Blog or Block!!!

I held a $10mn note in my hand

2008-09-01T23:09:00.000-07:00

Except it wasn't USD. It was Zimbabwe dollars!

While attending Economics refresher classes in Bangkok last week, our teacher passed around a 10mn Zimbabwe dollar currency note. Guess its value?

Recent estimates claim its worth USD 0.10. That's ten American cents, or four Indian rupees!

No wonder Zimbabwe inflation officially hit 11,200,000% in August 2008. Consequently, a loaf of bread now costs 1.6 trillion Zimbabwe dollars!

How can such an economy possibly be saved?

Of Continents, and Countries, and Cities ...

2008-06-12T02:34:00.000-07:00

The countdown so far: 4 continents, 7 countries, 51 cities.

Not much, maybe, but not bad for starters. Especially given that until end 2005, the countdown was just one continent (Asia) and one country (India).

The targets are lofty. I'd like to visit at least 50 countries in my lifetime. This should include all the (non-imaginary) countries Asterix and Tintin ever visited; all major religious capitals; and all the new seven wonders of the world.

For me, more interesting than the number of places one has visited are the number of places one has lived in. I'd define "lived in" as "staying continuously in a city/town/village for at least one month at a stretch, and for at least two months in all". That, I think, is sufficient time to explore a place fully and to get a fairly representative sense of how the life of a local would be. Per this definition, I've lived in eight Indian cities (Kolkata, Mumbai, Delhi, Ahmedabad, Pilani, Bangalore, Jamshedpur, Mithapur) and one South African city (Johannesburg). Plus I've also lived for two or more months in disparate stretches in Ranchi, Pune, Patna, Goa and Kandla. So that makes it anywhere between nine and fourteen cities in toto. Again, this may not sound like too much, but until just over a decade back, this count was merely three (Kolkata, Mumbai and Ranchi). Also, this list includes two national capitals, seven Indian state capitals, three of India's four metros, and three semi-rural townships. And Hyderabad and Kabul may possibly soon be new additions to this list. So, again, not bad for starters!

So, which of these places is "home"? Tough question! One of my old classmates put it superbly when he recently told me in New York, "In today's world, life is all about being location-agnostic". When I ponder over this statement, it seems that's exactly how it should be! For young qualified ambitious professionals in this fast-changing interconnected world, opportunity could knock from anywhere, and we should always have our bags packed and ready to go! And we can live far from home and yet reach home in less than a day - no matter where we are in the world, and no matter where "home" is. Whether from Mumbai to Moldova, or from Delhi to Denmark - everything's interconnected; everything's right here, by our side. And the world, which took Phileas Fogg 80 days to circumnavigate, can now be done in much less than 80 hours.

Still, even for the seasoned traveler, there always is a "home", a place one can always come back to and know it's been waiting, waiting for your return; where the sights, and sounds, and faces, and narrow lanes, and musty shops, and old shopkeepers, and dewy grass, are all familiar; where the soul knows it belongs to; where the heart knows peace. I, too, have such a home. Indeed, I have two. The first is Kolkata; or, more specifically, 20 Royd Steet, our ancestral family home. The other is Mumbai; Bandra in particular. No matter where I live, these two places will always be home to me.

What's "home" for you?

Back in a new avatar

2008-06-12T02:15:00.000-07:00

Greetings! This is my first post here after a long hiatus. It's been a busy few months for me.

So why am I back? Perhaps because I miss writing, perhaps to stimulate the right ("creative") half of my brain with some fresh challenges, perhaps to re-engage with cyberspace in a more meaningful manner. Who knows?

And, frankly, who cares? The more pertinent question (at least for me) is - now that I am back, what shall I write about? Philosophy? Sci-fi? Comedy? Biographies of great souls?

Naw. I think I'll start with travel. Travelling and seeing new places has always been a passion of mine. I enjoy most aspects of travelling - the sights, sounds, smells, tastes, everything is tantalizing and new and appealing. Even better than travelling is actually living in different places. That's when one can really get a true sense of the place - by residing there for a period, "getting into the skin" of the locals as it were. I've been fortunate to have travelled a bit, and also to have lived in different places over the years - and hopefully this trend will continue!

Of course, given the way life has been of late, I don't expect to post often. And all standard disclaimers apply: While the posts may at times draw from my professional experiences, they are all strictly my own personal views and observations. Also, all pics put up here have either been clicked by me or by someone known to me, else the source will be cited.

Welcome to my TravelBlog - to the world as seen through my eyes!

Hello World

2006-06-22T01:57:00.000-07:00

Ok, I'm back. I'm surprised I still remember how to post (duh!), but some recent meanderings have been so cool that I decided to share them with my long-forgotten blog!

So with this preamble and without further ado, here goes ...

(Warning: It's really heavy duty stuff!)

"THE SUHAIL KASSIM THEORY OF THE UNIVERSE"

****** Start of Code ******

I. Reverse Time Hypothesis
1. Postulate: Like space (XYZ axes) coordinates, time (T axis) coordinates can go forwards as well as backwards.
2. Here is one Hypothesis to support the above Postulate. We shall call it the “Concentric Black Hole Universes Hypothesis”.

II. Concentric Black Hole Universes Hypothesis
1. Assume that the universe is an “open universe” (i.e. with time stretching to infinity) and not a “closed universe”. We shall call this the “parent universe”.
2. Now take the existence of a “pure black hole” in this “parent universe”.
3. Let us assume that within each black hole exists a “child universe” whose time axis is opposite to the “parent universe”
4. Within the black hole (i.e. the “child universe”) would exist another “black hole” whose time polarity would be opposite to its “parent universe”.
5. In this manner, there are an infinite series of concentric parent-child universes (i.e. black holes subsetted within other black holes).
6. The above postulates give rise to two options
a. Option A – Each Black Hole is a “Child Universe”
b. Option B – Each Black Hole is a Gateway into a “Child Universe”.
7. Under Option A – each “child universe” must of necessity be smaller in size than its “parent universe”.
8. Under Option B – no such size relationships between parent-child universes need exist.
9. One of these “black holes” is our universe.

III. Fit with “Black holes absorb matter” Hypothesis
1. The Concentric Black Hole Universes Hypothesis would explain why, when a body enters a black hole, it disappears – the reason being that the exit from the “parent universe” into the “child universe” causes a reversal in time flow for the body – so the body starts “moving into the past” vis-à-vis the “parent universe”, and is therefore lost to view of the “parent universe”.

IV. Fit with “Big Bang” Hypothesis
1. Stephen Hawking postulated that our universe was created in a “Big Bang” and will end with a “Big Crunch” which will be the start of the next “Big Bang”. How does this fit into the above hypotheses?
2. Under Option A –
a. If the Big Bang Hypothesis is true, each “parent universe” and its “child universes” would have to undergo the “Big Crunch” simultaneously.
b. They may or may not undergo the “Big Bang” simultaneously.
c. A “child universe” can have any number of “Big Bang” and “Big Crunch” cycles within one “Big Bang – Big Crunch” cycle of its “parent universe” – however, each “Big Crunch” of the “parent universe” would cause a “Big Crunch” of all the subsetted “child universes”.
3. Under Option B –
a. There is no relation between the “Big Bang – Big Crunch” cycles of the “parent universe” and its “child universes”.

V. Fit with Theory of Relativity
1. One basic equation in Einstein’s Theory of Relativity states that:
a. T = T0 / sqrt (1-v^2/c^2) ………. where T0 = Time relative to a stationary body, T = Time relative to a body traveling at velocity ‘v’, c = Speed of Light
b. The above does not hold valid for v >= c. This is because ‘c’ is assumed to be a universal constant whose speed cannot be exceeded by any body in the universe.
2. The Concentric Black Hole Universes Hypothesis rejects this assumption. Under this Hypothesis, it is possible to travel faster than the Speed of Light. Under this Hypothesis:
a. T = T0 / sqrt (1-v^2/c^2) ……… for all v < c (1a)
b. T = Indeterminate ……… for all v = c (1b)
c. T = -(T0 x v/c) ……… for all v > c (1c) (this equation is assumed and not mathematically derived)
3. Under Eqn. (1c), T is negative (assuming T0 is positive). This means that any physical body which travels faster than the speed of light would experience “negative time travel”. The faster it travels, the higher the (negative) value of T. Hence, the effect of T is similar whether v <> c.
4. It is assumed that the transition from a “parent universe” to a “child universe” happens across an invisible Space-Time boundary at a speed greater than the speed of light. This might explain why, when a body approaches too close to a “Black Hole”, it experiences a strong gravitational pull towards the “Black Hole” which is caused because of dynamics between two independent Space-Time continuums, i.e. between two universes”, and the instant when it moves from one universe to the next, it does so at a speed greater than the speed of light, which is why the time polarity reverses for that physical body, and it finds itself in the “child universe” with a time axis which is opposite to the time axis of the “parent universe”.

VI. When and how did the Universe originate?
1. Since the Concentric Black Hole Universes Hypothesis assumes that time can travel forward and backward, hence there is no concept like the “Beginning” or “End” of Time. Time (like space) is a closed loop within which any number of forward-backward cycles and sub-cycles are possible.
2. The original “parent universe” might have been created due to a “Big Bang” effect. Subsequent “child universes” might have been created due to “Big Bang” type of effects within the original “parent universe”, and so on. Note that the “Big Bang” Theory does not invalidate the Concentric Black Hole Universes Hypothesis under Option A (albeit with some constraints) and Option B.
3. Further thought on this sub-topic is underway.

****** End of Code ******

© Suhail Kassim 2006

See, I told ya it would be heavy duty!!

I now wonder how to find someone who would be kind enough to mathematically (not qualitatively) prove (or disprove) some (or all) of the above statements ... hmmm ... !

They deserve it!

2005-09-15T01:08:00.000-07:00

Three days back, a relatively tiny news clipping on the front page of various newspapers announced the completion of the withdrawal of Israeli forces from the narrow coastal area known as the Gaza strip.

True, they have left behind little more than rubble. True, they still retain control over the territory's air and sea space and, at least temporarily, all its borders, ostensibly to "prevent militant groups smuggling in weapons into Palestine". True, the "victory" of the Palestinians is perhaps more symbolic than real. Nonetheless, this was an event which can prove to be the decisive tipping point in the history of the troubled Middle East. The length of the news articles did not do justice to the historic significance of this momentous event.

While I am no expert on international politics, I personally am prima facie totally delighted at this news. The Palestinians have suffered long enough, and greatly enough, to warrant all the sympathy and aid that any humane world can offer. My heartiest congratulations to them on this memorable, and long-overdue, occasion!

The moot question here, though, is "why". Why did the Israelis retreat? International pressure to withdraw was currently low. Pressure on Israel to adopt new peace plans was also not working. Israel's hawkish right-wing Likud leader Ariel Sharon was under pressure, not just from the moderate Labor and opposition Shinui parties, but also from within his own party. His traditional supporters have not yet given up on their dream of a "Greater Israel", a dream which Sharon has aggressively been pushing since he was elected Prime Minister in February 2001. Why then this retreat, which in one way tantamounts to a public admission of defeat?

The most plausible reason by far is that Sharon wants to appease Bush, who has publicly supported the existence of a Palestinian state, albeit with riders attached. This immediately raises the further question - why is the US apparently not supporting Israel wholeheartedly in this war? After all, the Israel-Palestine war has been construed by historians as less of a war over territory, and more of a symbolic Jewish-Islamic battle. In such an eventuality, if the push comes to the shove, the US would historically oppose the Islamic forces. Why then an exception in this case?

Perhaps the answer lies in the winds of change. Jews are still very much part of the central engine which drives the US economy, but their political hold over the White House may have reduced because the Oval Office now has alternate sustainable sources of funds (read: "Oil"). Or maybe the US, having to choose between two devils, has decided to support the "Islamic-but-weaker" Palestinians rather than the "non-Islamic-but-potentially-a-future-superpower-in-the-long-term" Israel. Or maybe the US, having established its foothold in the oil-rich and strategically-positioned countries of the Middle East, thanks to its occupation of Iraq and its kinship with the family of Saud, no longer feels the necessity to kowtow to Israel. The last explanation may be the most plausible, but whatever the reason, it bodes well for the much-suffering Palestinians.

There is, however, a fourth explanation which is rather disturbing. Perhaps this withdrawal, and the "disengagement plan" as a whole, is an elaborate and deliberate ploy to throw dust in the eyes of the world.

