motley crew includes: a teacher, a lawyer, an activist, two PhDs in Maths, one pursuing PhD, one doctor, three engineers, one MBA. For now lets focus on the cousin who is an activist: She is the only one who is different. She works for Women's rights with one of the Communist Parties. She was married to a gentleman who happened to be Gen Secy of the same party: a big man. Now he is no more. I have never met her. She is a lot older and any important event when I could, I always had exams. But I would like to discuss a lot of things with her, today. I would like to listen from her about what drives her. I would like to know why she doesn't desire that her children live a life with simpler pleasures.

I would like to ask her why she believes that brandishing the flag would give women the power they need. Do these women seek it in the first place? Would the reservation in LS they demand create more cases of "Rule by Proxy"? What about ensuring they deserve it? What about the country? Doesn't the power to change come with power itself?

Because, as I see it: all things around change, but the activism remains in this sort of static plane: it does not change with time. As in the movie. "Idealism for the heck of it" is not convincing to me. But I guess thats what our parents generation was gifted by their parents.

I am still confused about all the above, and hence, I reserve my opinions on the activist, Siddharth till a later date.

The only character I truly identify with is Vikram. He is born in a middle class family in a small town. His intelligence, humor, ambition, predictable dreams, love and his "desire to fit in" is all typically middle class. He is brash, he is shameless, he is clearheaded. and he is the one ultimately at loss, always.

The character which grew was Geeta. At least thats what the director tried. Initially blinded by love, and later discovering the bigger purpose, she was there to save the day. She didn't stay back because of any idealism, but because she felt the need to. But I guess women are like that. It helps that the actress is a spitting image of Smita Patil.

Adidas set to buy Reebok

Now who said, "Impossible is nothing"?

*Edit*
As an aside, I remember the take on the above by a Local Chinese SportsWear Brand in Beijing: "Anything is Possible". Those guys can pirate anything.

Harry Potter and the half-hearted review

The title suggests, I am not impressed at all. But I have to write it for the sake of completeness. So, here comes the ubiquitous review: Harry Potter and Half Blood Prince. Will make it brief.

When the book first came out, it was meant for young adults. Now, over a period of seven years, those people must have grown up. But still, that doesn't necessisate the tone of the book to change. It will still be read by other young adults. But it, looks like JKR forgot the above equation, and wrote a book devoid of "charming" humor (puns intended!). I wonder what would have happened if Enid Blyton had done the same with Malory Towers. Harry Potter & HBP is as dark and depressing as it could be. In certain parts, its slightly too dramatic.

Storywise, its a book where she has put the premise straight, parts of stories from the previous parts are re-told. Ron, Hermione and Harry seem to behaving as adolescents. There is some inconsequential icky-wicky romance. A character is killed. Another character is killed. The book doesn't finish with the usual face-off, but goes into a lot of detail about what happened in the past. In short, all the loose strings are tied up, and the stage is set for the seventh part.

It will be a long wait!

Chutzpah and study of the Social Networking Romeo

Many years ago, eons ago, there was no internet. Letters were written using Pen and Paper... Words were weighed, and expression was thought of. Love, Crushes, Obsession existed then too. There was Valentine's day, cards with red hearts and blue arrows. And there were perfumed letters, tied on stones... chucked onto the window by wannabe romeos.

Now things have changed, there is SMS, and email, and the mother of all wannabe-generators: Social Networking. That place is a cheese-factory. With unlimited access, every Tom-Dick-Harry swears that a life long friend sheep (sic) is possible. But, what really infuriates me is the way they murder the language. For the love of English, if it wasn't for the distance, I swear, I wouldn't regret weilding my Hattori Hanzo.

Received this on my scrapbook a few days back:

hi ,
u don know me i at dis point soi m nt goin 2 ask u 2 b my frnd......as frm ur profile i know what kind of gal u r....
realy interestin info abt u... if u mentiond abt u true den we r realy going to b frnd in future as l im of same type person as u r....... if u want me to describe me n u in a single word den the word is................ diversified.. isnt it.......
waitin for ur reply......
this cud b d begining of an never ending frndship.........
n i hope u believe in dat....

Jokes aside, it took me a good thirty seconds to figure out the written words. I pity the guy: his SMS-ing thumbs have spread the disease to the other fingers, and now he cannot type straight.

Nothing to say...

I suffer from the need to say something deep and profound.

True Champions...

.. are indeed born, they are never made. They are known not by the endorsement deals, or how they are the poster-boy(s) of media... but by their sheer grit and survival spirit.

Mr. Lance Armstrong, I salute you!

Good Sports, are there any better "sport"s you are looking for?

Yesterday..

I went to an Art shop. Crazy place, with all kinds of supplies one can ever imagine. Like a kid in a candy shop, I walked around, bewildered, hopelessly lost, for half an hour. And afterwards overwhelmed, and overcome by this sudden desire to sketch, I bought myself a piece of charcoal.

