Underground Aradhana

Super mama, ready? One, two, three, snore!

2012-01-19T11:39:00.001-08:00

Something's got to be said about public transport. Every ride is a reminder that there’s some random fella out there ready to inject your life with a shot of craziness. By default, these entities are gifted with strong vocal cords for reaching out to a large, forced audience.

Last night I took a bus starting from our good ole Bengaluru. I got settled in pretty quickly with just one thought – Boy, the seats look so small. Yes! Spoilt are the rears that have travelled on Olivea, the super luxury bus, the joys of which deserve a separate blog dedication. As I fiddled with the A/C vent, a voice that had complaint in its DNA entered the bus. “You are not going to sit next to me, your bluddy snoring spoilt my sleep last night, mavanae (means son in Tamil)” I traced the (un)sound waves to a figure that can be best described as a shrunken Shrek. A grinning sidekick emerged from behind Shrek and tried to fit his bag in the storage area. “Bluddy naansense snoring. Your wife will ‘dye-verse’ you. I curse you, see if you want. She will leave you.” Grinner widens his grin. Shrek goes on “It is a public nuisance. Nobody complains. Our people are too patient. They are like buffaloes.”

Seems like patience ain’t in the running for the post of virtue any more. Shrek has a point though. People are patient…else you’d have the crowd holding him down in front of the bus and the throttle-happy driver would have been more than pleased to introduce him to the much advertised 'Multi-Axles.'

Just when the buffaloes thought that Shrek would zip it, he issues a public service announcement –“Smokers and snorers are both bluddy nuisances. Smokers are a health hazard, snorers are...(long pause) a sleep hazard.” Not much advantage coming from the long pause as far as vocabulary is concerned. Also, shame is a sparingly used arrow in Shrek’s quiver of emotions, so he continues “It is a physical disorder I say. Although you are unconscious when you do it, it is still your fault.” At this point, it’s easy to choose the grinning snorer over Shrek. Not the one to give up, Shrek belts out a dire warning, “Mavanae, inniki koratta vitta mooka vandu adachiduvenda, mavanae!” (Sonny, if you snore today, I’m gonna come and block your nose, sonny). Hmmm…seems like Shrek is a little confused about the origin of a snore. In any case, the visual of his stubby fingers riding up Grinner’s nose is not something that would lead to a good night’s sleep – even with all the extra axles thrown in. After a few more statements, Shrek finally settles down…or so I thought until I hear “The neckkk is the mosttt impaartant part while sleeping!” What?? What?? Whatever!

Time heals everything, and the Volvo engine drowns Shrek. I don’t recollect when I fell asleep, but I do remember when I jumped out of the seat. “MURUGAAAA!” MURUGAAA!” Deafening name of the Lord taken in pain it seemed. This was how the considerate driver wished us all a very good morning. The speakers were on full blast to signal that we’d reached Chennai. Curses all over drowned out the enthusiastic Muruga voice. “Inda kodumaiya niruthungada! Koyambedukku serthu tolaingada!” (Please stop this torture da. Take me to Koyambedu and …get lost da) shrieked Shrek. After muttering a few other expletives, our man Shrek reaches for his bag. Grinner is a morning person as is evident on his face. I pray to Lord Muruga for no further violations until the door opens. Koyambedu, at last! Time to break free…Super mama ready? One, two, three…and Kolaveri played in my mind until I got home.

4 laned wisdom

2011-06-28T10:12:00.000-07:00

Hola! Blowing dust off the blog, we hit the Bangalore-Chennai highway right away. I’ve been driving up and down this road every two weeks, most often by myself. You know that when I’m left to me, the psychedelic lens comes out in a jiffy. The drive can get painful at times, and I fear that my already flat rear might head concave with this overdose. Hmmmm, moving on, something’s got to be said about the thought-provoking signs on the highway. I remember a few of them –

“Don’t mix drinking and driving” – It’s noon bozo, don’t tempt me.

Here’s one presumably from the same poetic genius who came up with Speed thrills but kills: “Fast Drive, Last Drive”

“If you are married, divorce speed” – Dude must’ve spent the previous night on the couch.
“If you drive like hell, you’ll get there soon” – Not a bad one. Surely not an in-house line, more likely a borrowed line/public contribution.

“The safety gears are in your head” – wha?? Surely you’ve been mixing drinking and painting.

This one surely takes the cake: “Death is nature. Don’t cause it." - Certainly not a fan of Dr.Kevorkian.

Closer to home, there’s a sign posted at the entrance of a lane “No way” – Not a believer, obviously.

So much for the signs. I’ll upload some pics if I remember to click the next time around. In the meantime, it is business as unusual. Ciao!

Lemons, Lingerie and Litigation

2011-03-13T04:39:00.000-07:00

My bro got married last week. As the post-wedding activities dwindled down to waving goodbye to the last guest, the aunty union was in fervent search of a new project. I was relaxing on the couch when the union got its aha moment – target spotted! Not wasting any more time, they quickly brief me about an all powerful neighbourhood ‘Guruji’ – a soothsayer with the strike rate of Andrew Symonds in T-20.

“You have to consult him. He will make sure that you win the court case,” comes the voice of the union, and with it the collective confidence in his powers. Hmmm... so this Guruji not only predicts the future, but also makes sure it is favourable...presumably even overruling the high court’s decision if need be. Good stuff! But I think I’ll pass.

Reluctant to leave the comfort of the couch, I give the aunty union 15 reasons as to why I don’t think it is a great idea to see the Guruji, but they shoot it down with 16 high-pitched reasons. So, I end up going to see his holiness, the neighbourhood Guruji...the likes of whom Gandhi Bazaar had never seen before.

For some odd reason, the Guruji doesn’t stay put in one place. Being the mobile cat that he is, a few calls had to be made by the aunty union to track this man down. The union quickly hands me his coordinates and pushes me out the door to come back a wiser man, a man who knows where he is headed – or where the Guruji wants him to head, as the case may be. I look out for the aura of his holiness to guide me, but no such luck...or maybe my spiritual quotient isn’t that high to spot one. Anyway, I follow directions and get to the master’s camp for the day – a store on DVG Road.

I double-check the location (and double-gulp) before stepping in, ‘cos the store in which the Guruji had camped had a distracting display of lingerie. Clean thoughts, clean thoughts...I requested my mind, clean thoughts for the love of God, clean thoughts. Holy cow, but clean thoughts in a lingerie store?

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.

The Guru is not in the trademark saffron or white garb, as one might’ve expected. But hey, not everything was going as per normal expectations. He was sitting towards the back of the store, where you’d probably find the really expensive, ‘imported’ items to arouse the hairy, middle-aged men of Gandhi Bazaar. As I head towards the Guruji sitting in the backdrop of a dozen posters of lingerie models, he points to a chair. I quickly take a seat and try hard to stare at the one thing that’s least interesting in the store – him. He asks me a couple of questions regarding the litigation and starts praying. Excuse me, but the only prayer in a lingerie store is ahem...forgive me Lord, for I have sinned.

He asks me a few more questions about other things in life, and shuts his eyes again. A few murmurs are uttered aloud, mostly for my benefit I think, for the setting might lead one to believe that the dude ain’t praying. After a long pause, he opens his eyes and says “You will win the case, I’ll get it done for you.”

I’m like “What? Excuse me sir, you’ll get it done? Thank goodness! I’d have made an expensive mistake if I’d hired Ram Jethmalani. Thank you Guruji.”

Not stopping with the prayers, he hands out 5 lemons to me with specific directions on which ones to consume, which ones to put under the pillow and which ones to slice up and squeeze into my eyes.

This is it! How could I’ve missed it? This miracle citrus fruit will solve everyone’s problems. Who needs legislations and lawyers when we have lemons. Go on vitamin C, save the world!

As I step out of the store, I can’t help but think that if has decided to send out powerful messages and magic in a fruit, then at least he could’ve handed out melons and done justice to the lingerie models...geez!

Forgive me Lord, for I have sinned!

Buckets

2010-11-19T02:48:00.000-08:00

People are funny. And then there are funny people.

There’s this gentleman at work, the kind who goes around spreading cheer, and once in a while strews around his pearls of wisdom. I ran into him on the stairway the other day, and he decided to give me one of his pearls –

“Mr. M3, do you know that there are 2 kinds of effects in this world?”

I’m obviously impressed with the Bachchan-esque simplicity in classifying the entire freakin effects the world could possibly have in just two buckets (Remember “Is duniya mei do tarah ke keedein hote hai...”) My eager eyes gave him an open invitation to floor me with his philosophy.

“First, there is the ‘Saree’ Effect and then there’s the ‘Mike’ Effect!,” he says, unable to withhold the hurricane he’s been brewing in an oyster shell. At this point, I’m all ears.

“Saree effect is when people lose their senses on seeing a lady...and end up saying things they don’t mean. They show off and project an exaggerated image of themselves!”

I thought to myself...hmmm, man does have a point, though I’d have gone for the ‘Mini skirt’ effect given the fact that we’re ten past the millennium.

“Similarly, the Mike effect, Mr. M3. The mike effect is when you hand somebody a mike, they start being someone else. They say things that sound good, even though they don’t mean it at all.”

Aha! Seems like the two buckets are in fact one. Thanks for embellishing the truisms so! If only Prof. Ulfat Sultan from FM94.3 were around, his punch line “Iski bina handle ke balti mafik!” would’ve made perfect sense.

Karma and iFakers

2010-10-12T10:37:00.001-07:00

Back! After a long break. Just wanted to make sure my login still worked. While I’m at it, here are a few happenings that I’d like to share...as usual. Fatherhood is the latest thing in my life. It’s been about 6 weeks since Neel Aryan came into my life and every time I look at him I can’t help but think to myself “I need to grow up before he does.” I really do!

I am getting some work done on my car, so she’s away for a few days. I do hope bad karma catches up with the SOB who hit my car and didn’t bother to leave a note. Speaking about karmas, I have an interesting, rather thought provoking episode to narrate. I have been taking a rick to work these days. The “Rickies” are an interesting bunch. They always have some breaking news for you, or some mid-sentence comment on current affairs. Not deviating from the norm, the rickie who dropped me home yesterday was not very nice towards Chief Minister Yediyurappa’s mom. But when the conversation moved towards his own family and the grand plans he had for his kids, I was moved. More so when I got to know that his youngest one was adopted. When I got off, I paid him and said “Keep the change. Good guys like you are hard to find.” I said to myself “Dude is stocking up on good karma. Good, good karma.”