After all, how much difference will it truly make to Palestine, or for that matter to Gaza? Is the withdrawal irreversible? What are Bush's and Sharon's private road-maps for the Middle East going ahead? These are uncomfortable questions, not just for the region, but for the world as we know it.

For now, however, it is a time for the beleagured residents of Gaza, and their families, to celebrate, rest, and rebuild their lives. Brick by agonizing brick, stone by mortared stone. Here's wishing them Peace.

Heaven knows, they deserve it.

26th July 2005

2005-09-11T23:26:00.000-07:00

The last few days have been crazily wet. Mumbai is being deluged once again, in sheets of rain which slap against the defenceless city and its huddled inhabitants like a curtain flapping against a slender pillar.

The last few days have been so reminiscent of D-Day, 26th July 2005, that it compelled me to unearth some stray memories I'd noted down on that day. Here they are, witnessed first-hand by me as I travelled from office to home. This, then, is an eye-witness account of Mumbai, 26th July 2005:

A flag waving in the middle of the road. Investigation revealed that it was at the top of an auto which had been fully submerged!
4 people pushing a stalled BEST bus which had passengers in it. And wonder of wonders, the bus moved!
Wading for 3.5 hrs through waist deep muddy flood water which occasionally reached neck level, with a laptop on my head and trying to aviod the invisible gutters and sharp-edged breakers. Spending 12 hrs in a friend's car and only travelling 1.7 km. Leaving office at 6 PM and reaching home at 11 AM the next day.
Discovering that men coolly walk through floods cracking jokes, while women invariably lose their heads and panic!
Seeing a frail old lady wade through the muck and water while carrying a little child on her shoulders, just like the Sherpas of the Himalayas or the women working in the tea gardens of Darjeeling do.
People pushing and shoving to enter buses. And after 3 hours of complete immobility, silently dismounting and wending their way homeward on foot.
An enterprising van parking itself in the middle of no-man's land between Santa Cruz and Kalinaka, and selling tea and vada-pav at tremendous premiums!
An opportunistic tractor allowing people to clamber up, and ferrying them through the floods, that too at no cost. They even provided umbrellas to the passengers!
Taxis charging Rs. 100 per head on sharing basis (instead of the standard Rs. 5) for a one kilometer journey from Churchgate to Colaba. And most people ready to pay!
Floating Santros. A Merc abandoned in the middle of the Santa Cruz flyover.
People spending the night in offices, 5-star hotel lounges, railway stations ... just about anywhere and everywhere!

I dread to imagine the plight of squatters, slum dwellers and low-lying chawl inhabitants.

Idhar udhar ki baatein

2005-09-11T11:21:00.000-07:00

Iqbal : Movie Review

After quite a while, I saw a true-blue classic in the Theater. (No, Mangal Pandey comes close but does not quite qualify.) And what a movie it was! Iqbal stands out for its breathtaking realism, for simple scenes and dialogues which haunt you long after “The End” has flashed on screen, for tying together in a simple manner the world of the handicapped and the world of dreams. In bringing together the likes of Naseeruddin Shah (his first movie, if I recall rightly, after Sarfarosh), Girish Karnad, the supremely talented Shweta Prasad (of Makdee fame) and last but not least Kapil paaji, Subhash Ghai has pulled off a casting coup.

And after the eminently forgettable Hyderabad Blues 2, Nagesh Kukunoor has finally come of age. Not just as a director, but (perhaps far more significantly for the future of parallel cinema in India) as a scriptwriter. He dares to dream big. He carries a deaf and dumb late-starting village lad through to the Indian cricket team. He exposes the multiple facets of, and the multifarious facades behind, the world of cricket at its highest level in India. Politics, match-fixing, bribery, nepotism … and a face-saving act by the paaji at the end.

True, cricket is over-hyped in India and does not need yet another movie to promote it. But at the end of the day, Iqbal is less about cricket and more about hope, about standing upright in the face of all odds, about achieving the impossible.

Go watch Iqbal. It made my day. It will make yours.

+++

Sania Mirza rocks. You go girl!

+++

My dream match would have been a Sampras-Federer Wimbledon final. But an Agassi-Federer US Open Final comes close.

How would I like it to go? Well, I love watching Federer play, so I’d root for him to win all the points. But then, Agassi’s my overwhelming sentimental favorite, and I’d like him to triumph in this, his probable swansong at this Open.

Bottomline: Federer should win all the points, but Agassi should win the match.

Impossible? Probably. But if it did come true – such fun!

+++

"It's only dreams, and dreams are all I have, to take your nightmares away" - Rock Star Kassim

Nowadays dreams are becoming so educational. I saw a hi-tech one recently. Here goes:

In my dream, I was happily busy doing nothing whatsoever when daddy rushed into the room, holding my cellphone in one hand and his cellphone in the other hand.

"Son", he exclaims excitedly, "I wanted a backup of all the numbers stored in my cellphone, so I connected my phone to yours and copied all my numbers onto your phone directory!"

"But daddy", I spluttered, "Don't you have hundreds of numbers on your cell?"

"Yes", daddy claimed proudly, "my cell memory size can take upto 500 numbers."

"But my cell can only take 70! And I already had 70 stored contacts! What happened to them?"

"Don't know, didn't check", said a confused daddy.

"Oops!" I exclaimed and grabbed my phone and checked. And horror of horrors -- all my contacts had been deleted! And replaced by the first 70 of daddy's contacts, which only included those whose names began with A and B!

And then -- I woke up out of fright.

Dreams have indeed become so hi-tech nowadays. And dreamers have become so nutty :((((

A page from my diary …

2005-09-11T11:16:00.000-07:00

Just two nights ago, I was telling a friend, “Life ain’t so serious, y’know”. And then I paused and smiled to myself. It was a lesson I myself had forgotten over the past year or so, what with this and that and here and there and duties and crises and so on and so forth. But I was slowly re-learning it.

Three days back: The melodramatic koel which resides in the tree outside our house got its timing all wrong and woke me up at 3 AM with its mellifluous singing. And did I mumble an invective and turn back to sleep? No, I heard the song for a couple of minutes before slipping peacefully back into dreamland. It was, after all, a lovely song.

Two days back: I was lounging about in the balcony when this incredibly cutie-pie squirrel strolled nonchalantly across the parapet, looked around suspiciously with its nostrils twitching, suddenly darted into the neighboring AC, and emerged triumphant with a huge chunk of chapatti in its mouth! I laughed till my sides hurt.

Yesterday: Mumbai got drenched in sheets of rain yet again, reminiscent of 26th July. Fortunately it wasn’t as cataclysmic as before, and very few people were really affected. Lying in bed at night, it suddenly struck me that the sound of the unceasing rain, striking against the corrugated tin sheet atop our balcony, was amazingly beautiful. Reminscent of Chopin’s Minute Waltz. The sound filled my senses until my eyes started drooping.

There was a time, not so very long ago, when I thought I’d find it difficult to smile as easily as I always used to. Today, I find myself smiling once again, laughing once again. I feel like pulling the cheeks of every kid I see, stroking every kitten that gives me sly looks, sitting by the seaside in the late evenings. I want to learn the guitar, read my favorite childhood books once again (ah! the magic of Little Lord Fauntleroy, Tom Brown’s Schooldays, The Adventures of Elizabeth Gray, The Oz series, the Narnia series, The Land of Far Beyond!), start preparing to run the marathon, learn to cook double ka meetha.

I’m learning to live once again. And I think I’m learning to be happy once again. Alhamdulillah.

The Return of Gahji - Part 2

2005-09-07T04:00:00.000-07:00

Yes, gentle discerning readers! The news doing the rounds is that our highly esteemed and dearly beloved Gahji is back!!!

Refreshed. Renewed. Resurrected.

Of course, Gahji, being a person who cherishes his privacy, will rarely appear on this blog. He prefers to maintain his anonymity elsewhere; perhaps on a private blog, or on the yellowing pages of a well-concealed personal diary, or on loose sheafs of scrap paper, or simply within the folds of a fertile imagination. But he exists. For Gahji is, after all, inseparable from the author. So yes, somewhere and in some fashion, Gahji is very much alive and kicking. But not here.

Perhaps some of you will hear more of him someday in the distant future. Then again, chances are you won't.

As Gahji would say, such is life, amigos.

+++++

My self-imposed blog-exile was due to myriad reasons. There were responsibilities to fulfil, problems to tackle, mountains to climb. By the Grace of the Almighty, many of these responsibilities have been fulfilled, most problems have been tackled, and several mountains have been climbed. And all along the way, there have been learnings. Some bitter. Some sweet. All useful.

And as the long day draws to a close, the overwhelming feeling which lingers on is a sense of deep gratitude and lasting peace. We have fought the good fight. Some battles have been lost but the war has been won. The worthy have been identified and the unworthy have been discarded. We have made mistakes too, for we are but human. But we have fought and survived. And like the proverbial babbling brook, life hums along. Bringing with it new battles to fight, new challenges to face, new learnings to imbibe.

The journey of life is so interesting, isn't it? If I were to choose a synonym for "life", it would be "contradictions". There are ups and there are downs. One moment you feel as if you would be torn apart should event X happen; and then event X does happen, and you realize that far from being torn apart, you're more whole, more intact, than before. Episodes which hurt like crazy are forgotten, albeit slowly. Friends turn betrayers; strangers become friends. People you trusted more than your own life leave you hurt, and betrayed, and confused. Some who you were afraid would leave you, inexplicably do not; some who you were so sure would never leave you, do so without a moment's hesitation, without a backward glance.

Familiar story? Such episodes, and more, happen with so many of us. And slowly, we realize that in this whirligig we call life, all that has happened, and all that is happening, and all that will happen, has been, is, and will be, for the best.

And when this realization dawns, one also realizes that one cannot keep hiding forever. Life moves on, and drags us, willy-nilly, along. And that's how it should be. For there are miles to go before we sleep. There's a life to lead and a future to mould. And, as Time rumbles inexorably by, one slowly gets the courage to let go of the past. Let go. Start afresh. Risk playing once again the Game of Life. The subsequent feeling of relief is palpable and indescribably therapeutic.

So here's to new beginnings. To a new life. And to happier times ahead.

+++++

Several near and dear friends, many of who are themselves the proud architects of their own beautiful blogs, have been instrumental in the resurrection of this one. Thanks to them all. But one among them deserves special mention, if only for her phenomenal patience and outrageous perseverance which made her succeed where everyone else had long given up. My precious pal Neelima. She's coaxed, cajoled, bullied and emotionally blackmailed moi into returning from a peaceful and secluded retirement back to the mad world of blogging. Tomorrow (Oct 8th) is her birthday. Here's wishing you a Very Happy Birthday Neels, and I do hope you like your birthday gift! :)

And talking of birthdays, this blog celebrated its first Bloggie Birthday (doesn't "Bloggiversary" sound a trifle corny?) on August 11, 2005. That's 25 days back. Belated birthday wishes to myself :)

+++++

The Suhail Kassim of September 2005 is a different person from the Suhail Kassim of September 2004. And this difference will be apparent on this blog. Henceforth:

He shall write only in his spare time and when he's in the mood. This will naturally translate to substantially fewer posts than in his previous avataar.
He shall write only what he feels like writing. Which, as of today, implies fewer stories and less light-hearted humour, and more socio-political analysis and psychological dissections. Yes, he's decided to jump onto the journalistic-cum-psychoanalytical blogging bandwagon! (Of course, there'll be the occasional autobiographical rant too. After all, a blog without autobiography and rant ain't a blog!)

At the back of the author's mind is the thought that, one fine day, he may suddenly feel like changing the URL to this blog. Should that happen, don't panic! Instead, check your email - if you're a friend, rest assured you'll be informed of the new URL. And if he's somehow overlooked you, email or message him, and unless you're an anonymous stalker / an unpleasant memory / wanted by the FBI for drug peddling, he'll ping you back.

Speaking of which, the author is amused to note that, although he had stopped blogging on this site for so many months, he has in the interim had as many as six blogs! (Anyone from The Guinness Book around?) Of these, two were private blogs which are now redundant. Two others are newbies. And the last two - this blog and the MAD Club - are in dire need of oxygen. Which shall duly be provided.

Ok folks, signing off for the nonce. Keep the spirits up. Sayonara!

Tsunami Relief Contacts

2004-12-28T01:06:00.000-08:00

Even if you can't help, please pass on these details ...