I sketched all evening, creating black and white "imperfect" impressions of everything within eye-range. My hands were black and grubby, and a few stray fingerprints adorned all my sketches: looked like a criminal had left his mark, but I felt happy.

The last sketch I did was a self portrait, without a mirror. Now, I don't particularly like looking into mirrors. So I sketched this big mass of hair for starters, and did some pulling pushing this side- that side: used my fingers for the shadow effect. Made a face. And voila, it was done.

Now, every budding artist needs an admirer. So, here comes A, who looks at my evenings effort, and appreciates the last sketch: Hey! Nice! That looks so much like Michael Jackson? Especially, the hair!

Sheesh!

Conclusions:
1) Charcoal is not my medium
2) Need to change my hairstyle.

Lory Land

On a recent trip to the bird Park, I discovered these lovely lorys at the Lory Loft [Lorys? Lories? I have no idea how to spell it! ] . I couldn't resist putting up the picture here. They are pretty and colourful, and very very noisy.

Memories of a convoluted past

Old piece, originally written in longhand, found it lying around... Cutpasting it, unedited:

Some days I bear the burden of a thousand suns, and the words flee away, for fear of being charred to dust.
Memories… they cloud my mind… Raindrops wash them away?
Memories of hot summer afternoons in a haunting town, now dead. Even ghosts wouldn’t live there anymore.
I remember, the mirror on the parapet, and my uncle looking into it, as he lathered his cheeks and neck.
Three wheels being pushed around in circles and the screams in the courtyard. “Wheeeee”.
My old grandmother, watching over us. So old that she didn’t seem to get any older. She squatted with a hunch, singing her favourite song in her concerned voice. Dirt inside a Beautiful box. And a beautiful cover on top. What’s the point of this?
Two birds, thankfully distant, singing slightly off key.
“Krichikoo, krichikoo” – the hand pump’s worthless attempt at melody.
The distant elongated groan of the em-powered pump from the neighbour’s wall. That was our wall too. And so was the well with the algae on the inside walls. Half this side, half that side. And the mango tree which grew on that side, but dropped fruits on this side.

I remember the summers, so hot that the breaths would burn our nostrils, and the “cool” stories that never ended for days. Stories of devils, and daredevils, drowning men, and happy children. The dolls got married, human beings too. And left. What’s left? Nothing!… Only the rusty memories of a childhood long lost. A winding river. A convoluted past.

Of course you know who You-Know-Who is...

And of course, you don't want to miss the bus, or train in this case... the one leaving from the Platform 9-and-3/4.

The new Harry Potter is out. Excitement surrounding the launch of the new book had already reached fever pitch. >And now, we, the lesser mortals, or Muggles, as they refer to us, are back to being exactly that: Lesser Mortals. Manipulated by a web of words and a web of Worlds, we predictably rush to acquire this intricately designed story which reveals only bits and pieces. I wonder if JKR has performed the Imperius curse on us.

I picked mine up yesterday in KL. Buying of the book involved Curiosity, Truth, Betrayal, Peer pressure (from my 12 year old niece) , few of the deadly sins and a twisted ankle... It also involved a careful selection of love potions ¹, and few charms² and a remote book store where the copies would still be available³. I had to convince people I needed the book, and I needed it now: I made a sad face, asked 'em to enjoy a cuppa coffee while I rushed to the book store.


Obviously, I started reading it right away. Faced an initial hitch with some characters I had forgotten, but now I am in the groove. Currently, I am somewhere on page 260 out of the 600-odd. No reviews yet, but I would be benchmarking it against "Prisoner of Azkaban". Frankly, the fatter sequels didnt please me as much. Hope this one is not as disappointing, though it seems a little dark at this stage.

My niece just mailed saying she knows who is going to die next. I think I-know-who. But seriously, after "Serious" Black died, no-one else seems as important any more.

For now, the lines between reality and fantasy are vanishing.

Reviews later.

Footnotes:
1. Coffee
2. Girl Charms
3. Like Chacha Choudhary, Mera dimag computer se bhi tej chalta hai

Conspiracy theories..

... I love them! Revolting ideas, only remotely possible, but the kinds which invoke the slightest doubts in our subconcious minds, you actually spend a few good seconds thinking about it. And yeah, these have to be described effectively with enough technical jargon interspersed, and voila, you have Perfect stuff for a Masala Hollywood Movie.

Read this one, if you have lots of time to waste. I read the title, and that was enough for the day :) Now I am waiting for the movie to come out... I can almost see Tom Cruise successfully hamming his way to the Best Oscar for the Actor in a Leading role.

There's treasure everywhere

In this world, truth is sometimes stranger than fiction. Wierd things happen, coincidences, surprises, treasures...You look for something, and land up finding something else that you never expected.