Earlier today, I took a rick hoping to get my daily dose of politics. Surprisingly the rickie was in silent mode. Before I could figure out the reason for his silence, he turned slightly. I caught a glimpse of his finger so up the nasal cavity...like on an expedition to tickle his eyeballs. I know!! Yuck!! Most of you must be trying to keep your last meal down at this point. I prayed for the man to find his gold soon and get out of there. When I got home I realized that I had no change. I quickly paid the man and said “Keep the change” ...cos I didn’t wanna touch anything that had been on the expedition. I guess karma goes out the window when the finger goes up the nose. Anyway, moving on...

There’s a dude at work who’s a compulsive liar. The fella just can’t help it. The other day he walked into my room, showed his iPod touch and asked me if my phone was the same as his, a “3G”. I was like “What?” He goes “Not 3G? Ok, 2G is not bad. But the problem is that our phones don’t have decent reception inside the office. It’s tough to make a call.” It was a herculean task not to smile while I thought to myself “Decent reception? Yo faker, just quietly slip the MP3 player in your pocket and walk out, or else my foot might be tempted to force an indecent reception on your lil lyin’ ass! Tough to make a call? BTW, I guess you tried to call folks on your ‘playlist’ – Aguilera must be first, I reckon? Too bad she doesn’t pick up calls from unknown iPods!”

Mani Ratnam’s Raavan – When will good prevail over evil?

2010-06-20T13:37:00.000-07:00

I have always been a big fan of Mani Ratnam. Quite possibly and inconsequentially, I could still be a fan if only I could somehow erase his recent experiment - ‘Raavan’ from my memory. Walking into the theater ten minutes late is the only positive thing I remember from last night’s experience. I patiently waited for some story to unfold, but Mani just kept hitting me with a picturesque backdrop, incessant rains, rock-climbing amphibious outlaws who smear themselves with a magic paste that presumably makes up for their lack of acting skills. Still waiting my man, hit me with the good stuff Mani!

Nice work by the cinematographer, but he has to graduate from capturing a dew drop falling off a leaf in slow motion to something more concrete, I think. Ok, try other things…but hold the camera still for a second I say! An hour passed, yet no story, only more rain. Interval is a welcome respite. But I didn’t leave my seat for a popcorn break because I wasn’t too sure I could fight against my saner self if he decided not to return. So, I planted myself firmly and hoped for a miracle in the second half.

Second half commences, and I only wish my saner self were more dominant. The small B acts once in a while, only when he gets bored of putting up a mean, scary face. His weird bhak-bhak-bhak (or was it chak-chak-chak??) was not too different from the audience reaction. Ash has performed remarkably well in some parts. Those parts are the ones in which she keeps her mouth shut and stares into the distance with a fake tear drop that is a tad too viscous to flow down. Vikram is wasted in the movie, and quite understandably wants to hide his emotions behind aviator sunglasses. A.R. Rahman tries his best to save the movie once every 15 minutes, but then again the melodies get washed away in the rain. The real Raavan, as I recollect from my mythological learnings, was a very respectable badass. Such a vain attempt to piggyback on his legacy may not sit well with him. Hypothetically - if the real Raavan dude were buried and could in fact turn (quite a herculean task, given the large turning radius that comes along with 10 heads), I’m pretty sure he’d go for it.

Keep your hands to yourself

2010-04-24T07:44:00.000-07:00

Howdy! Most of you who know me also know about my fervent fight for armrest space...especially at high altitude. Whenever I’m on a flight, I wait to see who sits next to me and chart out a game plan accordingly. I have an arsenal of moves and strategies to tackle most armrest situations. Well, strategy may be the most abused word in a b-school, but folks, I’ll tell you there’s no abuse like armrest abuse! I’d like to think that I do possess bragging rights for being the grandmaster of armrests. In the lingo of our learned master Zynga, I would be the El Armrestino Principal at level 9999, or maybe an honorary level 71 of 'Armville'.

So, confident that I could take on any adversary, I waited with my chin in the air on a recent flight. Lo and behold, in spite of the flight not being full, I was blessed with a co-armrester. Innocuous at first sight, the man stowed his cabin luggage and settled down. Oh well, ‘settled down’ would be a stretch, for he had a friend in the seat in front...and let’s just say he was very fond of that person.

Fidget, fidget, fidget. Seatbelts done. Fidget again. I gave him a look that said “Good job, I think your seat belt situation is taken care of. Can we move to the armrest please?” Totally oblivious, he starts digging into the pouch in front of him. Fidget, fidget, fidget. My look changes to “If you are looking for your life jacket, it’s not in there buddy.” Ding! He hits the button for assistance. A member of the cabin crew appears and in all fake politeness asks what his problem is. “Water,” he asks. My look is now “Was the walk from the gate to your seat so gruelling that you are dehydrated?” He gets and drinks a cup of water. I hope that at least now the armrest wars would begin. But hell, no! His focus turns to his partner in the front seat. He plays with his curly hair for a while and whacks him gently. Let’s just say my look at that point would’ve been priceless. Ding! Crew’s getting a little impatient. The flights not taken off yet and the man’s dinging them for the second time. “Yes sir, what can I get you?” asks the attendant, his training on patience being put to the test. “Pillow” comes the reply. A pillow? You serious? The flying time isn’t more than 50 minutes and you want to rest that head?...which is filled with a substance that surely is lighter than grey matter. The pillow demand is met. The focus is back on partner in front. This time he picks up the safety instruction card and dislodges the ‘grease guard’ – a small piece of absorbent material that seats have as a protection against zealous coconut oil appliers. At that point I’m thinking “It is simple Velcro man, you just lift it and pull...although I don’t see any logic backing that move.” Anyway, he chops the grease guard from his partner’s seat and flings it on his head. Expressions of love, they say are weird. This is the big momma of weirdness. His partner doesn’t get mad. In fact, he expects it I think. Fidget, fidget, fidget. Seriously man, is this some kind of restless hand syndrome (RHS)? Looks out the window and then...ding! For the love of God, I was thinking if I were a RHS man, what would I possibly need now. I wait in anticipation. We had just taken off and the seat belt signs were off. The attendant is low on faking and politeness at this point. “Yes, any problem?” “Coffee,” came the reply. I thought to myself, go ahead and give this monkey some red bull. That’ll be quite an experiment at high altitude. I was fighting exhaustion, so I gave up on keeping track of the RHS man’s movements. I look at the armrest – in all her glory, completely unoccupied. This was a walkover, and the only victory I was not proud of. I planted my arm firmly and close my eyes. The fidgeting and the dings kept coming, but I promised myself that I wouldn’t react until I felt the grease guard on my head. Luckily we reached our destination and Captain Dean tries his best to say Shamshabad. Needless to say, our RHS man was in the aisle even before we hit terra firma. All that haste did not make sense as I saw him outside McDonalds, sipping on a cold drink, presumably Coke. With a silent prayer for his partner, I hailed a cab home.

This too shall passé

2009-11-11T10:48:00.000-08:00

Went to my alma mater yesterday and felt good walking around the campus, reliving the year that was. Some of the best memories came back haunting when I walked in the hallways on the courtyard level, which are still home to the wooden assignment submission boxes. Those boxes! Those gnomes with condescending grins through which we fed our labor of love, loath and lift…not to mention those taunting deadline messages pasted on them that determined our quota of snooze time. The very sight of those boxes used to bring out the hidden deviants in the noblest of us…pyromaniacs, arsonists and the like. There were a million ideas that our tormented minds generated to seize and destroy those boxes. Some of the wildest ideas came from my main man, “The I”, who is also credited with the most ingenious plan to hijack the “non-veg” storing contraption from our dining hall. :-) Fun times, those!

The winds of change are sure blowing…with a menacing howl tonight. How symbolic! In retrospect, I don’t know if I had to change at all. I had a cushy life set at cruise control and never had to sweat the small stuff. Every little thing I had taken for granted is now a sore, gaping spot that I jostle to cover. In retrospect…:-) enough! I don’t mean to sound like a veteran who never saw the front. It’s not that bad after all. I came back to my janma bhoomi to see what the shining was all about and there is still a lot of promise I say! I was mentioning it to my closest bud KK the other day – I wouldn’t dismiss my saga as done. In fact, I’m just starting off. With Anil’s hairline and Mukesh’s jawline, the Ambanis need to watch out for M3 :-)

All good things must come to a bend! Only time will tell if it the journey forward is as scenic as the road we left behind. But at this point, I just feel like scraping my knee to take the bend in all its splendor.

Good night trusty old comp, and thanks for not flashing the inane message at me anymore - “Copy of windows is not genuine.” I know I can’t trust ATMs to spit out non-counterfeit notes…but MS selling fake windows? Not that the genuine version is God’s gift to mankind.

Of boredom, beliefs and biryani

2009-10-06T11:03:00.000-07:00

My thoughts joined my body in the astral plane. The noises in the ‘bored’ room droned on like torture equipment running on low battery, at best tickling me and eliciting a chuckle at my own misfortune. I couldn’t help but notice I was the only member in the room not to sprout ...and may I add, proudly sport, ear hair. Enough said, as my thoughts leave the room behind and retrace their path to spring of last year.

Cut to April 2008. The rose tint rushes back to my lenses. Yeah baby, I’m going to the land of the Nizams, the land of Biryanis...those long-grained beauties, pampered by a dose of magical spices, seduced by a low flame...geez, lady Biryani - the femme fatale of foodies! The greater mission of donning a mortarboard in a b-school took a backseat, or in this case, the backburner. The biryani diet washed down with the finest brew from Bangalore was the highlight of every week. Our field agents brought in pieces of intelligence – “I promise you, just eat there once and you’ll never smack your lips at any other,” “Man, the biryani there is worth waiting till midnight,” “That is the food of Gods, my friend. If you don’t like it there, I’ll pick up the tab.” Every lead was duly followed and my waistline cooperated, unlike my wardrobe. It would be unfair to say that the experience was not enjoyable. We had our fair share of “Dude, that was the best damn biryani!” and also an unfair share of “What on earth was that? Does ‘slow’ cooking mean a dufus trying to whip up something?” Little by little, my romance with lady Biryani lost its lustre. Of course, I’d be lying if I said I don’t give in to her charm and engage in a tryst once in a while ;-)

Moving on, there’s a thing or two I have to say about the local practices and beliefs. Jaywalking! In this town, it is a sport, a hobby, a religion, a ritual, a way of life!! There’s something to be said about their staunch belief that if they turned their back on you and crossed the street, a powerful invisible shield would be generated instantaneously around their inconsiderate rears. Nothing can hurt, cos I put my best part backward. This they believe in strongly. So strongly that I feel tempted to peek into their schools and see if it is taught in there. The second and stronger belief is that the city is a huge sink and/or commode. You can’t drive half a kilometre without spotting someone relieving themselves or exercising their right to spit with no regard to oncoming traffic – on wheel/foot. Before I cry holier than thou, I have this to say to the folks in question – “At least get off the frikkin’ black top and get closer to the bushes, you cavemen!” I wish the traffic woes ended there, but it would be like wishing for Salman to keep his shirt on. I recently encountered this – four guys on a bike, from three glorious generations I think, going by their spectrum of hairlines and dressing styles. Four fully grown men – some more fuller than the others, of course all references are to the physical side of things. It was a couple of minutes past sundown. Just about the time sensible drivers turned on their headlights, but our quartet don’t fit the description. The bike comes hurtling downhill, no lights...and on the wrong side of the road! C’mon guys, give fate a fighting chance, you morons!! Here’s the kicker – they do all this with a cop as witness. Top that, I say!