Loads of info on http://tsunamihelp.blogspot.com.

Some other details we've got so far is given below ...

1) To volunteer in Besant Nagar : Please contact Shihan Hussaini 9841618386. You could help with old clothes, water bottles, blankets, food packets.

2) To volunteer in Neelankarai : Please contact Priya 25506284.

3) Message from Ryze Network :

This is an emergency call from WE CARE FOR CHENNAI - Ryze Network. The tsunami has hit Chennai & many other places. The disaster is unprecedented in Chennai, rest of Tamilnadu, Pondicherry and Andhra Pradesh. Other countries are also hit. Most of the victims and their families belong to lower income strata. Time for action from all of us. Every kind of help counts now. Mitigating the suffering of the families of victims and surviving victims is a huge challenge. Help in every form counts. The psychological scar requires deft handling. What we can do? How we can act collectively, as socially-conscious, educated and responsible group? Who will co-ordinate what action? Please volunteer. Time is very short. Post your views and ideas right away. Let us see if a few workable ideas emerge quickly and get into consensus. If you are outside Chennai, please respond with your msg how you can participate, in whatever form. Can you co-manage this campaign with me? I will be grateful.

Govind Srinivasan,
Moderator,
WE CARE FOR CHENNAI,
Ryze Network
Mobile: 93810 00516
http://wcfc-network.ryze.com/

4) Message from an on-site volunteer:

Dear Friends, I was travelling on the East coast road when the tidal wave hit - lots of people rushed out. Didn't realize the scale of the problem. Then went to the Marina and the slums nearby - all washed out. We still don't know fully what needs to be done. The current focus is on rescue operations - searching for lost people. The police and army is working on this. One thing that is clear when we talked to people affected is shelter -but this is not something that we can do immediately. We will need to work on this over the next two weeks. We have started collecting clothes - they will be needed over the next two days. Food supplies for tonight are being arranged by the govt... possibly we will have to start our food relief within a few days. Main focus needs to be ensuring govt relief reaches people and also some critical areas like rebuilding shelters for the poorest who are affected. We have started collecting donations for the relief work in Chennai and TN - local cheques can be made to AID-Chennai (or AID-India). Foreign contributions must be made in the name of AID-India and sent to:
AID-India
Old No 132, New No 242,
Avvai Shanmugam Road
Gopalapuram,
Chennai - 600 086
Ph: 044- 28350403, 28115058

Clothes collected can be dropped off in the AID office in Chennai - it will be distributed over the next few days. Thanks for the help. Balaji Sampath

Investment Opportunity

2004-12-01T02:28:00.000-08:00

Dear Blogistanis and Bloglings,

Gah is back! And with a hugely egotistical cannot-miss offer!!!

This is your chance to participate in a once-in-a-lifetime Golden Investment Opportunity. Even if you are a risk-averse individual and refrain from investing in stocks, or even in the lower-risk mutual funds or bonds, you would simply love to invest in this NEGATIVE-RISK, GUARANTEED-HIGH-RETURNS scheme!!!!

THE SCHEME
1. Issue of units of autographs of Shri Gahji (future NYSE code GAH420)
2. Issue date: 1st Dec 2004
3. Issue modality: First Come First Serve. Offer valid until stocks last. So hurry!!!
4. Issue value at par: Each autograph of GAH420 (hereinafter referred to as "Unit") comes at Book Value of Rs. 20/- per unit
5. Our guarantee: Value of each autograph will escalate to Rs. 2,000 (an appreciation of 9,900%) by AD 2009. Value derived using Fundamental and Technical Analyses reveals it is a Superstar Stock.
5. How to apply: Send in DD / Cheque (non-refundable and non-bouncing) or Cash (liquidity is always preferred) to Gahji, addressed to his wallet or bank account. Please include a self-addressed stamped envelope. We will post Gahji's esteemed autographs to you in this envelope.

So hurry!!! Sell your shoddy clothes, mortgage your measly homes, collect the money ASAP, and rush to book your units!!!

Aapka sadaiv

Gahji

Future President, World Ban(k)

"Stop Spam. Ban me from Blogger dot com!!!"

Does anyone care any more?

2004-10-28T02:17:00.000-07:00

Unpleasant facts ... harsh reality ...

The US death toll in Iraq has crossed 2,000. Does this number shock you?
30,000 Afghans and Iraqis are estimated to have died in the War on Terror. Does this number shock you? At all?
While there isn't anyone bothering to keep official count - Iraq Body Count, an independent website that keeps track of only media-reported civilian deaths, states that a minimum 11,798 Iraqi civilians have died in the war so far. Independent estimates of Iraqi military deaths puts their toll close to 5,000.
Afghanistan was an even more skewed story. The number of US military deaths in Afghanistan was 132. Once again, though there wasn't anyone keeping official track of the Afghan death toll, a study by an American academic estimated that at least 3,800 civilians died in Afghanistan and independent estimates suggest that military deaths could be close to 10,000.
This total figure of 30,000 is more than the number of people killed in terrorist acts in the last 35 years - studies show 22,000 people have been killed in terrorist incidents since 1968.
And this is excluding the estimated fifteen lakh Iraqi people, mostly children, who have died of malnourishment or starvation as a result of an 11-year U.S. embargo against the country.
The cost of reconstruction and related aid has been estimated at $23 billion in Iraq and $30 billion in Afghanistan which seems much smaller than the $100 billion loss caused by the WTC attacks. But while the WTC losses translate to 0.91% of US GDP, it amounts to 59% of Iraq's GDP and 150% of Afghanistan's GDP in 2003.

***

Since Iraq is, for all official purposes, occupied by US (ok, ok, "coalition") forces, in a war started by the US, and since the Iraqis will be severely affected by the outcome of the US elections -- does all this not make Iraq akin to a satellite state of the US? In which case, why shouldn't Iraqis be allowed to vote during the US elections? Wonder if the turnout would be very pro-Republican ...

And isn't the "War on Terror" a misnomer? Wouldn't "War of Terror" be more like it ... ?

***

Let us mourn in silence with this simply awesome gut-wrenching rendition by an American, Emmanuel Ortiz ...

"Before I start this poem"

Before I start this poem,
I'd like to ask you to join me in
a moment of silence
in honour of those who died
in the World Trade Centre
and the Pentagon
last September 11th.

I would also like to ask you
a moment of silence
for all of those who have been
harassed, imprisoned, disappeared,
tortured, raped, or killed
in retaliation for those strikes,
for the victims in both
Afghanistan and the U.S.

And if I could just add one more thing ...
A full day of silence
for the tens of thousands of Palestinians
who have died at the hands of
U.S.-backed Israeli forces
over decades of occupation.

Six months of silence
for the million and-a-half Iraqi people,
mostly children, who have died of
malnourishment or starvation
as a result of an 11-year U.S. embargo
against the country.

Before I begin this poem:
two months of silence
for the Blacks under Apartheid
in South Africa,
where homeland security
made them aliens
in their own country.

Nine months of silence
for the dead in Hiroshima
and Nagasaki, where death rained
down and peeled back
every layer of concrete, steel, earth and skin
and the survivors went on as if alive.

A year of silence
for the millions of dead
in Vietnam -- a people, not a war --
for those who know a thing or two
about the scent of burning fuel,
their relatives' bones buried in it,
their babies born of it.

A year of silence
for the dead in Cambodia and Laos,
victims of a secret war ... ssssshhhhh ....
Say nothing ... we don't want them to
learn that they are dead.

Two months of silence
for the decades of dead
in Colombia, whose names,
like the corpses they once represented,
have piled up and slipped off
our tongues.

Before I begin this poem,
An hour of silence
for El Salvador ...
An afternoon of silence
for Nicaragua ...
Two days of silence
for the Guetmaltecos ...
None of whom ever knew
a moment of peace
45 seconds of silence
for the 45 dead
at Acteal, Chiapas
25 years of silence
for the hundred million Africans
who found their graves
far deeper in the ocean
than any building could
poke into the sky.
There will be no DNA testing
or dental records
to identify their remains.
And for those who were
strung and swung
from the heights of
sycamore trees
in the south, the north,
the east, and the west ...

100 years of silence ...
For the hundreds of millions of
indigenous peoples
from this half of right here,
Whose land and lives were stolen,
In postcard-perfect plots
like Pine Ridge,
Wounded Knee,
Sand Creek, Fallen Timbers,
or the Trail of Tears.
Names now reduced
to innocuous magnetic poetry
on the refrigerator
of our consciousness ...
So you want a moment of silence?

And we are all left speechless
Our tongues snatched from our mouths
Our eyes stapled shut
A moment of silence
And the poets have all been laid to rest
The drums disintegrating into dust
Before I begin this poem,
You want a moment of silence
You mourn now as if the world will never be the same
And the rest of us hope to hell it won't be.
Not like it always has been

Because this is not a 9-1-1 poem
This is a 9/10 poem,
It is a 9/9 poem,
A 9/8 poem,
A 9/7 poem
This is a 1492 poem.
This is a poem about
what causes poems like this
to be written

And if this is a 9/11 poem, then
This is a September 11th poem
for Chile, 1971
This is a September 12th poem
for Steven Biko in South Africa, 1977
This is a September 13th poem
for the brothers at Attica Prison,
New York, 1971.
This is a September 14th poem
for Somalia, 1992.

This is a poem
for every date that falls
to the ground in ashes
This is a poem for the 110 stories
that were never told
The 110 stories that history
chose not to write in textbooks
The 110 stories that CNN, BBC,
The New York Times,
and Newsweek ignored
This is a poem
for interrupting this program.
And still you want
a moment of silence
for your dead?
We could give you
lifetimes of empty:

The unmarked graves
The lost languages
The uprooted trees and histories
The dead stares on the faces
of nameless children
Before I start this poem
We could be silent forever
Or just long enough to hunger,
For the dust to bury us
And you would still ask us
For more of our silence.

If you want a moment of silence
Then stop the oil pumps
Turn off the engines and the televisions
Sink the cruise ships
Crash the stock markets
Unplug the marquee lights,
Delete the instant messages,
Derail the trains, the light rail transit

If you want a moment of silence,
put a brick through
the window of Taco Bell,
And pay the workers for wages lost
Tear down the liquor stores,
The townhouses, the White Houses,
the jailhouses, the Penthouses
and the Playboys.

If you want a moment of silence,
Then take it
On Super Bowl Sunday,
The Fourth of July
During Dayton's 13 hour sale
Or the next time your white guilt
fills the room where my beautiful
people have gathered

You want a moment of silence
Then take it
Now,
Before this poem begins.

Here, in the echo of my voice,
In the pause between goosesteps of the
second hand
In the space
between bodies in embrace,

Here is your silence.
Take it.
But take it all
Don't cut in line.
Let your silence begin
at the beginning of crime.
But we,
Tonight we will keep right on singing
For our dead.

Munna Gah, MBBS

2004-10-24T23:18:00.000-07:00

Doctor Gah has carried out a self-diagnosis and the results are out.

He is suffering from acute PSPT (Post Sunday, Pre Tuesday) Syndrome. Caused by the the lethal, fatal, homicidal "I-Hate-Mondays" Virus version 2.1.

The affable Doctor requests weepy-wishy-washy condolences. Hard cash, Tuesday, blank cheques, or Kidnapped Boss will also do.

The Return of Gah

2004-10-20T22:11:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, in the ancient land of Wi-Fi and chopped-liver-flavored-icecream-cones, there lived a brainless boy called Gah. Being brainless, he did not know what he knew he should have known. But he did know that he did not know.

One day Gah was watering a river. Just then there was a blinding flash and Boss appeared from nowhere. Or rather, Boss appeared from his cubicle.

Boss: "Disclaimer I -- the forthcoming language is not mine, it's the Dictionary of Politically Correct English. Disclaimer II -- Gah's forte is words of half a syllable or less."

Gah: "Gah?"

Boss: "Oh my Gah, you are (1) alternatively schooled (2) cerebrally challenged (3) uniquely proficient (4) motivationally dispossessed (5) emotionally different (6) involuntarily leisured (7) incompete success, you non-goal-oriented member of society!"

Gah: "Gah?"

Boss: "In simpler words, you are an (1) illiterate (2) stupid (3) incompetent (4) lazy (5) crazy (6) unemployed (7) failure, you bum!"

And Boss vanished in a puff of incandescent pink pipe smoke.