As I was shamelessly ego-surfing yesterday, I chanced upon this. Imagine the state of my mind. First I thought there was another person with the same name. Then I realised its impossible: with a first name which sounds deceptively Arabic, and a family name which rhymes with Caeser's wife's name, it is just not possible. I carefully looked, and from what I remember it was: shock, surprise, joy, amusement...

These were a set of paintings done by me when I was ten. My drawing teacher told me that he will send it to Japan and I should tell the kids there about my life. I was excited at the prospect. I thought for a long time, before deciding what I wanted to paint. And when I did decide, I painted these snapshots of my life, then, at ten. Growing up in a small town, these were things that mattered. They are not an exact replica of my surroundings, but these are pretty accurate impressions.

With the help of my father, I scrawled small descriptions to help the Japanese kids understand whats going on, which now seems very strange!

The puppet painting was my favourite. The saree the "girl puppet" is wearing is called Panchali Saree, since you have 5 colours in it. And there is a rangoli on the floor where the women are dancing. I guess, even then, I paid attention to details.

After all the effort, I was curious whether they saw it and/or appreciated it. But, I never heard from them again. I dreamt of my puppets on and off. Probably happy in an alien land. And the shepherd, my mother's favourite, was duly replicated, and still adorns her bedroom wall. Then I grew up and it didnt matter. Till yesterday. Things came full circle yesterday. I am a different person now!

Well, for one, I am proud. I won the first prize (special award). *Pat on my back*. And also, I am grateful, I'm planning to mail them later today, and thank them.

***Edit: Did I ever mention that my favourite word is serendipity?

..and it ended in a whimper

On dit, c'est pour "L'amour des Jeux"...
Translated into now suddenly a-la-mode English...
One says, it is for the "love of games."

So Paris lost. Now gin, no more gin for you, only stout. And as you would have liked it, no sin for you either (with spanish chicks). For me, for now, I will stick to the language we all speak well...

After the euphoria, we have now come to the part I like the best... Conspiracy theories.... Its 9:30 in the morning, and we just started. Work, I mean. My boss thinks the Panel is headed by americans who hate the french, and they are all primarily Anglo-saxons.

Will keep you updated.

Tempest in a Teacup

Singapore is hosting the IOC session where it will bi decided which city: Paris, NYC, London Madrid or Moscow, will get to host 2012 Olympics. All celebrities, big and small, have found their way to the island. Beckham has arrived, to be joined by Queen Sophia from Spain, Senator Hillary, Jaques Chirac among others.

I am rooting for Paris. Now the transformation is complete. I work for a french firm, root for the french car, the french city, speak the language. Yikes!!!

I am excited. As usual. As in my nature. My colleague doesn't have an opinion. I find it strange. How can one not have an opinion in a competition! When I am watching sports, even though I dont know any of the players in the game, I still make up a preference on the spot. Thats how it is, isn't it?

BTW, the flower in the logo on top right, is Vanda Ms Joaquim, Singapore's National Flower.

War of the worlds

In other uneventful happenings around town, I watched War of the Worlds, Starring Tom Cruise, who seems to be under the influence of the moon these days.

The movie is good, with a crisp narrative, and Spielberg's signature special effects. In addition, there are no doomsday-movie cliches-- there are no politicians pointing on the map, no people from India praying in front of Taj Mahal. But I find the end a little too abrupt. Almost as if some movie-auditors said, "Ok dude, you are over your time-limit. Now cut the crap!". Whoosh, they all lived happily ever after.

Actingwise, Tom cruise is good. Dakota Fanning is about as annoying as a ten year old can get.

Live 8

An event to remember... where the who's who of Rock-Roll-Pop-Funk-Grunge paraded the stage one after the other... like it was Strawberry Fields or something... After a while, I couldn't keep track.
But the concert certainly had its share of "moments"...Not one, but many... In any case, sleep beckoned, and I couldn't watch the whole thing. From what I saw:

*Notable lines-- An awkward Bill Gates speaking the same awkward lines on stage as Brad Pitt who said it like he had them memorized for a Sanskrit Exam.

* Notable modesty and the lack of it: Respectively, A very modest The Edge from U2 saying "We may go down in history as a band which murdered Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club band", and the punk-y Greenday guy saying "If there are fans of Greenday out there who don't know anything about Africa, they will get to know because WE played here". Hello Mister, do you having any clue who you shared the stage with.

*Notable "Show(wo)manship": Madonna! She had like a whole bunch of Chorus singers, and stage performers. I mean, ooh!

*Notable Haunting voice: Dido-- "White Flag" and "Thank you!"

*Notable Non-haunting voice, which would make even Happy birthday to You sound like a dream: Bono. (Is it ok to admit I nurture a tiny crush on the guy?)

*Notable bad-hairstyle of the century- Bob Geldof.

Any others?