Phew! There, venting done. Sadly, my daily dose of exhilaration is yelling expletives at these ‘believers.’ I promise myself that I need to relax, ‘cos yelling ain’t the solution. So, I’m starting my campaign by making a flyer that says “Try. Your headlights can operate in low beam as well. See, I told you!” Followed by “I know you have to go that bad, just move into the bushes a tad!”

Bored room calling M3: "Come back here you lil fella. Listen to what I'm sayin'. I know it all. See my wisdom hair? Got any? No? I didn't think so. Run along."

Night of Travesties

2009-03-03T13:14:00.000-08:00

Well, our night of travesties was not quite like Harold & Kumar go to White Castle, but certainly had a burger-chasing flavor of its own.

Q. What do MBAs in the current gloom and doom situation do to entertain themselves?

A. They drive 23 kilometers to the airport at 2 a.m. to eat a burger under the golden arches.

The hotshot (some more shot than hot) MBA characters – Al, Ozzy, Smoothie, The “I”, and yours truly.

Ozzy: “Let’s go get a burger man.”
The rest (in various levels of inebriation): “What?”
Ozzy: “Man, seriously, let’s go.”
Smoothie: “Let’s go to the airport dude!”
Al: “Oh yeah, let’s go to the airport. I so like driving on that road.”
Most of the rest: “Ok, let’s do it!”
The I: “Man, this is just ridiculous. Ok, let’s go.”

So, we head out to the airport with Smoothie at the wheel with his right foot flooring the gas pedal, which was in response to an earlier comment about his driving resembling an octogenarian’s. The ride seemed short, with Ozzy playing the DJ, Al looking out the window at rock formations (apparently, in pitch darkness) and The I following the car’s high beam chewing on his nails. We get to the airport and park. Then we park again. Trying to get as close to the arches as possible. As we walk up to McD, our man Ronald McDonald is spotted sitting on the bench, much to The I’s chagrin. We order, pick up and sit outside to relish our burgers. The I, fortunately for us, has a clear view of Ron McD. Amidst talks of placements, or the lack of it this year, The I gets into his act.

The I: “This is ridiculous!”
The rest: “What?”
The I: “People are sitting next to Ronald McDonald and taking pictures. I can’t believe it!”
The rest: “Dude, let go. He’s a clown, people like clowns.”
The I: “But four of them on that bench, I mean, c’mon!”

We go back to placements, past careers, future plans…

The I: “Oh, for crying out loud, there’s a guy running his hand up and down Ronald’s legs.”
The rest: “Really?”
The I: “Oh please, this is just ridiculous”
Smoothie: “Is Ronald McDonald the clown’s name or the owner’s name?”
Ozzy: “The owner…well no, I think it’s the clown”
Al: “I don’t care. Why is my cup of hot chocolate half-full?”
Smoothie: “That’s why I always order things served in a transparent glass.”

Then we finish eating and head back to the parking lot…when The I spots a dude dressed in shorty shorts wearing a garland, and what appeared to be sunglasses(?). We hear his customary “This is ridiculous!” in the distance. As we keep walking, one more expression of The I’s displeasure is heard. This time it is directed at a man sprawled on the lawn doing something with his cell phone. We keep walking and reach the car…just in time to find someone parked next to us at a 45 degree angle.

The I: “You’ve got to be shitting me. What was he thinking when he parked?”

After one more round of laughs, we get in the car. With Al at the wheel trying to better Smoothie’s time, we head back to campus. The I has the final word - “This was a night of travesties!”, he sighs as he goes back to following the car’s beam and finishing up on the remainder of his nails.

Whirlwind, catch up!

2008-05-16T13:30:00.000-07:00

It’s been a wild ride so far at ISB. I’ve been here for just over a month, but it feels like I’ve been hanging here since they wrote the vedas. The path to school, the view from my student village, the café, the classroom…seem to be seared in my memory, partial credit due to the Hyderabad heat. Goodness gracious, it is HOT out here! I had my coat on when I boarded and good ole modesty prevented me from totally disrobing when I landed here. The orientation week was the most fun I’ve had so far in Nizamland. The alumni (’08) were so into organizing the week’s activities and did a great job breaking us in. They’re an insanely talented bunch who set the bar so high in pretty much everything. I’m sure that the current crop is equally good, but mainly thinking about next year’s harvest week at this point!

I was worried that the transition back to school after a long break would not be easy…but now I’m worried that it may be over before I do anything about it. Anyway, I hope to be a regular blogger post mid-term. Yes, mid-term! Already got done with a couple of exams today. One went fine, but I don’t have a warm fuzzy feeling about the other…and don’t really know what hit me. It just felt like a cargo plane from Massachusetts decided to unload a ton of bricks on me ;-)

Excited about tomorrow ‘cos we plan to venture into the world of mortals who btw have no clue that we control their levels of satisfaction oh so indifferently with a curve, and their needs and desires with a line. For those of you (non Economics majors) who don’t understand what on earth I’m talking about, trust me – I don’t either! All I’m looking forward to is hitting this place so aptly called "Liquids" in Banjara Hills tomorrow. That’s it baby, living my life one weekend at a time – nice, slow, easy and not too sober if I can help it.

A big shout out to Nate...if you still read my blog.

It takes two to “Tangoe”

2008-03-07T18:04:00.000-08:00

I love customer service representatives! Yes, what’s not to love? After pushing every button on your phone and being put on hold due to extremely high call volumes at 3:00 am, you get to talk to an individual with Socratesque wisdom. True conversation follows…with thoughts in italics.

Socratease: “Sir, for your own security, can you spell your name?”

Me: What a relief to put my security in your hands, and that too with a code this strong! I start off…”S.A.T.I.S.H”

Socratease: “Sir, I have S.H.C.I.S.A”

Me: I feel sorry for your condition, whatever dreaded disease that Shcisa may be, but lady let’s try this again…”S-Sierra, A-Alpha, T-Tango, I-India, S-Sierra, H-Hotel”

Socratease: “Great, and now your last name?”

Me: “T-Tango”(…and interrupted)

Socratease: “T.A.N.G.O.E – Tangoe?”

Me: Right on lady, just call me Shcisa Tangoe. Phew! Just can’t imagine a world wherein you are not in charge of my security! I can sleep for the first time in 6 and a half years without the fear of Islamic terrorists trying to do a balance transfer using my credit card.

On a side bar: Please put my social security contribution to good use Senator McC. Retirement benefits are for wimps anyway. I may not be around for a hundred years, but I see that you have everything figured out. I’m glad that you have been endorsed by the man himself, cause it takes two to tangoe…or tap dance if you can keep up with the Bushman.

Saawariya

2007-12-18T16:44:00.000-08:00

Good lord! What on earth was that Mr. Bhansali? Err...did you take a little help from Lucy, you know, the one in the Sky with Diamonds? Hands down, THE worst movie ever! I was thisclose to breaking my TV, swallowing the DVD whole and pulling out what's left of my hair - all at the same time. One song by Himesh would've done the trick I guess. Thank God for small mercies. I'd rather watch a re-remake of Sholay with Gulshan Grover in a triple role as Jai, Veeru and Thakur...and Bappi-duh in a double role as Gabbar and Basanti. One contraction of advice if you ever feel like making one more movie Mr.Bhansali - DON ' T! For the love of God, my TV, my hair and my digestive system, please don't.

‘Tis the seasoning

2007-12-17T00:42:00.000-08:00

As I bit into my sandwich, I couldn’t help but follow my taste buds as they high-fived the cranial nerve and excited a million neurons. Go Cajun “Tingly” Chicken sandwich! Yes, ‘twas definitely the seasoning. Love ‘em spices. These days I seem to love almost about anything. Maybe ‘tis the season? The lights, the snow, the “family” tree, Sankt Niklaus, the retail madness…’tis all good!

Changing tones, the race for the white house is pretty interesting this time. Most of the contenders have nothing to fear about following the current President’s act. Oh heck, I think I’m one up just for being able to pronounce ‘nuclear’. Black/white, woman/man – who cares? In any case, the white house could certainly use some diplomacy, accountability, and a little less 'redneckism' at a minimum. Not to mention a VP who is not perpetually playing Marco Polo. That’s just my 1/50th of a free falling currency.

Happy Holidays! Send me your wish lists and hang up those stockings! I'm doing my best to fill up that red shirt as I order one more sandwich for the road.

Quick Jeeves, make me a word

2007-10-11T14:04:00.000-07:00

I was walking my dog last night when I ran into my neighbour doing the same thing. Very nice fella. Has a smile that competes with the xenon lights on his Bayerische Motoren Werke. Our conversation usually begins with sports, and drifts towards dog training, diet, dog this, dog that. Yesterday, our man summarizes a story with "...from humantality to animality." Now, I am easily amused by such creativity, but did I dare express myself in front of him? Well, I did not. Mainly because I love my life for the most part, and he happens to be a professional football player. I didn't want 220lbs of pure muscle coming at me. Even if the reflexes I developed in high school as a ping pong player kicked in (yeah baby, I was an athlete too :-D)...and even if I'd managed to dodge him, his second line of offense would've had me for an post-dinner snack. Yes, like all his other NFL buddies, his contract needs him to own a pitbull! Discretion is the better part of valour, I explained to my dog on the way home. He wagged in agreement.

Anybody up there?

2007-08-27T20:16:00.000-07:00

"God, please forgive me. When I try to raise my thoughts to heaven, there is such convicting emptiness that those very thoughts return like sharp knives and hurt my soul. I am told God loves me, and yet the reality of darkness and coldness and emptiness is so great that nothing touches my soul. Did I make a mistake in surrendering blindly to the call of the sacred heart?"
– Mother Teresa’s letter to Jesus.