Now Gah was happy and confused. Happy because he had understood all the adjectives Boss had used. Confused because he wasn't sure if he had been complemented or insulted. And more confused because he wasn't sure if "complemented" was a proper word.

Now Gah decided to vindicate himself by developing a new school of philosophy. He would call it "Gah's Profound Philosophy", or GPP.

So Gah withdrew from social life and grew a french beard and became a hismit, or a masculine hermit.

Then he realized that this was inadequate. For GPP-type stuff, one needeth (note the quaint Shakespearan word here) a Thought Process. Which needeth a Brain.

A word about Gah. Gah is a Permanent Resident of Dumboland. He possesseth (Yay Shakespeare! Cute naa?) a nose, a couple of ears, an eye or two, and no Brain.

So Gah decided to grow his very own personal copyrighted Brain.

Now, as you, gentle and discerning reader, know well, growing a Brain is not as simple as growing a Heart, Lungs, or a Spine. For growing a Heart, you need to fall in love. For Lungs, you have to thump your bare chest like Godzilla, with one hand if you want one lung and both hands if you want two lungs. And for a Spine, you need to Blog while Boss is glowering at your back, in which case your vertebrum will grow rapidly and simultaneously send icy shivers up your soon-to-be-laid-off backside. But for growing a Brain, you need psychosomatic neuralgical stem cells. And then you need to water your skull.

So Gah planted some psychosomatic neuralgical stem cells in his nostrils. He then turned the water hose with which he was watering the river upon his own brainless skull. And voila! Within minutes, Ripley's-Can't-Believe-It happened ... Gah's Brain began to grow !!!

First the medulla oblongata blossomed. Then the cerebellum flowered. And finally the cerebrum began to sprout between his very ears.

Gah then sat on his underworked haunches and admired his curvaceous convoluted brain for two days.

He then began using this brain. It was hard work, but fifteen minutes of strenuous frowning and scowling and making ugly-pugly faces and doing mental calisthenics, and the GPP was ready. Aaaannnnnnddd .... bingo !!! Here it is ... the first GPP of the millenium ... !!!

<-- Start of GPP Code Version 1.0 -->

Caution: This is serious stuff!

Einstein expounded the "Two Universe" theory. The GPP propounds the "Parallel Three Universe Theory".

At any given point in time, there are three parallel universes operating. For the sake of brevity, let us call these "Good", "Bad" and "Hybrid". You can also term them "White", "Black" and "Grey", or if you fancy, "Poopledinkylock", "Flammistarionus" and "Hanckolpylian".

Each of us spends some part of our life in each of these three universes. At any instant, we can exist only in one universe. However, in the very next instant, we may be in another universe altogether. The transition from one universe to another is seamless and instantaneous. This explains the shades of Jekyll and Hyde in most of us.

Also, two people who are talking about the same topic with each other at the same time, may be operating in totally different universes. This is the root cause of many common misunderstandings and mistakes.

We can decide which universe we wish to spend the majority of our time in. It requires a combination of intention, willpower and "luck" to achieve the same. While the first two variables are largely in our hands, the third, namely "luck", which often holds veto power over the other two, is not. Luck is determined by the number of vacancies available in each universe. You see, each universe has it's own finite capacity constraints. That is, the number of seats available in the "Good" universe at instant T will be, say, X. If you have the intention and willpower to be "Good" at time T, but if there are already X people who are in the "Good" state at that time, it will imply that your "luck" is bad and you will be unable to move into the "Good" state until the rate of outflow from the "Good" state surpasses the rate of inflow, and adequate vacancies are created to accommodate some or all of the people who have the intention and the willpower to move into the "Good" state. Note also that intention and willpower alone are enough for you to hang on to your existing state for as long as you wish.

The purpose of all religions is to show us ways of staying in the "Good" state.

This theory explains much of human behavioral and thought patterns across time and space. Experimental data has to date been insufficient to prove whether the capacity of each universe is in a fixed and unchangeable proportion to each other, though empirically this is highly improbable.

This, then, is the GPP. Well, we told ya it was serious stuff!

<-- End of GPP Code Version 1.0 -->

By this time, massive brain drain had happened. Gah's brain alias "khopde mein malaai" or "cranium containing the fat of unskimmed milk" had lost all its malaai and shrunk unapologetically to it's original sub-positronic size. Yayyy, we're sure you, like us, are experiencing intestinal relief at last! :)

PS. The latest tragic news is that Gah has turned the fire hydrant onto his head again. So puny mortals, be prepared for further doses of unearthly "wisdom" from Gah The Great going forward ... !!!

The Greatest Story of All Time

2004-10-18T03:42:00.000-07:00

It has all the ingredients of an evergreen potboiler. Passionate romance. Tempestuous violence. Slapstick comedy. Unbelievable sci-fi. A riot of colors. An immortal story of an inevitable meeting of not just two lonely hearts but two picturesque continents as well. Heartbreaking and seemingly inevitable tragedy with a last-minute twist resulting in a happily-ever-after fairy-tale marriage, one child included.

Voila! Presenting to you the undisputed Greatest Story of All Time ...

"Of Plants and Animals"

Said the lovelorn Asian crocodile to the cactus tree

"O prickly Saharan Thorniness, will you marry me?"

The angry cactus threw an unripe coconut at croc,

But then blushed and wore her green wedding frock

And within a year from two they had become three !!!

And the MAD Address Changeth ...

2004-10-13T22:00:00.000-07:00

The MAD Club now has it's own site here !!

The Hidden Truth

2004-10-11T01:53:00.000-07:00

(All politicians suck, but some suck more. This fictional piece is dedicated to them.)

"Texas Governor George Walker Bush donned the mantle of president-elect in what was, in effect, his presidential victory speech, following Vice President Al Gore's concession of the historic, protracted Election 2000 battle for the White House."
- CNN Headlines, 11:45 PM EST, 13 December 2000

***

On his first day as President of the United States, George Bush Jr. stepped into the Oval Office at the White House, feeling exceptionally important. He was, after all, the "most powerful man on earth".

As he entered his office, the Head of Security at the White House, Lt. Gen. Alfred Lowell, a man who had served under six Presidents, met him under the hallowed arched entrance and requested a word with him in private.

Aware that White House protocol had to be followed, Bush granted Lowell an audience.

"Sir", said Lowell as the two men sat face to face across the most significant table in the annals of modern-day human history, "there is something you must know. It is my duty to personally inform all new President-elects on their first day that they have to report to the Ferucil Council on a daily basis."

For a piquant moment, Bush sat stunned. Then he sputtered, "Me? Report? Sir, I am the President of the United States! And I am a Texan! I report to nobody! And who did you say ... the Feru what? Who're they?"

"The Ferucil Council," said Lowell patiently, displaying an acquired skill of having handled similar situations before, "has its HQ in a top-secret corridor not fifty yards from where you sit, Sir. Would you like me to escort you to them now? Their current Commander, Mr. Teufel, requests the pleasure of your company for a brief period immediately. He will more than adequately explain what the Council is, and why it is so important to you."

Bush had sat speechless with shock during this entire monologue. He could scarcely believe that this was the first official conversation he was having as President. Ferucil Council ... Teufel ...was this some kind of induction prank!?

He found his tongue at last. "Lowell, if this is some kind of joke ... "

Lowell stood up straight. "We, Sir, are not accustomed to joking," he stated matter-of-factly. "If you wish, you may speak to any former President to verify the sagacity of our advice."

"Get me my father," spat Bush. He sat drumming his fingers impatiently on the mahogany tabletop as George Bush Sr was connected on a secure hotline.

"Dad,", said Bush Jr, "do you know anything about ... "

"The Ferucil Council?", came the weary voice of Bush Sr over the hotline. "Yes, son, I know everything about them. They are a secret Special Council for instructing Presidents and Heads of State all over the world. And I believe they have special plans for you. You would do well to accompany Lowell, he will guide you. Goodbye."

Bush Jr sat stunned for a few seconds, digesting this information.

"Would you kindly care to accompany me, Sir?" Lowell's gentle but firm voice interrupted his reverie.

Bush looked like he was about to protest, but then looked up at the nearly seven foot tall officer and suddenly capitulated.

He stood up and said quietly, "Fine. Lead on."

Lowell strode across the room to where the life-size portrait of Jefferson hung, with the immortal words "In God We Trust" inscribed in gold beneath. He pushed something which looked like a secret button hidden in the word "God". The wall seemed to give way and a steel panel emerged. Lowell took a pen from his breast pocket and pointed it at the panel. There was an audible click and the panel swung open, revealing a labyrinthine tunnel within.

As Lowell led Bush into the tunnel, illuminated by hundreds of fluorescent bulbs, he became chatty. "This passage was made in the time of George Washington, Sir. It houses one of the greatest secrets of mankind -- the offices of the Ferucil Chamber. None but the Presidents of the United States -- past and present -- and the Heads of Security of the White House know about its existence. We call this tunnel the 'Infierno Corridor', or simply 'Corridor 6' ".

Lowell suddenly stopped and pointed to a little door. "Mr. Teufel awaits within, Sir", he said deferentially and stepped back.

Suddenly, Bush suddenly felt like he was floating in a dream. As if in a haze, he saw the number inscribed in gold on the office door. Room 66.

The door opened. And he entered, and instantaneously everything became crystal clear in a blinding flash. And he realized who he would really be reporting to, and why.

Corridor 6, Room 66 -- the number 666. 'Teufel', German for 'the devil'. Ferucil, anagram of Lucifer. Infierno, Italian for Hell ...

Satan had his HQ in Corridor 6, Room 66 of the White House ...

People Helping People

2004-10-08T03:00:00.000-07:00

(MAD Club Project II)

What are some of the worries we face when, God forbid, we or any of our loved ones falls sick and has to be hospitalized?

Here is my list, in order of priority:

Quality of doctors, nurses and paramedics. Are they adequately qualified? Are they sensitive and understanding? Are they aware of my concerns, my actual needs? Will they make that extra effort to redress these needs and concerns of mine? Do they understand that they hold in their hands, NOT a sick body which must one day die, but THE LIFE OF ONE OF MY LOVED ONES?
Quality of the hospital overall. Is it neat and clean, so that risk of secondary infection is minimized? Is the food hygienic, healthy and palatable? Is the environment peaceful and quiet? Is the ambience bright and well-lit, the staff cheerful and optimistic and willing to put in that extra effort to help?
Cost involved. Will I be made to pay more than I actually should?

My few experiences with healthcare systems in India has shown that, more often than not, the answers to the above will be No, No, Yes.

Based on your own personal experiences with hospitals, you will doubtless have horror stories of your own to relate. The healthcare systems in most developing countries is abysmal, and the Indian subcontinent is more the rule than the exception.

But do we do anything about it other than rant and rage? NO! Over the ages, consumer courts notwithstanding, we ordinary citizens have learnt to live with our griefs and swallow our unanswered questions instead of seeking to improve the medical system.

Why is that the case?

It is because, if the medical system has to be improved, the initiative CANNOT be taken by laymen like you and me. The initiative MUST come from within the medical fraternity itself.

Why then haven't such initiatives started so far? Why don't doctors live up to the Hippocratic Oath, why don't nurses become Florence Nightingales?

There are a multitude of reasons why not. Lack of time and energy, a blind rush to earn money, highly stressful lives ...

And we common people suffer as a result.

Which is why, when a group of idealistic young doctors decide to stand up and fight the system, one cannot help but cheer oneself hoarse for them!

People Helping People (PHP) is one such bold and visionary initiative started by a young modern-day Florence Nightingale. The objective of PHP is to improve medical ethics in our part of the world, to make the medical fraternity more sensitive to the REAL needs of patients, to improve doctor-patient relationships, to make the entire hospitalization experience sunnier and healthier for the patient.

If you are a part of the medical fraternity, you can help directly. If not, you can help just as much, if not more, in a multitude of ways. Click here to see how.

Remember, the results of PHP may directly impact you some day. Just a little bit of time and effort from your side can bring a smile to thousands of long-suffering patients.

So do email daringdoctor@gmail.com and volunteer.

And let us Make A Difference.

***

Aloha friend, have you gone MAD today?
Join TIBD and PHP and lead the way!