***Edit***
Caught the "Floyd" performance on the re-run. Yes, the guitar sounds the same, but the voices are lost. Slightly

Love Letter

Hey you! You man by the window! Would you care to look outside of the world outside that you are looking at? I am waiting...
My view is restricted by you... you see the daylight, the twilight, the moonlight... But all I see is you...

~Poison~Ivy~

Random Events/Musings which don't merit a full blog

1. Read this in Time mag: Michael Jackson supposedly got away unscathed because he is now white! This quote kills multiple birds with one stone!

2. Was walking with full-ishtyle into the lift (on the client side), and my pointed high heel got stuck in the gap in the lift door, and refused to come out for a full 20 seconds. Ooh, can anything else be more embarassing?

3. Bliss is... to wake up familiar song on the radio (alarm), in an alien land. The song in question being..."Sultans of Swing".

4. Also read: an amusing full-page-article on gender-bias....how the law leans towards the fairer sex, and women get away with murder, literally... Two women accused of infanticide got away with a "few years". Their post-natal depression was to blame. Men on the other hand will be charged of a second degree murder in a similar situation. Hmm...

5. Also also read: an article about the questionable questioning methods used in Guantanamo to find out "details" from "supposedly" 20th hijacker... I leave the rest to your fertile imagination...

6....
*edit* Finally remembered what I wanted to say! After successfully braving/avoiding the sars and the avian flu virus, I have received another one now from sin/gin. I cannot but get infected... Wait for the symptoms now!

On Vikram Seth...

Many years ago, it was a poem “Sit” by Vikram Seth that became the first post on this blog. It came by email from a close friend (who I still love talking vacuities with), I was amazed at the simplicity of it. After reading it a few times, sending it to a few friends and I knew I had to put it somewhere for the world to discover it at least once.

Years later, I haven’t still outgrown it, I am not 26 yet! I am still amazed at the simplicity and clarity of it. In any city I visit, I think of the verse for a few seconds, and I imagine whether that is the spot where I am intended to live this scene.

Vikram Seth is the master of simple verse. Its difficult to find someone so effortless. The poems are in the face, no hidden connotations, nothing to give students nightmares before board exams. Simple thought process in which alien words are joined together and they become partners in rhyme! And you smile, surprised at the effortlessness and the genius and the intended humor.

Some men like Jack
and some like Jill;
I'm glad I like
them both; but still

I wonder if
this freewheeling
really is an
enlightened thing --

or is it's greater
scope a sign
of deviance from
some party line?

In the strict ranks
of Gay and Straight
what is my status?
Stray? or Great?


After years, I have been gifted a copy of the Golden Gate, by Vikram Seth, a little too late, but its great, still on page three, need some time free! Damn--Mine sounds like a limerick ?
Well, its a novel in verse, and its something you discover page by page. This is about a stud in Silicon Valley:

He goes home, seeking consolation
Among old Beatles and Pink Floyd -
But 'Girl' elicits mere frustration,
While 'Money' leaves him more annoyed.
Alas, he hungers less for money
Than for a fleeting Taste of Honey.
Murmuring, 'Money - it's a gas! ...
The lunatic is on the grass,'
He pours himself a beer. Desires
And reminiscenes intrude
Upon his unpropitious mood
Until he feels that he requires
A one-way Ticket to Ride - and soon -
Across the Dark Side of the Moon.

Are you Smiling yet?

PS: Senthil, Thanks for the gift!

More than Words....

... is all i ever needed you to show!

Nuno Bettercourt was here day before yesterday, with his band "Population 1". The whole population wasn't present, so it was like a private performance. Moreover, the Band carried their own equipment enough for a big Auditorium, so they literally brought the house down. Hard Rock lived upto its name that day! Apart from doing some stuff off their new *yet to be released* album, they also did some older Extreme songs. No controversy, plain unadulturated (adult-rated?) Hard Rock. And I loved it...

More than words was done with a twist. On an electric, it still sounded divine, he let the crowd sing parts of it, and he did the harmony on it. Standing 10 feet from the stage, I got gooseflesh, I swear....

In this small island all we get is small events. Never something biiiig... No Joe Sat, No Mark Knopfler! Hmm..

And the guy looks like an angel (with a nosering), and he sings like a dream.

This time Dude missed the show!

Textbooks define 'ideal' woman- The Times of India

This is as hopeless as the trashy gossip I wrote earlier!
This is soooo hopeless that I don't even feel like brandishing the feminist sword.

Prana Priya? I mean, gimme a break!

Some hopeless piece of gossip....

.... which has no relevance in the bigger spectrum of things. *BEWARE*... What comes next completely trivial and needs no IQ, absolutely.

Paris Hilton is engaged to Paris Latsis. Do you notice, the possibilities are immense:

If she changes her name after marriage, she becomes Paris Latsis too.
Thankfully she is not indian, cause if she was, she would have to take her husband's first name as middle name, and she would be called Paris Paris Latsis.