“Crisis of faith,” they write…about Mother Teresa? I have gone through my own crises of faith – from being religious to being an atheist, from following spiritual leaders to being an agnostic, from experimenting to blindly accepting…you pick a point in the spectrum, I’ve parked my slider there. Sometimes I wonder if faith is necessary, or you merely follow your calling. Does it matter? I think not. Not if you’re Mother Teresa. Not if you’ve put humanity above all your beliefs, and notions of the maker/the intelligent designer/the supernatural.

Black Beauty

2007-07-11T18:06:00.000-07:00

My hiatus from blogosphere can be attributed to the new addition to my family - a luvvly black Deutsche Dogge, Romeo. Should’ve named him Centaur, ‘cos his expressions are so human and the boy’s got the body of a pony! When I walk him around the neighborhood, I constantly hear “Did he come with a saddle?” Yeah, the handsome hunk is THAT big, but nowhere close to being fully-grown. He keeps me busy, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. My other black beauty, a VW Jetta, is taking a good bit of my time, and I don’t regret that either. Full story? Here goes:

I put my car up for sale a month ago. Did the usual stuff – washed, polished, removed crumbs from 2001, and advertised on 3 major websites. Little did I know what was to follow. Come weekend and I turn off comedy central to answer my phone, ‘cos baby, this is real, live entertainment…at least the way it goes on in my head. A snippet perhaps? I don’t see why not!

Prospective Buyer (PB): “ Are you close to your car?”
Me: “Err…I don’t kiss it goodnight, but I am pretty close. Why do you ask?”
PB: “Can you give me the date of manufacture?”
Me: “A what?? OK hold on. On the engine it says 6/1/2001 and looks like a signature…Pedro maybe. While I’m at it, would you like me to read off the expiry date as well?”

PB2: “Any major accidents?”
Me: “No. Just one minor parking lot incident. That’s been fixed.”
PB2: “Any scratches on the car?”
Me: “Are you kidding me? I drove around for 106,000 miles with the protective plastic film that came with the new car.”

PB3: “Does it have a moonroof?”
Me: ”Does it say in the ad that it has a moonroof? BTW, watch the road while you drive, you moron!”

PB4: “I don’t have $6,750. All I have is $5,500.”
Me: “The private party value is $7,100. I can give you a discount of $800 on that price. That should take care of the timing belt replacement. That’s my final offer”
PB4: “ OK, so you are willing to sell it for $5,500 then?”
Me: “Sure! Go ahead and keep the change…and enroll your illiterate ass in a basic math course.”

PB5: “Nice car!”
Me: “Thanks! Here’s the key. Feel free to test drive it to your satisfaction”
PB5: “No, that’s OK. I have driven Jettas before.”
Me: “What?? Next!”

PB6:”Tell me what’s wrong with your car. I want it for my kid, so safety is very important.”
Me: “Sure, I understand. I put your kid’s life above mine. I drive to get killed.”

PB7: “Is the car in running condition?”
Me: “Yes. I drive it to work at least once a week.”
PB7: “How about the transmission?”
Me: “I get by with neutral, and sometimes use reverse.”

People are strange. I like that.

Some beach, somewhere.

2007-02-27T21:09:00.000-08:00

Have you ever driven three hours (one way) to get to a meeting in the boonies that lasted for three hours, although your involvement was all of TEN minutes? That too the first ten minutes? (Variants not readily accepted). Well, I know I’m asking for too much. You don’t have my job…and neither will I for long, 'cos I was ten minutes late this morning! Well, no big deal. It’s just a matter of flipping back a few pages for a solid, earth-shattering, life-altering “no comments” from me. Yup, that’s my job!

Anyway, the drive back from such meetings is always interesting. The usual course of events, a play by play, is as follows– Fiddle with the iPod and FM transmitter. Static. Fiddle some more. Static. Give up. Music plays. Ah! Nice. But not for long. Damn! Charge the iPod? Shoot! Look for charger. Blind dip the whole of back seat. Fudge, where is it? Ah, in the trunk! Why? Stupid. OK! Switch to radio…and then the fun starts.

Down in the boonies you don’t get dem too many ‘outside’ radio stations. All dem good ole boys listen to some good ole country music. Der any oder kinda music? Heck no! So I pretend I’m a…you know, a good ole boy drivin’ his beat-up truh-uck. It’s interesting. A different way of life. They sing about mundane things but usually add a twist to the song they’re singing that changes my whole perception of country music...and I look past the uncanny similarity in their voices and the music. Say this Blake Shelton song I was listening to - clever, very.

Driving down the interstate
 Running thirty minutes late
 Singing Margaritaville and minding my own
 Some foreign car driver dude with the road rage attitude
 Pulled up beside me talking on his cell phone
 He started yelling at me like I did something wrong
 He flipped me the bird an' then he was gone.

 Some beach, Somewhere
 There's a big umbrella casting shade over a empty chair
 Palm trees are growing and a warm breezes a blowing
 I picture myself right there
 On Some beach, somewhere.

LOL! I didn’t get it right away either. But it helped that I listened to the actual song.

Anyway, there’s more to this than the song or station. I sometimes do make fun of stereotypes, and I laugh when "my type" is made fun of too. But, I can tell good-natured humor from humor laced with hatred. Why this jarring transition from radio stations to stereotypes, hatred etc.? Just the other day I was listening to my favorite radio station. They had a comedian who came on the show and picked on the call center folks in India (Yes, I know! Can we ever move on?). The usual lame attempt at an Indian...almost Middle Eastern accent, generous references to goats, camels and other livestock were his props so to speak. He went on to say that all of "them call center fellows" in India need to be fired and the jobs given back to hardworking Americans. Well, clearly he was one of those high school dropouts who couldn't spot Iraq on a map, hated the president but supported the troops, hated foreigners but bought a Japanese car...you get the idea. Try selling capitalism, globalization to Mr. Comedian. I bet you he'd buy it if it came in a 4x4 version with monster tyres (yeah, I'm tired of spelling it tires). As long as we recognize the existence of other cultures, the possibility of a whole other way of life, and a history that has paved its course, we can make tolerance look like a bad word. As for the comedian - some beach, somewhere!

Utterly Butterly

2007-02-12T19:19:00.001-08:00

Crossed the Atlantic twice in less than a fortnight. My yearly pilgrimage to "Pub City" (more like BPO city now) was a lot shorter than usual, than desired. Much has been said and written about the changing culture and landscape of Bangalore. So, I shall not get on that soapbox. Although I might get my little toe on it and say how ridiculously expensive it would be if you choose to place your soapbox in some parts of the town…correction, ANY part of the town. 'Real' estate? Un'freakin'real! I was checking my pulse at the mention of real estate prices in parts of the city I didn't even know existed! Who's buying all that land? Who are these people? Where are they coming from? What do they want from my city? …and more importantly, why did they name the circle close to my property after Deve Gowda's wife? This Gowda dude grabs most of Bangalore, while his sons grab the rest back from Bangarappa. Ouch!! My toe hurts! I'ma get off the box for now, but will revisit this soon. You better watch out Gowda. I don't like Deve you or your sons behave ra, poriki rascal.

Hmmm…about my trip? I was forced to fly a certain airline although I'd sworn 5 years ago that I'd never do it again. No regrets whatsoevva, miles or not! Why? Here you go –

The stewardess (who BTW is not fit to be cast in a B-grade movie as an extra) is busy handing out lunch…maybe dinner? Who knows, who cares? In a world of pressurized cabins and shared armrests, just bring down the blinds and bring out the bite-sized feast. I get mine. Aight babe, let's get this going now. Here's a dinner roll. Prior experience tells me that if I can find that butter and place it on the hot food I can get it to melt - golden! After a few moments of playing lift, look, poke, read, smell, I give up.

Me: "Excuse me, can I get some butter?"
Flight Fairy: "Sure sir."
Time elapsed: 1 minute
FF:" Sir, we don't serve butter."
Me: "Why not?"
FF: "The meal trays are set sir, we just don't serve butter with this meal."
Me (discreetly pointing toward a neighbor's tray): "How come he has it?"
FF: "Oh! I'll be right back sir."
Time elapsed: 2 minutes
FF: "Sir, that's a vegetarian meal. We serve butter only with vegetarian meals."
Me: "What?" (Wow lady, you made that up during your catwalk, didn't ya? You should ask for a division switch, policy perhaps?)
Awkward silence
Me (this time pointing to a carnivore neighbor's tray): "How about him? He has chicken as well as butter!"
FF: "Let me check sir."
Time elapsed: 5 minutes
FF: "Here you go sir. Sorry about that."
Me: "Thank you!"

Boy, I had to fight for every damn delicious calorie. It was a cause worth fighting for… for me, and for my people in the economy class. I don't feel inferior anymore. They can pull their curtains close - those snooty, champagne drinking 'first-class' morons in their recline-all-you-want seats, and their plush-and-only-for-me armrests. I am a winner, and nobody can make me feel otherwise! On that note, I shall hit pause for now, and hopefully write more often this year. Ciao!

Radio activity

2006-11-30T18:50:00.000-08:00

On my way to work every morning, if I'm not listening to NPR, I tune in to my favorite radio station, 98 Rock. They play so many twisted tunes and spoofs that it is hard to tell which one's a real commercial...I've heard so many, but this one cracked me up!!

Characters:

JIB-> Employee of Jack in the box, a fast food restaurant

DT -> Drive-thru customer (a little slow...bordering retard)

_______________________________________________

JIB: "Welcome to Jack in the box, may I take your order please?"

DT: "Yeah, uhh, can I get some fries?"

JIB: "Sorry sir, we are out of fries. Can I get you something else?"

DT: "Uhh, hmmm…can I get some fries please"

JIB: "Listen pal, I told you we’re out of f#&$*n fries, can I get you something else?"

DT: "Hmmm…can I get some fries please"

JIB: "Alright Einstein, listen up carefully. Tell me who put the 'straw' in strawberry?"

DT: "Huh?…I’m guessing it’s you??"

JIB: "You got that right pal! Now, tell me who put the 'ape' in apricot?"

DT: "Uhh…you?"

JIB: "Right again! You're on a roll! Now, who put the 'freak' in fries?"

DT: "Err…What? There’s no freak in fries!"

JIB: "Exactly! That’s what I’m trying to tell you. There’s no freakin’ fries!!! Move on, and have a good day sir!"