Template Revolution

2004-10-08T02:38:00.000-07:00

Yay ... my template has changed :)

No clue whether it's better looking, but fluorescent green surely is brighter, which complements my mood, and there's a doodleboard and a clock which shows you IST, which is for some reason 13 minutes behind my wristwatch, which in turn is never wrong but simultaneously is rarely right too, and the primary reason I'm writing like this is because I'm in a "Yay" mood again and want to compose a sixty-plus-word sentence, and I'm sure this bit of info is going to make you start counting, and of course ... thanks Queen Phoenix, one largish treat pending !!

I hereby heave a deep sigh and end my shortest ever post.

International Blanket Day

2004-10-05T10:35:00.000-07:00

(MAD Club Project I)

Winter is nigh. Yayyy !!!

Winter has always been my favourite season. It conjures up in my mind images of a refreshing nip in the air, cosy pullovers and cardigans, comical monkey caps and riotously colourful scarves, thick snuggly cotton-stuffed blankets. It's a time to enjoy soup and hot chocolate like never before. It's a time when thick fur-encased pomerians look at me pityingly, when I feel envious whenever I stroke the plush coats of pet cats. It's the season of Santa Claus and Lights, of New Year's resolutions and loved ones' birthdays. It's the season of oranges and lemons sold for a penny. It's the season when bathing in the warm mellow noon sunshine feels even better than a hot water shower. I shiver on recalling my experiences with sub-zero desert frostbites, yet feel all warm and fuzzy inside when I cuddle up in my bed and look out of the window at the clearer-than-ever-before starlit skies.

But alas, winter does not hold the same fascination for hundreds of thousands of hapless people. For them, winter means helpless shivering leading to sleepless nights huddled against the nearest stone wall for a shade of protection from the biting wind; inevitable coughs and sneezes and runny noses; the looming threat of fevers which refuse to die down. Little hope of even a cup of warm tea to thaw their limbs and hearts. A cold which penetrates the bones of the aged and the hearts of the young.

In one way or another, each season is an enemy of the poor and homeless and destitute. Winter is an adversary which is often fatal.

Every year, countless Indians die an entirely preventable death due to bitter winter cold.

Can we do something to help?

It was the winter of 2001 when a modest idea was born. Such ideas sometimes happen to the young, foolish, idealistic starry-eyed who still commit the mistake of nurturing hope for the future and reposing an unwavering faith in the human race.

The idea was to designate 9th December, which marks the onset of stiff winter in most parts of India, as "International Blanket Day".

What is the idea behind International Blanket Day?

We all need warmth in our life. And what better way of achieving this is there than sharing warmth with others? Can we ensure that, because of us, at least one poor person will sleep in warmth and comfort this winter? The warmth will assuredly remain with us forever.

What is International Blanket Day?

On or before this day, as many people as possible would be requested to help those less fortunate than them.

Please make a donation to any needy person of your choice anywhere in the world this winter, on or before International Blanket Day, and feel the warmth that comes your way.

We personally guarantee that a flush of health and happiness will bloom on your cheeks, your digestion will improve beyond recognition, your behaviour will become more effervescent and bubbly and chirpy, your sleep will become more sound, and your dreams will become truly delightful.

How would it work?

The process is as follows:

Each person (henceforth referred to as "contributor") would be asked to look around and identify at least one poor and needy person (henceforth referred to as "beneficiary") of his or her acquaintance.
The contributor would then buy a blanket and give it to the beneficiary.
If the contributor cannot afford a new blanket, he or she is welcome to donate an old blanket to the beneficiary.
If the contributor resides in a warm area which is not affected by severe winter, or if the beneficiary already has a blanket, the contributor will ask the beneficiary about the latter's needs. These could be any of the following:
a. Warm clothes (sweaters, cardigans, scarves, socks, shawls ... )
b. Any other clothes (shirts, trousers, kurtas, lungis ... )
c. Footwear (slippers, shoes ... )
d. Medicines or medical treatment
e. School or tuition fees, study books or materials (note pads, pens, pencils, erasers, sharpeners, rulers, geometry boxes, pencil boxes, school bags ... )
f. Food
g. Money (although this is not very recommended as it is not a sustainable contribution and has the potential to be be misused, still it could definitely be given. It is always better that it is given in the form of items 'a' to 'f' mentioned above. It is also an excellent idea to give this money to an orphanage, old age home, a school for the poor, a hospital for the poor, or any NGO which you know is doing good work)
h. Anything else which the contributor knows will be useful and important to the beneficiary
Once the contributor knows of the beneficiary's actual needs, he or she will try and provide the beneficiary with the same. The contribution can be new or even second hand. Either way it will Make A Difference.
If nothing else, the contributor can donate a warm loving smile to the beneficiary.

At the end of the day, there should be just that extra bit of warmth and happiness in this increasingly cold and frosty world of ours.

How is this movement different from other donation drives?

Blanket donation drives have been organized before, but this is "a drive with a difference" in two ways:

The drive is self-initiated: Here, the onus on identifying the beneficiary, deciding on what to contribute, as well as making the contribution, rests entirely on YOU.
The drive is self-propagating: It is up to YOU to spread awareness of the movement among your friends, family members, colleagues and acquaintances. You could use e-mail, snailmail or any other form of communication for this purpose.

How can you help?

Chronologically, this is the fourth anniversary of the movement. In many ways, however, it is the inaugural year. This is after all the first time an attempt is being made to institutionalize International Blanket Day and make it a little bigger than just an annual college event.

The dream is very lofty. The resources are very scarce.

You can help immeasurably simply by participating.

You can help even more if your answer to any of the following questions is a "Yes":

Do you have family, friends and acquaintances with who you can share this message? Do you know people who are willing and able to create a warmer and happier world?
Can you get together with your friends on any Sunday or half holiday, and organize a little collection and distribution drive on your own? It will not take more than a few hours, and believe me, the kick you will experience is not worth missing.
Is your academic institute or workplace willing to adopt ideas such as these?
Are you good at IT aspects like database management or website design?
Do you have ideas or recommendations or contacts for spreading news of this request to the maximum number of people? Any and all suggestions are most welcome.
And finally, is anyone interested in volunteering to join Team International Blanket Day (TIBD)? TIBD is today a single member team and cordially solicits participation. If anyone volunteers, maybe we can start a concept of TIBD Coordinator for your school / college / organization / locality / city / country.

If you have answered a "Yes" to any of the above, and if you are willing to participate, please email blanketday@yahoo.com. Please mention your name and city / country of residence. All your inputs, feedback, suggestions, ideas, queries, clarifications and offers to help will be keenly appreciated. We promise to revert ASAP.

We also request that each of you who makes a donation informs us of his / her contribution by sending an email to blanketday@yahoo.com. This will help us keep track of the spread and success of the movement.

So come. Join us in celebrating December 9th as International Blanket Day.

And let us Make A Difference. Together.

(PS. People who have already joined up for the MAD Club are requested to kindly send a separate email to blanketday@yahoo.com in case they want to participate - Thanks!)

(PPS. This idea has NO copyrights! You are MOST WELCOME to adopt the idea, improve it as you feel fit, and spread it as your own.)

Have You Gone MAD Today?

2004-10-03T22:22:00.000-07:00

The human race is cleanly divided into two distinct categories. One is the Haves who comprise less than 2% of the world's population. The other is the Havenots who fill up the remaining 98%.

Just answer this simple question to see which category you fall into:

Q. Are you reading this sentence on your own?

If your answer is "Yes", it means a great deal.

It means you are not visually impaired. You have functioning hands to operate a computer. You can understand what you are reading, which means you are literate, and infinitely more significantly you are literate in English. This in turn implies you are at least reasonably educated. It also indicates that you have access to a computer and the Internet, whether you are in school, college, hostel, office, a cybercafe, or home.

Congratulations! You are very definitely a Have !!! You are in the top 2% of the human race in terms of access to education, employment opportunities, income levels, medical care, housing, and goodness knows what else. So look around you ... of every 100 people you meet, only one other, symbolically speaking, will be as or more fortunate than you !!!

So you're a Have. So what?

Let's start from here ... there's a little bit of madness in all of us. So why not redefine the term MAD itself?

Why not define MAD as "Making A Difference"?

It is here that the concept of the MAD Club comes in.

The MAD Club is a group of Haves. Age, Gender, Religion, Nationality no bar. The only criterion is that the members should feel a common desire to Make A Difference. To the people they meet. To the world they live in.

The purpose of the MAD Club is to think up, plan, organize and implement simple projects which will touch people and improve lives. These projects need not be elaborate in the least. They can be one-off or repetitive. They can be grassroots level or futuristic. They can shake up the world, or equally, they can just make the canteen boy in your office grin for a moment.

The MAD Club is not an NGO. It is simply aimed at being a congregation of like minded people who would like to spend some time together and carry out little projects which make a difference. Members of the MAD Club are strongly encouraged to work with various NGOs and organizations, and share their experiences with others in the MAD Club.

Sounds great so far, right? But how? After all, each of us is busy, caught up in our education, our careers, our family lives, our social lives. Even if we do have the inclination, we scarcely have the time or the energy to do "social work" at the end of a tiring day. So how can we Make A Difference? How can we MAD?

Do we have any examples to show us the way? Sure we do !!

A great example of a MAD project is A smile across many miles. Another is Dreams Come True. A modern-day Florence Nightingale has initiated a wonderful project called People Helping People, whose details will be provided shortly. Another project, International Blanket Day, will follow soon. And some of our truly inspirational role models are these.

Today, Monday October 4th 2004, heralds the official commencement of the MAD Club. The clarion call of this esteemed mental institution shall be, "Have You Gone MAD Today?"

True, one person alone can do very little. But together, trust me, we can truly MAD. We can Rock The World.

You are sincerely invited to join. If anyone wants to apply, or if anyone has any suggestions or queries (both are very cordially solicited, these will form the backbone of the MAD Club after all), please email suhailkassim@gmail.com with your name and location (city / country).

So come. Let us MAD. Together.

Anyone interested?

Dead Poets' Society

2004-10-01T03:33:00.000-07:00

Today the monsoon sky is thundering,
And here I am sitting and wondering
About our generation's poetic lore ...
About why poems don't rhyme any more!

So very frequently I happen to see
Such transcendingly lovely poetry.
But alas, they very rarely rhyme -
Out of fashion? Or plain lack of time?

And then think I,
"Let ME show 'em!
Why don't I try
To write a poem?"

A couple of couplets I have done;
But can I do long poems too?
That would indeed be something fun ...
And that's how this nutty idea grew!

It was most probably lack of sleep
That helped me take the final call!
Or was it a desire to watch you weep?
Mayhap I wanted to hear you bawl?

So yelled I, "Let's do it, I say!"
And valiantly but most unwisely
Proceeded with my maiden foray
Into the Garden of Rhyming Poetry ...

They say poets should possess
Sensitivity of soul and temperament.
Alas! Herein I have no success -
Insensitivity's my First Commandment!

Wordsworth wrote about daffodils;
He wrote magnificently indeed, forsooth.
I of course can't write with frills ...
Can't write at all, and that's the truth!

I'm no Yeats or Wordsworth,
I'm no Keats or Byron.
They were poets from birth
While I'm a poetic moron!

Out of thin air, many a poem they spun
But heck, I'm not even their great grandson!
And I haven't inherited their poetic baton
Else maybe I'd have found rhyming to be fun ...

I don't know what's worse;
My sense of poetic timing,
My Metre or my Verse
Or my unrhythmic rhyming!

This then is my twopence, don't kill me for it;
In the vast Ocean of Poetry, here is my teensy bit!
So that's what this poem is all about this time,
Just some words dressed up and made to rhyme ...

~ Lord Suhail Tennyson :)

Blogspeak

2004-09-28T21:33:00.000-07:00

Disclaimer: This post is entirely auto-generated by a Blog and is untouched by human hands.

Prologue

In the beginning, there was Man.
And Man said, "Let There Be Blog."
And there was Blog.

***

Introduction

Hi, I'm a Blog.

Name: http://suhailkassim.blogspot.com
DoB: 11 Aug 2004
Blood Type: C++

This, then, is my story.

***

Blog Veda

Until July 2004, I was just an assortment of idle bits and bytes floating around in the scary world of Cyberspace.

Then I got a cute little daddy. I fondly named him My Asinine Idiotic Daddy, or MAID.

My MAID is a very simple and innocent boy. He doesn't even know many four-letter words. For instance, "blog". That was until one day Friend 1 introduced him to Blogging.

The first time MAID heard the word, he thought "Blogging" was the by-product of an upset tummy.