Imagine the phone calls they receive:
-Who do you want to speak to?
-Paris!
-Paris who?
-Paris Latsis!

Hopefully they will use their head and be imaginative with their kids names... and the first born son doesn't have to be named after the father (or the mother!).. Don't even think about the daughter: its bad enough that she might inherit her mother's looks (or worse still, the brains!).

Angels and Demons

Image source: danbrown.com

I finished reading it. I wouldn't say it is mindblowing, but it is a good read. And I like the whole thing about Ambigrams (like the one on the right!), I am going to do some research on it, and maybe try creating one for my name.

What I find amusing about Dan Brown's writing is that, apart from being predictable, has also has a wierd way of throwing in trivia between his story. Imagine... you are deeply into the character and the clock is ticking, the bomb is about to explode...you are running out of time, you get the adrenaline rush... you want to run.. panic... act...

If Dan Brown had to narrate it, typically, the story would go like this:

The events of the night were playing in his mind like it was a lifetime. He could have never imagined how close he felt to her. He was on the verge of panic. He was choking on his own adrenaline. Adrenaline, he thought, from Latin ad+ renes... on the kidney.... He wondered how many people knew that. But, right now, he had no time, the clock was ticking!

Okay, bad example! Will fabricate a better one soon.

8 reasons Indians will never get real Chinese

Yes, thats what I have been crying hoarse about.

Go Green

Image from: UN World Environment Day

Today is World Environment Day. Of the many causes that bother me, and I crusade about, this is the one closest to my heart. And I am proud of the few friends (like Kini) who take this cause seriously and despite little success at organising tree plantation drives in and around Bangalore they keep at it!. I am also proud of all others who don't "explicitly" crusade but refuse plastic bags, (and carry their own knapsacks to stuff the shopping), recycle paper, switch off the lights and close the taps when not in use and are vegan by choice. I believe it doesn't take much to contribute a little, every contribution being super-special.

Reuters gives numbers: To me these don't mean anything since nothing ever seems to be done about them. Most developing countries/cities seem to skip the relevance of nature when doing the urban planning. When I moved to Bangalore, the garden city of India, it was clean and green. Then they started the massacre on double road. 3 years later, the face of the city had changed. Unfortunately, it is irreversible, and it is frustrating that as an individual there is little you can do about it.

Singapore is indeed the Garden City. For every tree cut, three others are planted. Tropical weather and round the year rain is conducive to sustaining a green landscape. Garbage is non existent. Having no natural resources of its own, everything must be recycled: water, paper. Utopic? No. Here, the environment faces demons of a different kind. The Chinese have humongous appetites for exotic food (read: endangered species), and wouldn't stop at anything to savour their delicacies like Sharks fin soups. Sharks are caught, fins hacked, and they are left to die. Its strange bigger organisations like Disney don't take a stand on it.

I am not willing to sound like a cliched newspaper article, but I would still wish everyone reading this blog would glance through this , and find one little thing that they would like to adopt to do their part. Its a request :)

Whats your favourite Word?

People laugh at me when I ask them this question, but I believe that along with favourite colours, actors, actresses one should also have a preference for a favourite word.

While under a damn tough course on Natural Language Processing (NLP) under a super-absent-minded-professor during my masters, I learnt this: The frequency of occurence of a word is inversely proportional to the information contained in it. For example, since the words “the” and “by” occur very often in language, they contain very little information . These will not help you discriminate one context from the other (and hence are excluded by search engines). On the other hand, words like "Camera" or “Photography” occur in very specific context giving us a lot of information about the bigger picture. After stating this, my professor then felt proud to reach a partly-poetic-partly-philosophical-partly-insane conclusion of: "The words which don’t occur in language (meaning, frequency of occurence is 0) have the most information (~ infinity)". [Or to quote the mushy Ronan Keating song, You say it best, when you say nothing at all]. At this point of time, he was very amused with himself, and he laughed and laughed and laughed. And then paused for some time, and finally said, “The time when you don’t write anything on your answer sheets, you know everything”.

I was confuzzled. This simple principle had then opened up a variety of thought for me, and I remember spending a few minutes thinking about it.
Now, I can list my favourite words under the simple premise of the fact, that trapped within a few characters is an entire concept. Hence my favourites: Serendipity, Chiaroscuro, melange and kiasu. Needless to say, I find very few occasions to use them.

Then come words which are neologisms, words that do not appear in the dictionary but should. I remember having this book called sniglets (circulated with a Readers’ Digest subscription in those days) which had a big set of these words: priceless gems with illustrations. I read it over and over and laughed everytime, since these words were very accurate observations of life in general, and were a story by themselves [Eg, Yinkel - n. A person who combs his hair over his bald spot, hoping no one will notice.]

After many years, Merriam Webster has published this list and this. Guys,Wordsmiths and Joke lovers--- feed on it. From the list: I have heard Chillax being used for sometime now. I borrowed “confuzzled”. I particularly like “Polkadodge”.