LOL!!

It's a scam, scam world!

2006-11-26T01:31:00.000-08:00

One lazy afternoon at work –

Buddy at work (B1), looking at my notepad: “Boy, whose writing is this? Should’ve been a doc bro!”

Me: “Far out bro! Maybe a terrorist. Get an Arabic translator, you’ll be fine.”

B2: “Seriously though, how do pharmacists decipher docs’ writing?”

Me: “They don’t, really! They just make up stuff and give you pills.”

B1: “That’s homeopathy dude. All ailments, same cure!”

Me: “Allopathy is no different dude. They’re just more creative with the shape, size, and color of their pills. That’s all.”

B2: “LOL!! Yeah right! Like it’s a conspiracy theory!”

Me: “True, very true! They’re pulling cashmere over all our eyes bro!”

B1: “What about the surgeons? Is that a con job too?”

Me: “Why do you think they hide behind those masks? Those soft-spoken, well-dressed, Merc-driving tricksters…Hipprocates’ henchmen –every one of ‘em!”

B1: ”Are you sure you’re not arguing just for the sake of it?”

Me: “Not too sure, but possibly, yeah…perhaps!?!”

That’s just to give you folks an idea of what we do when we’re not out there making the roads safer. Speaking of safer roads, boy was I THIS close to getting into trouble earlier tonight! I had one too many of ‘em fancy cognacs at B1’s place. On the borderline of an overnight detention, but just about right to make me happy…and deaf, apparently! Yeah, I was listening to Maiden’s “Afraid to shoot strangers” at a decibel level normally outside the range of human tolerance. My alert systems were turned off, but fortunately for me, my right foot was not keeping up with the decibel level. A cop whizzed by, clueless li'l bugger! Thank you Goddess Akhilandeswari! I can’t afford any more traffic tickets!!

Not to digress from finishing my earlier post, but boy it’s been hectic around here. Whatever time I get (that might as well be unaccounted for), I orkut! That’s worse than smoking weed! It’s so addictive that sometimes I put out half a joint just to orkut ;-) Just kidding!

(The above blog is not at all meant to belittle the (very noble) medical profession. For the record, I’m a big fan of all docs, and I know better than to insult someone with a scalpel in his hand…especially when I’m drugged …and in a flimsy, backless hospital gown! Reminds me of Jack Nicholson in "Something's gotta give" :-D)

My Sestinability

2006-09-30T05:10:00.000-07:00

Inspired by Driftwood's Sestina, I dabbled in some structured writing!
Google or wiki “Sestina” to get an idea of what it is…just so you know how far I’ve wandered from “sestining”.

My choice of "sentencenders" are:
1. Wish
2. Eyes
3. Game
4. Silhouette
5. Pleasure
6. Eternity

…what on earth was I thinking?? I guess we’ll never know. Miss you Freud!! Aite, read on.

Mood lights, soft whisper, tender touch, make a wish
Your breath on my face, your hair in my eyes
Lead me on, turn me on, and lure me into your game
As the moon devours you, I follow your silhouette
To the depths of darkness, the heights of pleasure
Let the moment linger, baby let’s stretch this to eternity.

Cut to five years later…geez! It does seem like eternity
I need to find a freakin’ genie just to make one darned wish
Kids are fun, kids are cute, kids are a pleasure
Yeah right!! Take those rose-colored lenses off your eyes
No sleep, no friends, just me and my unflattering silhouette
My only physical activity-“Throw the diaper in the bin” game

More years go by, and mid-life crisis is the name of the game
What is really the “mid” when you wish for eternity?
Damn my neighbors, on their driveway I see a Porsche’s silhouette
surely the creeps must’ve recently inherited a fortune, hmm, I wish…
But oh well, at least now the mad-for-nothing wife talks only with her eyes
Thank you, I can now enjoy my 15 years single malt in silence! Ah, pleasure!

Music is divine, music is enriching, music is pleasure
I tell my kids while driving them to their soccer game
Classic rock on the radio, I rock, and they roll…their eyes
I get my laughs and revenge watching their team lose to “Alien Eternity”
We ride back home after fulfilling their ice cream wish
Wife’s tuned to her favorite show: 21 Forever-Skin, hair & silhouette

...to be continued!

Huffing and puffing, I paused here about a month ago. I guess I’ma wait here and rest a li’l bit before I wrap this up. The tortoise ain’t nowhere in sight…maybe I’ll take a nap!

Careful, hon!

2006-08-21T16:35:00.000-07:00

It’s loud, this hurried hearbeat.
It’s different, with no walls.
It’s strange, my own street I fail to recognize.
It’s scary, these men I’ve never seen on my street.
It’s unfamiliar, the look in your eyes.
It’s unnerving, when you don’t answer me.
It’s blood-curdling, your voice and stance.
It’s …it’s…
It’s dark, all of a sudden.
It’s warm, when I rest on your bosom.
It’s wet, as life flows out of you in a hurry.
It’s silent, my last scream.

A Screen is a screen is a...what the heck?

2006-07-24T20:09:00.000-07:00

Just got back from an electronics store, and my jaw hurts. Yeah, after the drool-behave; impulse-resist; plastic itch-don’t scratch fest, I dragged myself home – a tad sad, but not any poorer. O Ganga mayya!! The TVs they manufacture now!! Makes my current TV look like a handheld, and me a peasant who doesn’t know his EDTV from HDTV, or DLP from XBR for that matter. Growing up, I remember there were only 2 kinds of TVs – Colour and Black & White. I knew them both, could tell them apart, and was at the helm of technology.

Flashback:
The first colour TVs in the neighbourhood obviously had to be owned by the most annoying kids with runny noses, and you had to make the call if cricket in colour was worth giving them the home ground advantage, and enduring the mucus marathon. It was either that or trying to slide open the mammoth wooden doors of the “TV box” without waking up grandpa…yeah, right! NoGo on the latter, even ninjas couldn’t get past the man who slept with his eyes, mouth and ears open. So, getting “Muked” was the only way to cricket in colour. I did try to drop some hints by taking a kerchief along, feigning a cold and WIPING…just so that the Mukemen could see, learn, and apply. Tough luck!

Anyway, coming back to the TV scene, it’s raining new models. I guess I completely missed one whole generation of TV technology. Maybe because I spend more time in front of the computer…until recently that is. We added Zee TV to our already inflated cable bill, and I’ve been doing some serious watching to make up for it. The best part? – Commercials! Ajmeri Baba promising to solve all your problems in 7 days or your money back, Himesh Nasalmmiya promoting his tour- word by word between blasts of “tera tera tera suroooooor” and “ek baar aaja aaja aaja aaja aaaaja!!”

Most interesting program so far – Indian version of Fear Factor+Ripleys – “Shabaash India.” Misnomer! Unless we want to be praised for uhh…read on. This program provides a platform for weird dudes trying…well, their normal stuff. Like this one dude who ate 5 freakinluscent tube lights in 9 minutes…spitting out blood and bits of his tongue, followed by a dude who painted with his face (actually a mask contraption) while doing handstands, and then this young guy who walked on a beam 2 inches wide to get from one building to the other (I think it was 8 storeys high, although IMO he needed to do at least 80…without a harness to beat the craziness of the tubelight fella.)

That’s the update. Will blog soon…maybe from my own island! After all, all my problems will be solved in just two more days. Yeah, I called Ajmeri Baba 5 days ago!

The life and times of Scammy

2006-07-06T21:16:00.000-07:00

Have you ever met someone with an I.Q. of that of a dried banana peel, or a defunct fire hydrant? Meet Scammy.

Have you ever been in a conversation with someone who’d put a stuck record to shame, and makes you realize that reading lips is not hard when your eardrums are resonating with the same friggin-quency for the last hour or so? Meet Scammy, again.

Has anyone at work pushed you to jab a pencil in your ear, pound a dozen whiteouts, and hang yourself from the false ceiling with your mouse cord? Oh for the love of Goddess Abhirami, meet Scammy!

I need to breathe now, take a timeout, consider anger management, and put a good defense attorney’s number on my speed dial…and maybe a bail bondsman too. Or else, I’d be writing from cell block D with a stink that reaches the warden’s house past the moat. You’re darned right! No shower -> no soap -> no soap slipping ->no reaching for it-> no ahem…no-no! M3 ain’t going down like that.

Sorry, I took off on a tangent. Now, coming back to the said manure sans nutrients – Scammy. Where do I start? He is an ‘engineer’ who ‘works’ in our division, and by a heavy stroke of misfortune (or His weird sense of humor), sits right next to me…actually separated by a thin partition wall that can be easily circumvented by a quick pushback move on his chair – the Scammobile. I am currently watching Ali and working on my powerpunch. And yeah, a day will dawn when you can hear the crickets and see the big hole in the partition wall. When that happens, I will go down in the division’s history books as the Savior. The state will put tax payer’s money to better use, thousands of gallons of whiteouts will serve their actual purpose, and the false ceilings will stay. The only flipside to all of this - Novell would lose its one and only admirer of the ctrl-alt-del screen! For real, this man stares at the login screen from 8:00 am till about 10:00 am EVERY SINGLE DAY!! Hmmm, maybe that’s a subliminal message board. Who knows?...or as one of my coworkers explains “Scammy must be trying to figure out how to hit all 3 buttons at the same time.” LOL!!!

Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, someone taped his office phone. The phone rang during his subliminal message board reading hours. He picks up the receiver and says the usual “This is Scammy, blah de blah blah.”

But the phone still keeps ringing. :-) Isaac Scammy figures it out 20 minutes later.

Scammy: “Guys, who did this??”
We: “The what? Who???”
Scammy: “This is not funny! Why would someone do that?”
Me: (in thoughts only): “You have no idea how funny this is Scamboy. I’m sure you’ll enjoy this more than my other trick that’ll leave my knuckles smelling of your aftershave. Oh, it’s coming baby. I just need to put in a few speed dial numbers and your number will be up. Until then, enjoy your ctrl-alt-del”

Whom did you sing to?

2006-06-20T22:35:00.000-07:00

Your dwindling song hangs in faded tunes
consoling your callused heart, a forlorn soul
Whom did you sing to all your waking moments?

When in your long, silky mane his face found paradise
When on your bosom he carved his undying love
You sang – your words walked down the aisle, your tune held your train

When on your lips he wrote poetry
When your every blink denied him bliss
You sang – your words a bright light, your tune wiped away shadows

When love was a shade you could no longer elicit
When you persisted and bled to paint the perfect sunset
You sang – your words a salve, your tune relived your past

When you questioned the mirror and counted time on your face
When your reflection was real, you felt imaginary
You sang – your words an angry submission, your tune perfunctory

When you woke up and wiped away tears your dreams wept
When your sorrows rose above the horizon and shone on you alone
You sang – your words silent tears, your tune lost in the mist

Home, Schweiz home.