Then he went to Hospital Blogspot dot com and gave birth to me. You've heard of maids giving birth, but imagine ... this was a daddy giving birth !! Ok, so male seahorses also do so. But MAID's not a male seahorse, his mental faculties are so much lower. Besides, he's not even married ...

We then had a naming ceremony. I was christened during my delivery itself, not with rose petals but with a mouse and keypad instead. MAID, like the typical unimaginative outdated parent he is, named me after him. Thank God his name wasn't "Poop". Imagine, poop dot blogspot dot com. Dot yuck !!! Ewwww ...

Anyways, so that's how I got my nice name. Now I was not just a bit, or a byte, or a byte of another byte, or a bitty byte. I was an identity. Yayyy :)

You know, I am almost as real as MAID, who is after all merely a mobile mass of protoplasm.

He can blabber and jabber unceasingly ... ha! So can I.

He can crash, work on the computer, bore people to death ... hyuck hyuck! So can I.

He can't think on his own, heck he can't think, period. I, of course, can, koi shaque?

MAID doesn't even have a girlfriend. And me? Well, I have been "linked" to several nice blogs in the past. But those links are all IP Addresses. And it's just so uncool to be known as a Blog who's dating an IP Address ... so yeah, I'm single too ...

Then, once I got my identity, MAID started pouring his heart onto me. And sweet people paid occasional visits to me. Some even commented on me. Mmmuaaahhh ... love ya all !!

And, like the babbling brook, I went on and on. But only because MAID's workload was light and he could afford to spend quality time with his only kid.

But I remained a plain Jane. Always attired in the same simple template. No photos or links adorned me. And whenever I peeped at all your beautiful blogs, I felt so incomplete. "But why?", you sob in Deep Distress. "Can't your MAID afford to look after you well?", you ask plaintively, a solitary tear running down your left cheek. Thanks for the heartfelt sympathy. Always appreciated. Well, the truth is, MAID suffers from chronic laziness. And he doesn't know XML or even HTML. You see, he's technology illiterate. Anyways he's barely literate otherwise, Census 2001 had this single-member category of "They Think They're Literate, We Think They're Mistaken" with a photo-op of MAID. But I -- I could make him tech literate. For know ye, and know ye well, red blood corpuscles may course through MAID's veins but Javascript code runs through my fiber optic backbone. But MAID hai ki maanta nahin. Well what can you, dear gentle and educated reader, expect from someone who's IQ is so modest ...

(Discussion in MAID's office last week)
Smart She: Buddy, you've got freaking low IQ !!
MAID: Not at all !! It's as high as 26.
SS: That's the same level as a jellyfish's !!
MAID: That must've been because the jellyfish took a tougher IQ test !!!!

See, told ya he's dumb.

Then one day, MAID lost the few marbles he still had. So he went off on one of his hyperbolic tangents. On what a waste of time blogging is and stuff. Hey pops, didn't someone teach you not to rant at your two-month old Baby Blog who's suffering from a Bloomin' Big Hangover?

So MAID was about to consign his blog-infant to the Cyber-orphanage. But just then, Friend 2 gave him some encouragement and advice, and Friend 3 said he'd help MAID with my nappy-changing and dressing-up. So MAID decided to give me one more shot.

So now at last you see on me a list of my favorite links :)

Now I'm hep. Now I'm cool. Now I'm a Blog Dude. Now I Rock !!!!

***

Epilogue

(Three months later - December 2004)

You: Hi, my name is KMBV. Kind Male Blog Visitor.
Me: Knock! Knock!
KMBV: Who's there?
Me: A runaway little Blog
KMBV: Arunawaylittleblog who?
Me: http://suhailkassim.blogspot.com
KMBV: Etch tee tee pee WHAT?? What kinda name izzat?
Me (indignantly): It's a real cutie pie name !!! As if your name's all that hot ...
KMBV: Whaddya want?
Me: You !!
KMBV: ????
Me: Well, I've ditched daddy on grounds of imbecility. Daddy is a Maddy. So, since you meet my parental criteria, congrats, you're my new adopted daddy !!
KMBV (freaked out): Parental criteria? What parental criteria?
Me: You have time to check blogs and update me !! Do you know, daddy's hardly updated me for three months now ...
KMBV (aghast): Ouch !! Really????
Me (breaking down totally): Look at me. Just look at me !! Don't I look like I'm from a respectable family? Yet daddy never even gave me a clock !! He never put photos on me !! No doodle board ... no Haloscan ... no non-standard background ... I'm a ... *sob* ... a ... *choke sniff* ... neglected blog-baby !!
KMBV (Weeping copious tears of profound sorrow): Awww you poor innocent infant. C'mere, I'll look after you ...
Me: Yippee !!! Thanks pops!

Now my future has unfurled.

Thou art my new MAID ...

When we Blogs conquer the world,

Thou shalt be adequately repaid !!!

Time Warp

2004-09-23T22:24:00.000-07:00

(A short story)

... and Zach awoke with a start. It was eerily still and pitch black, except for the ray of moonlight which slanted into his room through the open air duct directly above him.

Zach groaned audibly. Another nightmare. It had been uncannily vivid and realistic. "What had it been this time?", he frowned as his brows creased in concentration. Probably the same one again, he thought wearily, flopping back onto his pillow. The one about that shapeless black figure engulfing his wife ...

His wife ... Zach turned to look at Zara's bed. As his pupils focussed and adjusted to the dim light, his heart skipped a beat.

Zara's bed was empty.

Zach sat up.

"Zara?", he called out aloud. There was no response.

"Zara?", he almost yelled this time. But the all-encompassing darkness refused to throw back an answer.

Zach groaned. Had Zara been sleepwalking again? The anti-hallucinatory drugs seemed to have cured her for good.

"Probably a relapse", he thought as he wearily crawled out of those soft and inviting blankets, donned his pajamas and sandals, and shuffled towards the living room. "Hope she's not gone out of the house", he prayed as he flicked on the fluorescent hall lights. He squinted as the bright lights invaded his retina, then froze at what he saw.

Blood on the floor.

A dark red trail. Leading towards the cellar downstairs ...

Zach suppressed an instinctive scream. Had Zara been injured? Had she fallen down the stairs leading to the cellar? But that was impossible ... the entrance to the cellar was always locked ...

He rushed to the thick door which barricaded the house from the stairs leading to the cellar. The padlock was missing.

"What the hell", he cursed softly as he pushed the door. It swung open with a resisting creak.

Zach grabbed a flashlight from the mantelpiece and literally tumbled down the asymmetric steps leading to what he had often fondly called "the dungeon". The cellar had been the mystery room of this ancient manor for generations. But family history was the last thing on Zach's overwrought mind just then.

As he reached the vast cavern, he called out Zara's name again. His voice echoed around the cellar as he beamed the flashlight all around.

And then he saw it. Less than fifteen meters from where he stood.

That shapeless black figure.

Black. Pitch black. Oozing slime in all directions.

And about to engulf a limp unconscious Zara ...

"ZARA", shouted Zach in frenzied panic ...

***

... and Zach awoke with a start. It was eerily still and pitch black, except for the ray of moonlight which slanted into his room through the open air duct directly above him.

Zach groaned audibly. Again the same nightmare ...

As he turned wearily towards Zara's bed, knowing he would find it empty, knowing he was living out yet another bad dream, knowing he was stuck in a time warp, in a vortex of inescapable thoughts, a frightened part of his traumatized brain silently asked the inevitable question.

A dream within a dream within a dream within ...

Will it never end?

Whodidesay?

2004-09-20T04:14:00.000-07:00

When I was in college, they worked out this engineering formula which epitomized Suhail the Student:

Distance from Professor directly proportional to Wakefulness

In other words, whenever I used to sit on the front bench, I used to crash like a dazed hippo, Kumbhakarna, or Rip van Winkle. And whenever I used to be a back bencher, too far away to notice anything on the blackboard or hear the nutty professor's pearls of wisdom, I'd be as wide awake as you were just before this post started sending you into a sonorous soporific haze of boredom.

I happen to have attended a college where they, realizing this fault in my genetic composition, made me a back bencher for two full years. So despite my best attempts, I was unable to fall asleep in class. That of course does not mean I'd actually listen to the nutty professors. And my grades prove I didn't. And I'm not going to show you my abysmal grade card. What I would do was doodle caricatures of the professor's big ears / nostrils / fangs, tap my feet to the rhythm of whatever tune I liked at the time, solve the Times Daily crossword puzzle or die trying (I died every day except two), and feverishly note down some hatke statements made by those nutty professors. So here's a compendium of these statements ... a product of sweat, toil, tears and two years' wakeful Rigorous Imprisonment Without The Option in class ...

Prof entering a half-empty classroom: Are we in the right classroom ??

What is the example of a random event? Put a bunch of monkeys in a room, add a few typewriters and given a length of time they will produce all the works of Shakespeare !!

Princess Diana said it was a crowded marriage ... she was speaking the truth !!

Prof on colas: God did not ask me to drink this black water !!

Prof on Push Systems wrt Tirupati Temple: If you push the guy in front of you a little bit, you can make him see the lord. If you push the guy a little more, you can send him to the lord !!

These people walk for five days to go to Tirupati ... stand in line for 10 hours for darshan ... and finally when they get 10 seconds to actually see the idol, they'll close their eyes !!!!

Prof on Toyota Production Systems: Toyota Production Systems is similar to Dawood Ibrahim. Both have the philosophy that wherever there is waste, ELIMINATE it !!

You people have a nice way of avoiding me. Whenever i ask a question, you girls start looking in your books as if you are very busy. And you guys look away like newly married brides !!

On the Toyota worker's apathy to the company's problems: Here you are jumping up and down like an intoxicated monkey, and you go to the workers and he shrugs and says, "is there a problem?"

Definition of cycle time: Cycle time does not mean that you take three women and expect to have a child in three months, it will still take nine months !!

Student: This is what I think.
Prof: This is not your contention but your confusion and at best you can have confusion because it is your birthright !!

I am stunned by your intellectual inferiority !!

Prof on first day of class, enters room, takes off his shoes, sits cross-legged on table and says in deep baritone: Consultants are insecure overachievers !!

Prof: What would you want? Freedom or Air-conditioned Buses?
Student: Both, I guess.
Prof: You cannot get both. That would be like having a mistress and a wife.
Student: That's a philosophical analogy.
Prof: There is nothing philosophical about it. It is very materialistic !!

I am a sadistic monkey, you know !!

... when my son was 3 years old... yes he actually once was even though he thinks he was born at 15 !!

I'm not marketing myself, it's too late !!

I'll market myself to you only when you are my "future Son-in-law" OR "potential Father-in-law" !!

I don't care if I'm wrong. If I happen to be reasonably right, its OK !!

Women are fragile, but they can be powerful also ... they can tilt and kick the scooter !!

On bad working capital management: It's like you are not even married and you are borrowing money on your children !!

You can't focus on your spouse and children at the same time ... for that you need a different level of focus !!

You cannot put ATMs everywhere. For example you cannot put an ATM in a Hanuman mandir because then Hanuman will run away with the ATM !!

Student: Sir, the company's strategy is they want to enter the rural market.
Prof: That is not strategy, that is desire. See, there is a difference between desire and strategy. Ravana wanted to spend some time with Sita - that was desire. He got Maareecha to lure away Rama - that was strategy !!!!

Prof telling student to use calculator: Use the superfast donkey in front of you, change the variables and give me the answer in 5 seconds !!

Kotler is a very good book (pregnant pause) to be kept in the book shelf !!!

Prof: Who is Crow?
Student: Err ... I'm not sure.
Prof: Who is Crow? Crow is there, sitting on top of the tree and doing crow, crow !!

I will not push you to the wall ... NO ... I will push you through the wall !!

Don't give me half a point !! Therefore ...

Interrupting a verbose student: Junk ...

To a student muted by fear: Audio ...

To another student muted by fear: Move ...

Student: Sir, Kotler says ...
Prof: Do you have a girl friend?
Student: No sir ...
Prof: Haan, that's why you have time to read Kotler !!

This question is an insult to our intelligence !!

Ho Ho Ho... Homogeneous.... Guys do not get wrong ideas !!

This is the first class of the day (yawns loudly) .. and I use this to get myself fully awake !!

Ideas come more quickly once you have taken some inspirational liquids !!

A word that can be used for asking questions can also be used for answering questions !!

Infrastructure is all about Infra and Structures !!

Just because there is a small hole in my armour i will not allow you to pierce your sword in and drill my heart !!