[For the curious: Prof. Lua Kim Teng retired later that year. I passed the course.]

Marty Friedman

Marty Friedman
Originally uploaded by Mo.

Joe Sat was in India, and noone has updated me on that. In any case, we hoped he would come here but he didn't. The difference between Bangalore and Singapore is that the scale of events here is much smaller, unless it is someone very very popular like Eagles or Kylie. This time around, Marty was in Singapore for some sort of a guitar Workshop. Dude attended it, clicked lots of pics, got autograph on his guitar, and did a lot of things. I am posting it here since he doesn't have a blog, and I am not willing to not share such a beautiful pic (where everything gels so well), of such a cute looking rock-star. The other reason for writing it is because he gave some damn controversial statements. And, as you all know, I love controversy.

Well from what I heard from the fan, Marty is currently in Japan, speaks fluent Japanese, and is trying to make it big in Japanese Pop. Though he is absolutely unknown in Sushi-land, he supposedly left Megadeth to pursue his long time goal of doing Japanese Pop, and World Music. Shocked? Me too...
To add to the shock value, he is a big fan of Jay Chou (the Taiwanese Pop star), and thinks that guy is a genius. (I really really beg to differ!). Also he claimed to derive his musical influences "at times" from Britney Spears. I think by this time, the devoted fans in the audience must have had a cardiac arrest. But it seems they didn't bat an eyelid, since they were too much in awe of him to even register the statements he made...

I think what he said was true and honest, what he must be believing in, and it takes a lot of guts for a rock-er to say so. Or maybe not! He is the man on the stage after all :)

All TIME 100 movies

Creating all-TIME lists is the pasTIME for TIME.

Ok, that was a futile attempt at being funny, but the list is worth a quick scan. In any case, I haven't seen most of the movies on the list: maybe because many of them seem to be strictly arthouse cinema, or because most of them were made a zillion years before I was born.

Predictably Present: Godfather, The Good the Bad and the Ugly, Casablanca, ET, Pulp Fiction, Star Wars, Schindler's list and Psycho.
Pleasant to Find: Drunken Master, Lord of the Rings.
Plain unpleasant to find: Nemo. ('Tis gud alrite, but all-time greatest? I beg to differ!)
Surprisingly Missing for me: Life is Beautiful, Braveheart, [few others...]
Surprisingly Missing for critics of the critics writing the list: Gone with the Wind ( Reuters )
Our Pride: Apu Triology, Nayakan and Pyaasa.

Update: While looking for the country of Origin of Kandahar (also in the 100), I found another list of Best and Worst movies. This is a list of more recent releases, and ratings are supposedly based on critic's scores. Quite predictably, Godfather tops this one.

The truth about earning in dollars!

I flicked this one off the ginsoaked blog, and this well written article puts into perspective a lot of things that I wanted to write. I wonder if, being one of the lot who decided to "escape" sometime back, chasing the "60-cent" dreams (1 US$ = 1.67 S$), do I consider myself only 60% guilty?

For one, the whole dollar dream concept is full of contradictions from the very beginning.
We used to have this English lesson in 10th, on Brain Drain. My mother being the english teacher taught me the same. But in the same breath, she never stopped short of praising/feeling proud of her ex-students who were "doing-oh-so-well" in the US. I still don't know what any of them were doing, what their job profiles were.... but they were doing well by the sole virtue of the geographical location. And then there were these uncles and aunts who came back from abroad, full of nice smelling soaps and shampoos and deodorants... Somehow, any attempts by the people writing textbooks were not as convincing. Now, my teacher is having a tough time teaching the same lesson to her impressionable kids (nothing changes in India?). With her daughter chasing the supposed good life, its not easy at all. Needless to say, my mother is very happy that her only daughter is doing well.

Hopefully, there won't be any Freudian explanations to this one: nobody told me to come, I was convinced by this idea we all seem to be born with, I came myself. I couldn't be different, I couldn't risk being left out. The only thing "different" I did was: despite an admit in the US, I came to Singapore. While most people were supportive or neutral to my decision, few came up with ideas that stumped me. One person (close to me then) laughed at me, and said I must be nuts - Singapore is for second rung students, people who run out of choices, for losers. Few others of a similar opinon were thankfully a little more euphemistic. It was strange seeing the pride in them, on prophesizing my not-so-shining-future on the basis of physical coordinates. This was clearly no land-of-opportunity. Clearly, for them, the vivid dollar dream is very monochromatic: it excludes the dollars of any other colour except green.