2006-06-15T18:38:00.000-07:00

It's been a little crazy around here. Let's just say that it felt like an XL life trying to fit into an XS time frame. We moved to our new home, bought and set up new furniture, had a housewarming party, went on our honeymoon to Switzerland...all in the four abnormally short weeks May had to offer. Some of the work around the house tired me out, and technically earned me 10 weekends of doing nothing but enriching the plushness of the couch, watching TV, and drinking Guinness! Nothing else! Simple, perfect...impossible! Anyway, I'm comfortably catching up on my 40 bonus winks at a week-long training course I'm currently attending. It's a pity, 'cos the instructor is so passionate about this course, and the man has a Ph.D. from Stanford! He's probably the best teacher I've ever had. Sometimes I feel guilty doing it. Hmmm, no, not really. Who am I kidding- nodding off is my birthright and I shall have it!

Our trip to Schweiz/Suisse/Svizzera/Switzerland was amazing! The country is sooo beautiful that it seems like God compressed all of nature's beauty and placed it there. Trust me, the place has enough beauty to go around the world...at least twice. The country has even inspired me to start a new religion - Swisslam. Not to be confused with our competitors with a similar sounding name, this is the real stuff. Now, for the simple tenets of Swisslam –

1. God is one… or a multiple thereof.
2. Music is prayer. Your devotion is directly proportional to the volume of your prayers.
3. World peace comes from within. So, think the world of yourself.
4. Now for the main item - If you behave like you ought to (see me for a quick reference manual), you will get to spend your retirement in Switzerland – Jannat on earth. No need to blow up anything, especially your own guts, to get to heaven. (Yeah, I know! They tricked you galeej losers!! You didn’t read their gothcha! sized print)

At the outset, we'll throw in a couple of testament versions, say one by our first messiah St. Jim Morrison, and the other by St. Roger Waters. More individuals will attain sainthood shortly. I’m thinking if Mr. Dan Brown writes a book about our religion, we’ll get the publicity we need. Meanwhile, I’ll put the commandment writing on the back burner while you nice folks spread the word. Hmm, so you feeling it yet? I hope you do. You can even save a bunch of money by switching over to Swisslam!

Requesting reality check, over. M3 off target, over. Reset,over. M3 returning to reality, over.

Those folks around the Alps are so darned multi-lingual that I felt like Muddenahalli Muniswamy in Mumbai for the first time. We got things done with English at most places, except for a few stray incidents:

Me (at a fast food restaurant): “Can you tell me where the nearest ATM is?”

Swiss Burger Boy: “No, no. We use only sunflower oil. Yeah, yeah.”

Me: “OK! Nice to know. Keep ‘em fries swimming in your sunflower oil. I’ll be back with some cash to super size my ATM-free meal. How does that sound?”

I know!! I am mean …but coming to think of it, this Swiss boy was specially assigned to us after Heidi at the counter drew a blank when I said “Number 4, please…and do you accept credit cards?” Durrty gurl, gave me durrty looks. I had to try hard to keep my Muniswamy personality under control. Good for her, she moved to the next counter where the claws of English would not reach her.

Anyway, I’ve got to go now…and treat the wound of ignorance the training has exposed.

Ciao!

Musigicians

2006-04-21T16:12:00.000-07:00

Innovation . Talent . Passion . Fusion . Harmony . Indian Ocean . The Band.

It is my belief that way out there…way, way out there, music shares a boundary with magic. There are a few who walk the border, and even fewer who make the border disappear. That’s right, just plain disappear! Read on about four such ‘musigicians’ from the band Indian Ocean.

Susmit Sen - Guitar Maestro!
He’ll floor you with his talent! The man knows every inch of his guitar and he’ll visit them all…with a perpetual wry smile to acknowledge your dropped jaw.

Rahul Ram - Bass guitar, Vocals.
He has a voice to die for, an amazing stage presence, and the man is F.U.N.N.Y.!! …the quintessential entertainer.

Asheem Chakravarty - Vocals, Tabla.
Perfectionist! They call him “The man with the golden voice”. Well, he leaves the title far, far behind! His voice is powerful enough…to light a lamp, to make it rain…the man can do it, trust me!

Amit Kilam – Drums
Young, flamboyant drummer. His heart pumps more talent than blood! He can really play any instrument, or any…thing, ANYTHING! Give him an empty soda can and chopsticks, grab a beer and enjoy the music.

For more, go to http://www.indianoceanmusic.com/

It's easy for you

2006-04-16T17:42:00.000-07:00

Running through your meadows, I trip and fall
Your laughter in echoes, mockery a cappella
My heart’s rhythmic response, a transient tempo
I rest on your bosom, in your dark embrace
My back to the rest of you, my silent protest
I grasp the end of your ostentatious rainbow
Fidgeting with fate, I rise again and walk
in search of your intimidating heights, formidable depths
Grim winds nudge me closer and shield my eyes
from seeing the form you gave my last image
My toes run out of ground, I laugh
It’s just another stroke of your brush, my destiny.

In memory of Kiran

2006-03-27T13:39:00.000-08:00

Kiran Thimmegowda
11/20/1977 - 03/26/2006

My dear friend Kiran has moved on from this world. I have not seen anyone do more justice to the phrase “Live fast, die young.” For each word I write here, I am searching for a million more. His spirit of adventure, sense of humour, kind heart and willingness to help total strangers – are impossible to match.

He still makes me laugh – when I think about the time we were put up at some total stranger’s place for the night he raided the refrigerator like he owned it. He didn’t even spare the grape juice concentrate! I remember how he psyched people by moving his temporary dentures with his tongue. I remember the afro wig he carried in his car and used on demand. I remember how he replied to my inquisitive neighbour, a Telugu speaking person, totally in Kannada with some funny suffixes to make it sound like Telugu. He’d have pulled it off too, if not for me splitting my sides.

He is in a better place now, touching lives there. He would not want you to cry…he would not let you. All I pray for today is to make more of his kind. May his soul rest in peace.

Happiness 101

2006-03-23T18:28:00.001-08:00

The most popular course at Harvard this semester teaches happiness!

“Every Tuesday and Thursday at 11:30 a.m., students crowd into Sanders Theatre to learn about creating, as the course description puts it, ''a fulfilling and flourishing life," courtesy of the booming new area of psychology that focuses on what makes people feel good rather than the pathologies that can make them feel miserable.”

For the entire article, go to this LINK

I heard about this course on NPR, and wanted to google it ever since. I’ve always questioned the whole idea of “Creation of a fulfilling & flourishing life” by attending courses, seminars etc. I’m no psych major, but I suspect some ‘Pavlov-bell-dog-salivation’ thing going on here (ahem…there you go, that’s the length, breadth and depth of my psych knowledge.) Do we really need a conditioned stimulus to produce a happiness response…and fill up every cubic inch of our life with only happiness? Do we need someone to tell us what will, or should make us happy? What about other emotions and experiences? I’d rather live a ‘complete’ life, on my own loose, convenient terms. Yes! Lord Saturn - my scriptwriter & also my ruling planet…you’re fired! I’m going impromptu. Anyway, that’s just me…and I’ve got scars to prove it.

(p.s.: Lord Saturn, you know I'm kidding right. Fired??? Far from it. Guess who got a 50% hike and a spot bonus?)

Bingo!

2006-03-15T21:02:00.000-08:00

One…Seven…Seventeen, the dancing queen.
Seven…seven, lucky seven.
Three…three, cup of tea.

and Bingo!! I got married!

Yes, on the 17th of last month, I did the seven pheras and tied ‘em three tight knots! The lucky lady is TruthFairy!

After wallowing in Shangri-La (namma Bengalooru) for longer than my boss would’ve approved, I got off the La Amistad last week. Nice immigration officer. Said they need more folks like me…duh!! Who wouldn’t instantly trust and fall in love with a disheveled, stinky, jetlagged, trans-Atlantic traveler. Hmmm, although the security check fellow at the airport back home respectfully asked me “Sir, are you carrying a small knife?” Well, sometimes staring at X-ray machines for 10 hours a day can be taxing, and sometimes you could use a shiny Parker to stab folks who ask you annoying questions – good call, security man.

I’m growing up faster than I’d imagined. It’s a nice buzz. Similar to the feeling I got when I was 15 and shot up to flirt with the 6' mark I’d drawn at 20 places around the house. Last month I got married, and this month we put in an offer for buying a condominium, and the seller accepted it. Well, what do you know…M3’s still got it. I made them an offer they couldn’t refuse. (No price horse had to be beheaded, if you must know, you movie-freak! In real life, the mafia is kind to animals.)

Anyway, I am now jumping through hoops, the usual home-buyer's rigamarole, and as they all say, “I signed my life away to my home!” During the contract/mortgage signing marathon..yeah, about 250 places marked with what looked like a retarded alpha, I heard the words of my mortgage consultant – “You fatten the pigs, but slaughter the hogs.” Well, well, well…you just didn’t call me a pig, mister! After all that we've been through to reach my current carpal tunnel situation, how dare you call me a pig? ...oh, oh, like that! I think I completely missed the context. On second thoughts, regardless of the context, I’d rather be called a pig in “Mortgagese”...anything to stay away from the butcher's block.

More soon. I'm back baby, and I'm gonna put rambletown on the map. Stay connected!

Rubicund

2005-11-18T00:41:00.000-08:00

“Underground control, M3 requesting permission to take off”

“M3, Underground control. You are cleared for take off. Right turn to 15Lima-33Romeo”

“Roger, I am rolling”

“Maverick is reengaging, sir!”...:-) always wanted to use it.

Truth Fairy tagged me with this interesting task that brought me out of my hibernation:

1. Flip open a dictionary and point to a word / get word of the day from dictionary.com
2. Type the word into google images.
3. Pick an image that strikes you.
4. Write a 10 line riff off the image.
5. Use the word or the meaning at least once within the first 5 lines.
Tag 3 other bloggers on your list.

Here’s my assignment -
Rubicund \ROO-bih-kund\, adjective:Inclining to redness; ruddy; red.