Prof AB: Confident ... lock kar dein ... hey now i am talking like the other AB !!

If there’s no quorum, the meeting has to be adjourned. But if no one turns up, then there’s no meeting. So what will be adjourned ???

If 10,000 unemployed men dig holes in the ground and fill them again -- India's GDP increases !!

You know when you recite all those shlokas, why do you think they start with OM? That OM is Operations Management !!

Student: Sir this answer is too large a number.
Prof: So what if it is a very large number. There are many numbers which are very large !!

I will not disturb you if you are sleeping in the class because if Abhimanyu learnt so much when he was in his mother's womb you could learn atleast something while in a slightly advantageous situation !! (Yep that was to me !!)

A Tale of Two Cities

2004-09-16T23:12:00.000-07:00

Mumbai, 1817 hours, Thursday 16 September 2004

Arun rang the bell. Reema answered immediately.

"What took you so long?", she demanded irritably. "I've been ready for ages!"

Arun sighed. "I know, I know. I'm sorry. There was this meeting ... by the way, may I wish my one and only beloved wife a very happy eighth wedding anniversary! And may I say she looks very beautiful this evening."

Reema dimpled despite her annoyance. Arun could be so charming. "Thank you", she said as she took his hand and guided him to their bedroom. "Now get ready quickly, we're having a little party at Taj Lands End. Everyone's coming."

"To the Taj, then", smiled Arun as he looked at Reema fondly. She had not changed a bit over the years. From the bathroom, Arun called out, "Oh, by the way, I'll be flying to Kolkata early tomorrow morning."

"Again?" Reema felt another surge of irritation. "Why do you always fly off to Kolkata the day after our anniversary? You're in Kolkata most of the year in any case."

Arun sighed again. "Well, you know ... running two separate businesses ... one based in Mumbai and the other in Kolkata ... "

"I know, I know", snapped Reema. "Ok, fine, go. Now hurry up or we'll be late."

Arun smiled to himself as he shaved. He would not be late. Today or tomorrow.

***

Kolkata, 0930 hours, Friday 17 September 2004

Arun rang the bell. Komala answered immediately.

"You're back!", she squealed in delight. "You're back!"

Arun smiled. "Of course, my dear! How could I not be here with you on this extra special day? May I wish my one and only beloved wife a very happy seventh wedding anniversary!"

As Komala excitedly led him to their bedroom, Arun smiled to himself. Today was indeed an extra special day for him. After all, it was his fifteenth wedding anniversary in eight years ...

Chivalry - Dead or Alive?

2004-09-15T23:37:00.000-07:00

In the course of my surfing today, I came across a post which states, "Between the wish of the male consumer to look at naked female bodies and the inhuman lust of a rapist, lies the common man's world." I politely beg to differ. There is another type of common man. One who does not lie between the two boundaries specified above. He is the chivalrous man.

I was a mute witness to the following drama in a tuitions class aeons ago.

Boy and girl enter class late. Boy rushes to grab last chair ahead of girl.
Indignant girl: "There's no chivalry left nowadays."
Defensive boy: "Yeah, 'coz there're no pretty girls left either!!"

You know, in my humble opinion, the indignant girl was wrong. Hark! Do I hear you say, "What rubbish! Which century is he living in?". True, in this era of The Liberated Woman and Equality of Sexes, chivalry's lost much of it's sheen and is considered "demeaning" by men and "stifling and condescending" by ladies. But chivalry still exists in pockets. These pockets are spread out amongst the teeming populace, as well as in the minds of those few guys who'd rather die than act unchivalrously.

Here's a sneak peek into the mind of a modern-day Launcelot, a true-blue chivalrous guy I've known personally since childhood. He's dumb in many ways, so I'll call him Chivalrous Moron or CM. These are twelve things that characterize CM and keep him ticking.

CM is a mega-time sucker for a pretty smile. If CM ever happens to save your life, just give him one honest and disarming smile which reaches your eyes, and CM will go away thinking he hasn't done anything to deserve such a glowing repayment.
CM loves it when girls giggle at his jokes, most of which he knows are dumb. Come to think of it, he's cool even when they're giggling at him, not his jokes. So long as he knows why they're giggling, he's fine.
CM is a true MCP. He genuinely believes that women are weaker than men. Not emotionally or mentally or spiritually -- he knows they're usually stronger in these departments -- but physically. That's why he'll do dumb stuff. Like run ahead of them to open doors for them. Like get up and hold the chair for them while they settle themselves in. Like give up his seat in a bus to any girl near him, even when he's not well that day.
Again like a typical MCP, CM will escort any girl safely home from college, office or that late-night party, even if it means going way out of his way. CM considers escorting to be a bounden duty and a significant honour to boot. He proudly claims he runs a 24-hour one-man "Girl Escorting" service.
CM knows that most girls will find him "cho chweet" and "what a darling" and basically "such a nice guy naa". Horrors, they may even pinch his cheek in public !! He also knows he'll get loads of Rakhis on Raksha Bandhan. Basically, CM is fully aware that most girls he knows will look at him either as just another good friend or as a brother. But that's okay. CM's happy with these labels. Come to think of it, he's proud of them. Because he feels these tags carry with them the warmth of comfort, of security, of blind trust. Which of course they do.
CM is a die-hard romantic. He believes in soulmates. That's why the concept of divorce confuses him no end. Every morning, he awakens with the belief that he'll find her today. She'll be waiting there, for him, just round the corner. And when he doesn't find her round the corner, never mind. For there are so many other corners just ahead. And if he never finds his particular corner, if he never finds her, that's fine too. One failure by the God of Love doesn't mean it's the end of the world, or even the end of Romance.
CM knows he's chivalrous, and it's unfashionable, but he's not apologetic. He will always choose the idiotic road less travelled, that of being a chivalrous "loser with girls", rather than the far more popular "use and dispense with" path adopted by so many.
Like many of his ilk, CM is a peculiar mix of egregariousness and reserve. He loves making friends of both sexes. He'll often take the first two steps towards you. If you take the next step, leave the rest to him. He'll guarantee that you find yourself a lifelong good friend and confidante.
And talking of confidante, CM is filled to the brim with secrets of his friends which he'll never ever reveal, so don't bother asking him. But if you ever want a sympathetic ear, if you ever need a supporting shoulder, refer to CM. It'll help.
You'll usually find CM in a bubbly mood, he's a pretty cheerful optimistic devil. You may sometimes catch CM in a flirtatious mood. But if you encounter it, remember it's always totally harmless and in good spirit. CM gets confused and hurt when people misunderstand him, he's a bit thick that way. And yeah, he hates bitching, so girls lay off him when you're in one of your scurrilous moods.
CM, being a "modern" MCP, knows -- from personal experience -- that women are usually better at work than men. Because they have a higher EQ, lower ambitions and less conceit. Hence he has a genuinely healthy respect for working women. And he's floored by women who manage both home and work. He knows he, for one, would never manage that. Nappy changing and washing the dishes is fine, but CM is an unmitigated disaster, a la a Japanese Tsunami, whenever he approaches a kitchen. After all, remember CM is an MCP, albeit a modern one. And he's also a guy. It's a bad combo, and he needs your sympathy and support here.
And finally, and perhaps most importantly, CM knows and respects that some things are very important for girls, much more important than even their lives. And CM feels sick if these things are taken advantage of, if any girl had to ever compromise on any of these things. He would personally drown in shame if he could help her but didn't. And he knows it's woefully inadequate, but on behalf of his gender, CM would like to apologize to the opposite sex for all the accumulated shit they've tolerated over the ages.

There aren't too many CMs around today. They're there, sure, but they are a fast-dying breed. And today's world, filled with ghastly incidents of rape, incest, molestation and abuse, could certainly do with plenty more CMs.

On your part, a little encouragement to the CMs you know would go a long way in bringing dignity back to this fading art. For there is a CM in almost all men, the trick is in drawing him out.

And that's an onus which rests squarely on the fairer sex.

What Should X Do?

2004-09-14T11:45:00.000-07:00

X meets Y for the first time and extends a hand of friendship.

X: Hi, I'm X, can we be friends?
Y: Sure! I'm Y.
X: Nice to meet you Y :)
Y: On second thoughts, let's not be friends.
X (hurt and confused): May I know why?
Y: I don't think I like you.
X: But you hardly even know me. I know we'll get along famously if you give me a chance.
Y: I know we will, but I don't feel like giving you a chance.

Now X knows that good friendships are hard to come by, and he feels this can be a great friendship, so he's not willing to terminate this new friendship so easily.

At the same time, X feels friendship cannot be forced, it has to come from within, and if Y doesn't feel a mutual pull towards X, then it's not fair for X to force his friendship on Y.

So X is in a quandary -- should he press ahead or respect Y's decision as final?

Any answers?

Pete and Andre

2004-09-13T22:15:00.000-07:00

Nice guys don't always finish last.

Vishwanathan Anand has proved this adage several times over. Rahul Dravid proved it once again in the ICC Awards last week. But this post is a tribute to the King of Understatement, the immortal Pete Sampras.

Pete Sampras will always hold my unfliching loyalty as my favourite tennis player ever, ahead of both of his two illustrious predecessors who've been my past favorites -- Stefan Edberg and Boris Becker. Here're some reasons why:

Sublime tennis. The slam-dunk jump overhead, his running forehand, big second serve and diving volleys. And those mouth-watering Open finals with Agassi ... wowwww!! :)
All those records -- 14 Grand Slams. World number 1 for 6 straight years.
Guts. He always played the French Open though he knew he'd never win there.
His human side. Can't forget how he wept unabashedly on court against Jim Courier at the 1995 Australian Open after hearing the news that Tim Gullikson, his coach and confidant, was diagnosed as having four inoperable brain tumors.
Superb fitness levels. Did you know he suffers from a rare form of anemia that hampers his stamina?
Cool dude. Immune to pressure.
And above all ... a great sportsman and a really nice guy.

And because Andre Agassi is of the same generation as Sampras, and because of some of the immortal games the two have played, and because of his never-say-die spirit, Agassi will continue to be my sentimental favorite among the current crop of players until his retirement.

Last week, Agassi lost heartbreakingly in a seesaw quarterfinal with the eventual winner of this year's US Open, the eleven-year-younger Roger Federer. Agassi was the only player who could stretch Federer, who is already being touted as a potential rival to Sampras' records, to five sets.

But as they say, it's not over until it's actually over.

Here's a toast to Andre Agassi, historic third-time winner of the US Open 2005.

Was it worth it?

2004-09-13T01:27:00.000-07:00

Official figures released last week state 1,004 Americans have perished in the Iraq war so far. Can you visualise this figure easily? Here is a pictoral representation of this number.

$ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $

This of course excludes the 13,000 Iraqi deaths (many of them unarmed and defenceless women, children and old people), hundreds of non-US casualties, and millions of maimed and injured victims.

And these are just the official figures. Unofficial figures are several multiples higher.

Was it worth it?

***

A gift for President George Walker Bush, "Born-Again Christian" ... a few lines from the Holy Testaments ...

Thou Shalt Not Kill. The Sixth Commandment

Thou shalt not murder. Exodus 20: 13

Do not pollute the land where you are. Bloodshed pollutes the land and atonement cannot be made for the land on which the blood has been shed, except by the blood of the one who shed it. Do not defile the land where you live. Numbers 35:33-34

Jesus doesn't want our love to grow cold. He wants us to love our enemies, bless them that curse us, do good to people that hate us, and pray for those that insult us, and persecute us. Mt 5:44

God made man and women to be in His own image. When people kill one another they are taking the life of someone who belongs to God. And, more importantly, someone made in God's own image and likeness. Ge 1:27 Ge 9:6 Deut. 10:14

When people give in to the lust of the flesh bad things happen, including murder on a grand scale - war. Galatians 5:17, 19-21; Jas 4:1

God tells us not to get angry and try and 'get even' with others. God tells us that HE will punish those who do bad things to us. Ro 12:19

***

Some relevant war-based quotations ...

"War is an evil in as much as it produces more wicked men than it takes away" - Greek saying

"It is forbidden to kill; therefore all murderers are punished unless they kill in large numbers and to the sound of trumpets" - Voltaire

"Much war is based on the illusion that life is a property to be defended and not to be shared" - Anon.

"Make love, not War" - some damn hippie circa 1970

And a really stunning statistic ...