I did come here full of dreams. The university, in theory, taught me a lot more than RV ever did. (Experiences are another tangent!) I did research on something that I always wanted to do, wrote a few papers, and travelled a good bit of the world presenting them. I don't deny that the opportunity here is tremendous, more than what is available to an average student in India. I am grateful for them. Things which were beyond my league seemed possible and in course of time, happened. I am not sure whether I still look like an underachiever to my friends in the land of opportunity. I know that one person transiting in Singapore (US-India trip), within 15 minutes of being here, told my friend-- "Dude, get a life!! What the hell are you doing in a place like this!!". I also remember that on my trip to US, a friend pointed at Starbucks and said, "That's a coffeeshop, you know". I don't have the heart to tell him that there is one inside the Forbidden City (in Beijing) too. Another person spent some time charting out my life since "Eventually, you have to be there", the statement padded with the very American "you know what I mean". No, actually not, what do you mean?? I don't seem to know how come the people "there", bound by limits of that one country have seen everything, and me in this small island-country, despite having so many stamps on my passport ain't seen nothing? Why must we all lust for the land-of-opportunity?

The PPP is true, it exists, but People in India refuse to believe it. People (Auntijis and Unclejis) consider people living abroad successful since we earn big money in Indian currency. But we pay 3$++ for a coffee, as against 30 rupees in Coffee day. The practical Fx conversion rate is roughly around 1S$ = 10Rs. You also cannot afford the services here, meaning: no dhobi/cook for the bachelors. What I pay for my room, will fetch you a whole furnished apartment in India. The 6 figure salary comes with a hefty tax. My cup of coffee comes with a tax. I will probably never own a "dream" house with a huge garden. It took me 9 months to get my dream job. Its not like in India, that companies are lined up at your door waiting to take you in. You need the precious something called "Work-ex" which I lacked. In India, an MBA with no work-ex is still paid a premium salary!! Medical bills? I still lug my yearly supply of medicines from India. Its wrong to say we, the people abroad, have it easy. The people here are not the same, society is non-existent. And I miss my family and friends! Holi, Diwali, Janmashtami, Ganesh Puja, Ugadi all come and go, and I sit and wait for Chinese New Year. I don't know what kind of comforts I am seeking! Is this the reality of my dream...?

At times, I feel terribly guilty. But I cannot go back, because I like my job, and with the huge number of applicants in India, I have no chance of getting a similar one in India. I do not feel safe there either. Yes, in my own country I don't. (Have you read the papers off late?) Feminist ideas aside, the competition & the comparision kills me, "He was a worse student in class, but is doing better now", "Oh, you know he has bought a house/bike/car", "Oh he just got his H1B stamped" .

People still in India, working in the ubiquitous software companies are weighed down by peer pressure. They are depressed because their friends are in the US... they don't want to be left out, and are willing to let go of opportunities for it. A few are waiting for the H1B stamped, waiting for the salvation, the good life. When they go, they won't ever come back. If they do, they will be even more full of comparisions and the desire to go back. Whats the biggest contradiction here is that, while abroad many of them wouldn't even live the good life they wanted. They will crave for desi food, look for desi people, and ensure their children go to desi Schools and learn enough desi stuff. They will complain: "The dal here doesn't taste as good as the one in that dhaba in Indiranagar". Then, the chase for the green card will start. You have heard it all before, it is just the same old story, this is no different...

It is not a hamlet-ian dilemma of whether to get into this or not! The question is very direct-- Is this really a dollar dream?

(This is an unfinished piece, rather a work in progress... got too emotional to finish it)

(Disclaimers & Clarifications: Friends, It may not necessarily be you I am talking about or quoting, apologies for any "controversial" statements: it was totally unintentional. Also that, I am not trying to make a point or stir up controversy, I am just describing a thought process, based on bitter-sweet experiences. It's not to judge anyone, but more to discuss my internal contradictions and dilemmas....)

KL, StarWars and other random thoughts

I was away to KL on work for two days. Few things that tickled the thought process:

Meetings are a waste of time. You spend much more time sending minutes of the meeting generally being nice to each other, and using all kinds of ambiguity to compensate for the lack of knowledge. The meetings were held in a small room with no windows and 20 people. I think my brain wasn't getting enough oxygen, so I "forever" had this terrible urge to yawn.

I also thought about the fact that to keep up with conversation, you have to hoard up a lot of useless trivia in your minds. It varies from the make of cars to make-up. And then there are these whole load of people from Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter and the très-à-la-mode Star Wars. Kill me if you want, but I didn't watch Episode I and II, (for reasons unknown). So I have no idea why Anakin Skywalker chose to become Darth Vader. Sometimes I wonder if for him, it was a simpler choice than me choosing not to keep up.

I discovered the blog of Darth Vader: It should make an interesting read for the fans of both blogging and starwars alike.

Also, during an intent tea break discussion with people in KL, I discovered that people in Malaysia are fluent in Hindi Movies, and know/like the Miss-World-lady-in-movies-very-pretty-one-ah (aka Aishwarya Rai) and of course, Shahrukh Khan (GodBless!)

PS: I am not too happy with my writing style, where i spend too much time detailing every little thing I can remember and getting back to the "original point" again and again. I am wondering where this influence comes from.