(What a word! Really wish I had something different. But then, I won’t be able to blame the disaster to follow on anything. So, we shall stick with Rubicund. Of course, we shall modify the other tag rules to make life easy)

Let’s try something here. How about two versions – one in classic rock style and the other in… hip-hop to mix it up a li’l bit, what say? ;-)
Ok, before you read on, listen to ‘Echoes’ from Pink Floyd. Or if you remember the tune, sing it…you’ve got to make it fit, darn it! I ain’t no Roger Waters! (Yeah, like I need to issue that disclaimer)

Distant mountains hide the sun, still the rays come streaking through
and find my soul in its crystal home, on a frozen lake that your fears brew
The rays still weary from the journey settle around the rubicund dream
admiring and praising the ruddy eye of the translucence so serene
As they sigh in their borrowed glow, they know the secrets that the heavens forebode
or so they say until the dusk's last bus takes 'em back to their fiery abode...

Ok, 50 cents , let’s see what ya got. No picture for you, just the word Rubicund...means red-

ma homies n me drivin thru da hood
in ma thug caddy, blingin wheels as it should
got the 22s from ma nigga for a steal
ain’t no niggaz ride if you ride on a lessa wheel
took a wrong turn in downtown baltimo
lip-smacking niggaz rollin dirt, low chip ho
east side thugs got their 38s for da sting
ma homies did their time for all da rollin
booster hustling da blocks, with da rocks for his college fund
benjys for diamonds, blood on ma stone make it rubicund

So, thanks to TF's tag, I surfaced for a breath. I had a few laughs while I was away, just wanted to share it (one for now, more later).

I was having a conversation with this person who had an interesting filler phrase - "something along those lines". It sounded normal when he used it about a dozen times. But I bit my tongue and punched myself in the face to kill my laughter in its infancy when he said " little kids and something along those lines". What was he trying to say there?

Game over

2005-10-20T18:18:00.000-07:00

Thanks for all the love. I'm just gonna kick back and enjoy my bundle of memories, stare at the sun...and just drift away.

Love,
Mace3

I'm a steak

2005-10-13T18:45:00.000-07:00

I get a call from work, quite unexpectedly, given the fact that I'd just pulled out of the parking lot…and I’m pretty sure that I’d picked enough cotton to deserve a good night’s sleep. I answer the call, somehow managing a response in my ‘work voice’ while I picture the counter on my cellphone daytime minutes spin like a tampered rickshaw meter.

“Can you come back for a minute? Something important has come up and ‘S’ wants to see you”…now S is a Russian girl at work, who I’m pretty sure has mob connections.

I park and think if today's the day. Will she make me an offer that I can’t refuse – I've always wanted to work for the mob. Although I like the suits, the food, and the finesse of the Italians, the Russian mob isn’t too bad a place to start. After a few years of work-ex, the Capones will surely look me up.

I walk back into the office switching between my Brando and Pacino expressions, unable to decide which one would clinch the deal.

“S is waiting”, says the secretary, looking confused at my expressions and probably wondering if I’d swallowed a donut and splashed hot coffee on my face.

“I know, I know” ...the voice was calm, the voice was confident, the voice meant business.

“Hey M3, sorry to bug you at this hour” says S.

“Not a problem. What’s up?”…darn!!what’s with the voice??? man, you’ve gotta be kidding me. Just four steps and Pacino decides to leave me…and Pesci takes over?

“blah blah blah…needs a new cable. Can you fix it?” asks S, and I am still mad at Pacino.

“Sure, will be a couple of minutes”…surely you have problems with connections lady – mobs or otherwise! Che, what a letdown! Nevermind, the Russians can't afford me anyway.

I trudge through the hallway trying to hide my face from folks I’d happily said bye to a few minutes ago - just to deprive them of the sinful glee on seeing a colleague being called back…like a toothless welcome smile you’d get from a cell-buddy.

Stealthily, I do the needful and try the exit a second time. I’m stopped by my curious secretary who now has gathered courage on seeing my normal face.

“What was wrong?” she asks, trying hard to swallow the “with your face” part.

“hmmm, nothing serious, I fixed it. Alright, I’m outta here for real. Byes are very short-lived around here. So here goes a Namasté ” I say, with the typical palms-together pose.

“ a…what now? I’m a steak ??” she asks, in an amused-confused-I give up on you-voice.

LOL! "Yes, I’m a steak !!"

Cops, courts and superstars

2005-10-03T21:54:00.000-07:00

I hadn’t heard from the friendly folks at the district court about my speeding ticket as of this morning (yes, the one I wrote about in “Caught with the needle”). I am a regular contributor to the police fund – I average about 1.5 speeding tickets a year…I have even started budgeting this expense every year ;-) . I am quite familiar with their timelines, so I give them a call this morning to see how the fleecing was going on. I go through the usual 30 buttons a minute menu for about 3 minutes before I am treated to some very fine 104.3 FM jazz reject while on hold. I eagerly wait for an ‘agent’ to answer the phone - some flesh, blood, breathing…yes, prayer answered! Although it was an overdose of heavy, heavy breathing, good lord!!! – was she doing one-hand pushups in the sauna? Anyway, I ask her what’s going on and she tries to pull up my record.
“Your citation number?”
I give her the number.
“Last name?”
I patiently spell my 11 alphabeter – “ ______R.A.J.A.N.”
“Doesn’t quite match with what I have (heavier breathing)”
“What do you have?” I ask, navigating between her heavy breaths.
“I have ______R.A.J.N.I. “
“What????”
LOL!!! Must’ve been a telepathic cop who wrote that ticket!! Geez! I even gave him my license to copy the name over. I had half a mind to leave the name as is, but the breath with a voice was on my case “Sir, would you like me to go ahead and change it?”
“Yes”, I say, “please change it.”
Rest of the conversation is pleasant. Nice lady, nice heart…the same cannot be said about her lungs anyway.

I hung up and went to get coffee and found myself saying “Baasha oru thadavai sonnaa, nooru thadavai sonnaa maadhiri” …maybe I should do the swishing jacket thing – there you go. Now, top it off with the sunglass trick. Attaboy!!

Durrty Baayz II

2005-09-27T23:38:00.000-07:00

“As I already told you,…” started Mrs. M, our history teacher. Nothing wrong with the opening line, except that it was a little confusing when she said it the first thing on the first day of classes. The frontbenchers were in a frenzy – what did she just say that we missed? Maybe it’ll appear on the test, maybe I’ll fail, my family is sure to disown me, I’ll end up being a mechanic, oh my god, I can hear Ahmed screaming at me “aye chotu, navva-dassa spanner la re”

The balcony seat occupants were seen scratching their heads – man, this high school stuff flies right past you. Couldn’t register a word she said. Maybe I should just quit all this and be a cool mechanic. Wonder if chicks dig mechanics...

Math followed history, and Mrs. KV did a splendid job of restoring faith in the frontbenchers, and reinforcing the mechanic idea in the balcony seats. Mrs. KV was an awesome teacher, and usually had people come up (in the order that they were seated) to the blackboard and work out math problems. Shyama was busy counting heads to see when it would be his turn so that he could fall sick and take the day off, while Roopi planned a covert relocation operation to join those who had already passed through the pearly gates. Shetty was giving a crash course to those around him, and Rosh’s long-range vision scanned the girl’s notebooks for solutions. When the bell rang, the latter rings were drowned by the sound of our collective exhalation.

Break!! Time to have fun, and get durrty!

Kulla, now unshackled, ran in the hallways like a bull on steroids – goring juniors, breaking switchboards, bulbs, holders…singing “tan ki shakti, mann ki shakti, Bournvita!” Now, if only the building maintenance would've made the connection, they’d have saved thousands of rupees by advising his folks to go easy on the dosage!

Whenever Abhay stepped out of the classroom, the durrty baayz worked with S.W.A.T. efficiency. Every worldly possession of Abhay’s that he dared to bring to school would vanish in seconds -his lunch box in Budda’s bag, his bag on a bungee cord outside the window- genius!! Another durrty baayz original, along with the case of the missing attendance register – you’ve got to hear this:

What do the durrty baayz do when they run out of headache, fever, cold, cough excuses? You just can’t afford to miss cricket matches, can you? OK, here goes plan A: Jump the wall guarded by Bahadur, who should actually be head of security, Tihar Jail. Man, he had the eyes of a thousand hawks. He could pick out the fly that crossed the wall from a lineup. No, not gonna take that route.

Plan B: Proxy? Wouldn’t work. Our teachers knew our voices, our siblings, our parents, our addresses, our neighbors, our pets…hmmm, not gonna fly!

Plan C: Idea! How about just missing classes and taking care of the attendance register later on? Hehehe, brilliant! Cruel grins on the durrty devils. Nobody will know, NOBODY!!!
Of course, they won’t stupid, we’re gonna just fling it outside the window and the elements will degrade it as seems fit. All nasty things must come to an end, right?? Maybe!

If only we knew about projectile paths, factored in drag, expected drastic changes in the path due to the pages flipping, terminal velocity…the task would’ve been, er...dropped. Too late now! The durrty baayz watched in horror as the evidence did its victory flips, laughed mockingly at the dozen big round eyes peering out of the 4th floor window…and landed on the neighboring roof, which as luck would have it, was a slanting asbestos roof. Yes, Murphy’s peg broke its fall and there it was for the whole school to see - the register in a hammock, sipping expensive champagne in its own private island.

Nobody will know, NOBODY!!!

Coming soon: Durrty Baayz III

Durrty Baayz - I

2005-09-19T20:24:00.000-07:00

This one’s dedicated to ‘The Durrty Baayz’ - my best buds from school, so christened by our physical education teacher a.k.a ‘Peetla’.

This one goes back a long way…to the times when Bangalore had 6-digit telephone numbers, Shankarnag’s Chitramandira was Symphony theatre, J.C. road had 2-way traffic, RX 100s ruled the roads, and Banashankari III stage was sooo far away!!...with sites owned by people other than Deve Gowda.

“Oye durrty baayz, do not open yuvar durrrrty mouths I say!” bellowed Peetla from his pedestal just before the daily school assembly/prayer. A bull of a man, he towered over us – a sea of puny little men/big boys in our white & maroon school uniforms. When you heard that bellow, you stood at attention, tucked in your shirt, checked your badge, belt, shoes, nails etc and put on your ‘It wasn’t me, sir’ face. Unfortunately, ‘Kariya’ (blacky) and ‘Kulla’ (shorty) – my buds with unpolitically correct nicknames, were in an engrossing conversation about ‘Benne’(butter), the fair-skinned babe they ogled at everyday after school. Meanwhile, Peetla was making his way towards them... and the maroon sea parted to let him and his swirling cane proceed on the seek & destroy mission. When the boys felt Peetla’s hot breath and his ominous presence, they froze. Too late to put on the face, now it was time to employ the second line of defense as the cane came swishing at their butts– the escape dance!! Bend, twist, arch, lift, step to the left, right, jump and repeat! If that didn’t work, you took one courtesy hit and then faked the subsequent ‘hits’ by rubbing hard and howling with pain – “sir, sir, sir…ayyyoo, ayayo, amma, appa!!”

“Durrty bayzzzzz!!!” resonated...only until we polluted the air with our two standard and one special prayer (which btw was about non-violence, truth and other alien concepts) - all rendered with the competitive vigor of adolescent boys dropping their voice an octave, breaking up midway, and waiting for testosterone to kick the bass up a notch. Great times!

After the vocal festivities, we filed back to the classrooms with Kulla leading the way with great energetic strides, followed by Abhay ( the scapegoat, who’d challenge anything that moved to a race…but shamefully let us down in an inter-school 4x100 relay where he did a slo-mo run to showcase his moves for the benefit of the camera-less audience.) The rest of us tried to catch up – classy KK trying to balance his badge on his shirt pocket (didn’t want to pin it and spoil his shirt you see); Leader Shetty taking care not to ruin the polish on his shoes, thereby his candidacy for school captain; Druglord DP surging ahead flashing his mischievous smile that left you guessing when he’d strike; Shyama in his ‘balloon baggies’ in a serious conversation with Roopi about a new strategy to copy in exams; SSJ worrying about the Hindi homework…until we heard the familiar “yewww!!!” from juniors following us on the stairs. Kulla had struck again!!! An unsuspecting victim on the stairs was hit by the saliva missile!! For years our man had tirelessly practised the 'Generate, Release and Run' technique. Never missed, never caught!

Now that you have a taste of things to come, I'll give you more on the classroom action in my next blog. Now it’s time for a few gems of the durrty baayz:

Shetty to a salesman in a garment store pointing at the trousers rack: “Are these readymade or stitched already?”
Salesman, in all honesty: “Readymade sir”

Roopi to a different salesman in a denim store checking out some white denims (?!!): “Will this fade?”
Unsuspecting salesman: “No sir, guaranteed not to fade”

Y, explaining a complex difference: “Eradu bere bere, andre onde thara, same thara!”
(translated: Both are different, they're like one, essentially the same)

Roopi in one of his deep philosophical moods: “What’s gone…I haven't got!”

Coming soon: Durrty Baayz II

Mystic Lilt

2005-09-08T22:50:00.000-07:00

Strange tongue, your call so soft and tender
Is it a love song, a lullaby, or a lament? – I wonder
Angelic chimes, I hear droplets of bliss drip as you sing
Breathe into my fantasy, drown me in a new awakening
Pamper me, wrap me in your melody, kiss me as we drift away
Touch me with your fragrance, feel me with your eyes, I pray
Love beyond language, passion beyond words, worship beyond prayer
Feeling beyond touch, melody beyond music – will you sing forever?

Cookie Wisdom

2005-09-05T08:29:00.000-07:00

In the past few weeks, I’ve been frequenting Chinese buffets more than I’d like to, thanks to my gluttonous colleagues. Surprisingly, in our immediate landscape, Chinese restaurants outnumber McDonalds – the mighty Mickey D weed that has been fuelling this morbidly obese superpower nation to fill up the generous seats of their monstrous SUVs and trucks. Anyway, coming back to the proliferation of Chinese restaurants, how did this happen? McD’s is known to use business mapping to choose its locations according to this excerpt:

“McDonald's is renowned for making smart decisions about the location of its restaurants. Ever wondered why the Golden Arches can be seen in all the busiest and best locations? It’s because McDonald's uses census data and MapInfo to help choose new sites.”

While McD’s is busy mapping stuff, our Chinese buddies Skee Ming and Boo Fay Chow are making their move. Under the shadow of the monstrous golden arches, Ming and Chow quietly move in with their woks and setup ‘Royal Imperial Buffet’ and ‘China Dragon’. For the price of a super-sized McD’s meal, our friends from China open up lanes of soups, thin and thick noodles, fried rice, steamed rice, dumplings, stir-fried veggies, eggrolls, springrolls, meat cooked in every possible fashion you can imagine, fruits (more melons than you can name), jelly (red, yellow, green and more), cookies, cakes, ice-cream, sushi, shrimp, boiled eggs… stuffed yet? Alright, here’s some friendly advice: leave while you can still move, leave while you can walk with your belt loosened, pants unbuttoned and dignity intact. But hang on, don’t forget to take your fortune cookie. Yes, how about some Confucius and some lucky numbers? Sounds good, the fun never ends! Flip it over and learn a chinese word too. Now, that’s value-addition and culture promotion in a neat little package! Recently I got this message in a cookie: “ Exchanging compliments is intellectual back scratching”. Boy, I can imagine Chow and Ming scratching the hell out of each other’s backs while folks at the golden arches scratch their heads.

A Life's Residuum

2005-09-04T21:24:00.000-07:00

A Sharp pointed fence between my mind and the world
-an unused life for sale...one, two, three, sold!
Fleeting glimpses of the past flow between
streaks of pleasure and pain umpteen.
Love drains, exposing an excruciating void
reduced I stand gathering my pieces, adios meteoroid!
Haply, leaving a macula where promises dwelt,
each wave of contemplation a new end meant
to the odyssey sprinkled with pandemic guilt,
a palpable stream gone - just ruins, silt.
Waiting for another crossroad to turn wrong
Praying for providence, this is getting too long.
Scavenging winds separate me shred by painful shred
I laugh at the absurdity, my heart is all lead
I cry at the obscurity, my heart is broken
the whole was silent, the pieces have spoken.
Don't miss tonight's show at the odeum
Silk Farm Symphony performs 'A Life's Residuum'

Caught with the needle

2005-08-31T20:14:00.000-07:00

… at 20 mph above the speed limit. I’m not a ‘Push the pedal to the metal’ kinda guy, but at times I do let my right foot get heavy. My work involves driving around quite a bit, as a result of which my faculties are right on the money when it comes to spotting cops…or so I thought.

Very broadly, those meanies in uniform can be classified as:

The crouching tiger: Drives a Ford Crown Victoria a.k.a Copmobile (with reflective markings, bigass lights mounted like a tiara, bells, whistles, trumpets…you get the picture) parked arrogantly perpendicular to the direction of travel. Trust me, that’s the attack position- he’s out to get you.

The excited new recruits: Bunch of novices with their copmobiles, lights on, aiming their radar gun right at you to shoot the change out of your pocket.

The territorial fatass: Always hangs out around Dunkin Donuts or Krispy Kreme and lazily looks at you through the donut hole. Harmless waste of taxpayer’s money. In the words of Jerry Seinfeld, “Why do you need garbage men when there are so many cops just hanging out doing nothing? Might as well give them a broom and ask them to sweep, sweep, sweep, catch a criminal, and get back to sweep, sweep, sweep.” Excellent idea!

Moving on, if you take it to the next level, you’d spot a couple more species:

Wannabe Bruce Willis: Has a cool attitude, usually drives an unmarked car (detective, perhaps?) and will not pull you over unless you are tearing up the asphalt.

Some dead giveaways-

1. Two dozen antennas all over the car (hood, top, trunk…geez, they are running out of places. Next step in mounting antennas, their hats maybe?…I’d gladly get pulled over just to laugh on their faces).

2. A light on top of the left side mirror that they can focus on you while you curse your fate.

3. If you look hard enough through the tinted glass, you’ll find the infamous flashing lights (mini, split version) mounted inbetween the speakers on the back.

4. A uniform hanging on the hook right behind the driver’s seat. Not conspicuous, but with practice, you can spot it.

Even if you miss all of the visual clues, there is still hope if you have your radio on. Your radio doesn’t like the interference from your cell phone or the radar gun. It will let you know, so when that happens, slow down, buckle up and LOOK AROUND before checking your cellphone.

Now, presenting the most venomous species of all: the Hidden Dragon.

My latest encounter was with one such critter. The setting – scenic route US 13, heavily wooded on both sides (median and shoulder), steady traffic, non-peak hour (no hungry maniacs)- just a bunch of nice people going about their businesses…and SURPRISE!!! Our dragon jumps out of the woods and does an “I want you” routine with both hands and points to the roadside ditch. Spitting out expletives in Kannada, I hit the brakes trying not to go exactly where he pointed to, and also hoping that the ABS doesn't pull a 'now you stop, no you don't, now u...'

I look in the rearview to see if he was taking the name ‘Walker’ too seriously. Nope! He had his backup too, in their mean black cars – State Troopers! Nice job fellas, you got me there – hiding behind trees? That’s a classic BCP* move (*Bangalore City Police).

The dragon is all swagger as he gets close to me and announces “Maryland State Police” – duh! Did he think I mistook him for Tarzan?...although I was entitled to, given his entry.

“Can you please pull over to a safe place” – Yeah right! Now you tell me.

“License and Registration” – I comply

“Registered in Virginia?” – I put my finger on the registration card and walk him through I.L.L.I.N.O.I.S…Read my lips, Tarzan, it says ILLINOIS in bold, black font.

“Sir, you were doing 20 over, blah blah blah” – I picture him with antennas on his hat. No, won’t make him look any more stupid than he actually is.

I tell him that I must be unlucky to get pulled over just for keeping up with the traffic.

“No sir, you were getting past” – getting past?? who? how? I was already in the passing lane- leaves 2 options for ‘getting past’ the nice people

1. Cross the ditch and swing through the woods.

2. Pull a Rajni** sir stunt.
(**Superstar Rajnikanth – Indian Superhero)

“You have the option blah blah…to pay $75 blah blah blah …court…please sign here” – Here you go you miserable moron, I sign.

“Have a nice day sir, and drive safe” – Nice? What arrogance! If only you didn’t have a gun and handcuffs, grrrr!

So I pick up cursing him from where I left off…and push the pedal to the metal.

The Second First Note

2005-08-30T08:33:00.000-07:00

So, here it is - my second attempt at creating an escape route for the voices in my head. It's been 3 years since I last blogged...yes, thank you very much! Nothing compares to meeting a die-hard fan.

Long story short: Work has been a leech, the least said the best. Got a new boss (That's not true. He just shed his skin, hence the confusion). The party scene has been average- I however do not forget to do my bit to help the Irish blokes keep their jobs at Guinness. Anyway, before the music starts, let me wrap this up.

Life's on autopilot - actually I cut off the engines and let her glide. So, hop on for a crash & burn start! To new beginnings!