Lo and behold, no sooner than I had posted this blog, rediff came up with this one

xXx 2 - The Next Level

Sometimes a movie is worth watching, and truly enjoyable only because you have absolutely no expectations. I can go on to a philosophical plane here but would stick to story-telling instead.

xXx 1 was in its own league. A set of visually stunning stunts, joined together by a non-existent storyline. During training at CTS (Whites Road Office), after a tiring day of learning soft skills, we watched it in Satyam Cineplex (Bang opposite the office). 40 minutes through the movie, everyone was sitting there, doing those fake laughters at the jokes, trying to feign understanding of the storyline. Alas, there was none. And so this guy goes, "Does anyone have the faintest idea of whats going on...?". That was when it became fun. Few people left-- maybe frustrated by the movie, maybe by us. But, that was one memorable evening in oft-cursed-for-lack-of-fun Chennai.

In any case, the second time around I watched it for a friend, for complete lack of occupation, and it was a riot (again).

I went for XXX2 with NO expectations, only to waste some time... Well it was worth it... I haven't laughed harder in weeks. Its a new triple-X (I resort to writing it this way for known reasons)- the new guy supposedly has more attitude- and slightly better storyline (In the sense that there is a storyline).

As far as characters go, there is one chick who hands him fancy cars at the drop of a hat, and he comfortably goes and totals them up. There are a set of brothers, who talk in their lingo- and its straight from metal to rap as soon as they come on screen. It also is full of ridiculous dialogues like "Don't do it for the red-white and blue, do it for yourself", and "Else brotha, freedom won't be free", and the my favourite, "triple-X, what sort of a name is that? It sounds like a p*rno-star" :))

Its not a weekend movie, the one you would queue for. Only if a break is needed, the money will feel worthwhile. People may have apprehensions about wasting money on this one, but, a good timepass movie never harmed anyone.

PS: Ice-cube is cool...

If the French were really intelligent...

...they'd speak English. (Wilfred Sheed)

Bliss is...

Waking up to realize that you are slightly late.... looking out of the window to see its raining... saying "Screw it!"... and sleeping for another half hour!

Black Rock Down

I find blogging fun, thanks. Xanga also can!!!

Our pal karakoram has taken to philosophical meanderings, left the tribal community for the elitist... and decided to pull his xanga site down. I wonder why someone who was an avid admirer of xanga, who swore by it (still does) , would do something like this. Or will he?

Update: May 10th, 3:48 pm.
He did!! God Bless!

On growing up

Growing up is not easy. Whatever!

My little nieces have grown up. When I saw them first, they were small and I could carry them around. One of them had just learnt how to speak. And she used to spend her time looking at melting ice, not able to understand how miraculously, it turned to water.

Now, they email me regularly, but, much to my exasperation... one says "COOL IT!", and other after having shortened her name to something incomprehensible, wants me to create an email ID for her called "littleangel_scorpio".

Generation gap? I think, I have some growing up to do here! Whatever!

The state I live in

Click on this, please!

Well, I am back

I am back, to the familiar place, familiar language, familiar weather, familiar seat, familiar keyboard and of course familiar blogger. Needless to say, I am happy!

• I had fun in Paris, lots of it. But, I don't miss Paris at all. AT ALL! The excitement in life comes out of adventure, yes, but I had enough!
  
• The gruelling 13 hour flight was further ruined by this li'l girl who was suffering- her ears hurt. It didn't help that her parents were sitting across the aisle from each other, and decided to spend the night whispering to each other in french. Given the strong "s" in french, it was not exactly worth the whisper, since It was like a snake with a bad accent or something.. to top it all, the guy bumped into me, and stepped on my glasses. But I kept my cool. Beemar bachche ke mata-pita ka saat khoon maaf. In any case, now I am sleepy and without glasses, both of which don't help the overall situation of being blur.
• On board I watched:
• "Finding Neverland" (good!). I like Johnny Depp.
  
• I love Huckabees, (I heart huckabees) which may be good, but its one of those stimulating movies about *Why do we exist*, a little abstract! Can someone tell me something about it, please? And Yeah, I like Mark Wahlberg!
  
• Bits and pieces of Meet the Fockers: a movie which I was trying to avoid. I am through with Ben Stiller brand of humor. Though, I like Robert De Niro.
• Tom and Jerry, and some OOOOLD Disney animations, eg. one about how to play golf [which I remember watching on a Sunday morning on DD]
  
• In the real world, I am still confused about what to do, how to do, and what I was doing before I left.
• K, I prefer blogger!
  
• Why is it that my blogs are written with this *negative energy* thing around it? Meaning, I haven't said anything nice about anything!
  

Missing

In case you find me missing, and are bothered by it, I have a few posts on my alter-ego, and some pictures too...

Watch out for the next post will be here on blogger!

*Am I advertising for myself??*