"Did you know that the worldwide food shortage that threatens up to five hundred million children could be alleviated at the cost of only one day, only ONE day, of modern warfare" - Peter Ustinov, actor, writer and director (1921-2004)

TWTW II

2004-09-13T01:09:00.000-07:00

Monday
8 pm: FF has arrived from the US with all those bagfuls of chocolates and … what’s that? Jhaal muri from the bylanes of Kolkata?? Yummieee ... and Hoby is just as cute as ever … he recognizes me this time and doesn’t bark, just nuzzles me fondly while I tickle him under his ears … pomerians are cho chweet na … :)

Tuesday
7 am: Goo morningzzz. Moi sleepy. Oooh is it a holiday? Wotfor?? Gopal Kala? In zat case moi’s WIDE awake :) …
10 am: Met FF and the rest of the family in Bandra. Went on wild shopping spree in Elco -- beaded purses, ethnic jewelry, chic kurtas, even razzy hairclips. Then lunched in Amrut Sagar -- their Family Dosa’s over one metre long and the dahi batata puri is the best we've ever had. Then a quick round of Jogger's Park, a short walk on the Bandstand promenade, and then visits to three families in two hours. Hectic hectic.

Wednesday
4 pm: Boss in an indulgent mood says, "Let's all go for a week-long white-water rafting trip to Hrishikesh". But before we stunned mortals can say "Ranagazookaleblauminkies", he amends it to, "At least let's catch a movie. What workaholics you folks are." And he’s accidentally looking at me while saying this !! Everyone else looks at moi in disbelief. Bwahaha ! :))
7 pm: Cine Magic Hall sees twenty eight managers trooping in for the 6.45 pm show of Dhoom. Slick flick. Ishtylish special effects, second only to the inimitable Jaani Dushman. Decent TP.
Flashback: This reminds moi of our JDFC or ‘Jaani Dushman Fan Club’ operating in WIMWI. Moi was a 2-star member coz I'd seen JD twice. The prez of the club had 32 stars!!

Thursday
9 am: Heck, my forehead’s warm. Must be due to the change in temperature.
9 pm: Heck, my forehead’s still warm. Guess the strong AC in the office cools only ambient temperatures and not body temperatures. Sorry gang, won’t be making it to the late-nite coffee outing.

Friday
7.30 am: Cool, my forehead’s cool :)
11 am: Moi gets fired by Bosses for something I hadn't done. The fact that I hadn't done it was the reason for the firing is of course another matter altogether.
5 pm: My natural euphoria with life in general comes crashing down to earth when KK points out that I’m behaving like someone I'm not. I agree, KK, but believe me, I'm not really like this at all. Probably just a result of over-exuberance. I apologize. Sincerely hope it’s just an unfortunate misunderstanding and our budding friendship comes back on track some day.
8 pm: While returning home on Friday, I met this sweet old lady in the elevator. Turns out she lives in the same building as us, and we’ve never met. She's been staying here since 1964, my nani's been here since 1974, I've been here since March 2004, and we meet only in September 2004. Guess that's what a megapolis like Mumbai does to you, neighbours have no time to ever meet each other, let alone become fast friends. It's so different from the other places I've stayed in, especially cities in the East like Kolkata, Jamshedpur and Ranchi, where new members in the neighbourhood are often greeted with garlands and sweets, there's a welcome party thrown in their honour, and they're expected to reciprocate with a party of their own.

Saturday
11 am: Visit optician to change spectacle frame. Choose rectangular instead of round. More hep, he says. Hope so! :)
12 noon: Visit Chand Sports and finally buy those dumb belles, oops dumbbells. They’re sold at Rs. 11 per pound. Cute! :)
12.45 pm: Purchase “The Da Vinci Code” at 40% discount from a roadside hawker at a busy four-point crossing. Mission accomplished !!! Now there’s just that little matter of reading it someday …
1 pm: Biryani with mum at Zaika. While we're there, a smartly dressed chauffeur walks in, says "Dilip Kumar saab ka package ready hai kya?", collects a whopper of a food hamper, and walks out. Mum's going, "Find out what they've ordered naa", I'm like, "Will it be below my dignity to ask for the chauffeur's autograph", and by the time the mist clears, the chauffeur has evaporated into thin air and Dilipsaab's house. Sniff !!
1.35 pm: Fruit salad with jelly at Amrut Sagar. Lots of kajus. Me loves kajus :)
1.50 pm: Stuffed to brim like Empress of Blandings. Burp. 'Scuse me.
2.30 pm: Conk off into dreamless siesta. Moi first true love -- Miss Sleep ...
4.30 pm: Have just kicked butt of alien terrorists and got the girl. Who’s she? She swings round to face me … oh it’s Ash Rai. Yawn but sweet. She offers her petite hand. I clasp it tenderly and walk away into sunset. Just then she turns and tells me in a honeyed voice, “Suhail wake up … you’ve overslept …” … strange how she sounds uncannily like mum … oops, looks like siesta wasn’t dreamless after all. Damn reality.
5 pm: Need to go to Navy Nagar. How far is it? 2 hours? Oops … 2 hours ONE WAY?? NO WAY!! How inviting doth this couch look … what’s on TV? … let’s watch “Finding Nemo” again …
9 pm: Sizzler dinner at Kobe’s. Am living the high life. Gotta cut down on these foodie junkets else will develop cute but unhealthy paunch.
2 am: What’s with my biological clock? The moment it knows there’s no need for moi to wake up at 7 am the next morning, it just refuses to let me fall asleep before 3 am. I’m now feeling like an owl in the daytime. Lemme raid the fridge.
4 am: Zzzzzz …

Sunday
10 am: Zzzzzz …
11 am: Oops … too late for the play. But the famous week long celebrations of Bandra Fair starts today, ohkay let’s go in the evening!
6 pm: What dense crowds … Bandra Fair seems to attract the whole of Mumbai and it’s neighbours … candy floss … mini-giant-wheel rides … visit to Mount Mary church invoking the blessings of Our Lady of the Mount where, the devout claim, miracles happen every year … the church looks resplendent in it’s floral finery … snacks at Adi’s … walk back home as no conveyance … shops selling Goanese sweets where rival shopkeepers keep jumping across to their competitors’ stalls and shouting out to customers, “Raaste ka maal … saste mein” :) … good fun evening … the highlight indubitably being this huge assassin-type giant walking up to me and aggressively thrusting a book under my nose. The title? “The Quickest Road to Heaven.” I glance at the menacing countenance of the angry giant and almost say, “How will I know the quickest road to Heaven – if I buy the book or if I don’t?” – but I refrain from making such suicidal sarci statements and instead muster enough courage to walk away with a spring in my steps and a prayer on my lips.

And I survive ...

... and life goes on ...

Evolution in a Day

2004-09-08T23:28:00.000-07:00

Today's your lucky day, mon ami. For just this morning, while you were brushing your premolars, you were wondering about the lifestyle your hominid ancestors led, right? Well, read right on and know for yourself ...

The Settings (as in Tools -> Internet Options -> Settings)
The Year: 20,004 BC
The Place: Latitude 22.8 deg. N, Longitude 72.5 deg E
The Hero: Cro-magnon dude. Named 'Argh'
The Heroine: Neanderthal woman 1, Argh's wife. Named 'Brgh'
The Vamp: Neanderthal woman 2, Argh's ex-girlfriend, he still has a crush on her hairy forearms and protruding foreskull, but don't tell Brgh. Named 'Crgh'
The Child Star: Argh and Brgh's first son, in who Argh is well pleased, named 'Abel'. Elder brother to Argh and Brgh's second son, named 'Cain'
Guest appearance: Darwin's ghost
Narrator: The real hero, named 'Gah'

(Rah rah rah !!

Three cheers for Gah !!)

The Prehistorical Play - Evolution in a Day
Gah: It is morning. Argh is a happy man. He has thought up a new word, 'Drgh'. So now humanity's vocabulary has extended to six words. Argh, Brgh, Crgh, Abel, Cain, and now Drgh. So who or what is Drgh? Obviously Drgh will be the name of Argh's next child. Hmmm, time to procreate again, thinks Argh to himself as he rubs white cockroach blood over his teeth to remove the red stains caused by that Tandoori T-Rex they had for dinner last night.

Brgh (from kitchen): Argh dearie, breakfast's ready.

Argh (plucking hairs from his chin): Waitaminnit, I'm shaving.

Gah (apologetically, from behind the curtains): Ok, so their vocab seems to be a bit more evolved than the historically documented six words ...

Argh (emerging from washroom): Yep, now I'm ready. What's for breakfast, sweetums?

Brgh: Your favorite Pterodactyl egg omelette, lovey-dovey cro-magnon matey.

Gah: Hm, seems like romantic mush was predominant even then.

Argh (breakfasting): Glob! Shlob! Gulp!

Brgh (reprovingly): Now now, Argh, chew your food. Else how will our molars evolve?

Argh: True true. Ok sweetums, Argh is off to work. I'll get a tender baby dino for dinner, see if I don't. Where's my stone stick?

Brgh: Here dearie. I wish you had one of those steel clubs ... it's stronger.

Argh: My impatient sweetums, maybe I'll call you impatientums, wait a couple of thousand years and maybe iron will be discovered. Then we can make those steel clubs. Ok, Argh off!

Gah: Brgh stares at her hero, hands clasped, under-evolved irises shining, as Argh swaggers away into the sunrise with his stone stick and his Amex credit card.

As Argh walks along leafy meadows and shady glens, he sees Crgh milking a rhododendron.

Argh: Hi jaanu! C'mere gimme a kiss.

Crgh: Eugh!! You look like you haven't had your annual bath yet.

Argh: Tchah, I've put on T-Rex-ona deo naa. C'mere gimme a kiss.

Crgh: You dumb mammal, don't you know the Council of Stonehenge has introduced a new sexual harassment code of conduct in this prehistoric workplace? Then there're these hot new concepts called monogamy and fidelity ...

Argh: Argh!

Gah: So Argh trundles off in a huff and, in a fit of temper, bashes the brains out of a friendly dodo, thus rendering the species brainless and liable to extinction. By the time Argh returns home, it is sunset.

Argh: Brgh, Argh has returned home and it is sunset.

Gah: Argh plonks his hefty unevolved bottom onto a rough hewn stone and stares blankly at the wall with glassy eyes and mouth hanging open.

Brgh: Hi jaan! What're you looking so stupidly at?

Argh: The blank wall where, had I been born after Charlie Chaplin, there'd have been a television set with multiple channels in colour. So what'd you do today?

Brgh: Oh the usual ... some shopping, some backbiting about the neighbours, some drawing with charcoal on walls. Thank God we haven't discovered fire, else I'd also have been expected to cook! By the way, Abel is home from school.

Argh: This is my son in who I am well pleased. So son-in-who-I-am-well-pleased, what'd you learn in school today?

Abel: Hi dad. Hi readers. I'm Abel, and boy am I able. Today we learnt about two great futurorical people. The first guy will prove evolution through his famous book "Origin of Species", which I heard as "Oranges and Peaches" and which Cain heard as "Aurangzeb's Speeches". This guy's name will be a very impressive 'Charles Darwin'. The second guy will disprove evolution through his famous prehistorical play, "Evolution in a Day". His name will be a very unimpressive 'Gah'.

Argh: Gah? Gah?? Wow, that's a word even I can pronounce! Ok, Drgh shall be followed by Gah. Golly, I'm lagging behind in my procreating timetable. Hey this Gah sounds like a mighty interesting character. Like a higher and more evolved spiritual being. I feel like singing his paeans day and night. Of course, that's also because he's the narrator and he's standing behind these curtains and threatening to wallop me with my stone stick if I criticize him, the dumb ass. So son, what else did you learn?

Abel: Well, Gah will live his life under the pseudonym 'Suhail'. We learnt this nursery rhyme ...

Oh our darling blogger Suhail
Has many a tale to tell
And though they aren't too swell
At least they aren't as bad as hell !!

We also learnt that Neanderthal man is older than Cro-magnon man, which means mum is older than you by, like, a few millenia. Later we'll stand straight and scientists will name us Homo Erectus. Then we'll develop the opposable thumb so we can control the TV remote better, then we'll be called Homo Sapiens, what a dumb name isn't it. The pinnacle of evolution will come when some people who will call their land 'USA' will chuck their aged helpless parents into old age homes, kick their kids out the moment they turn 18, drop bombs on all other countries, and live happily and all alone ever after.

Argh: Wow, thankfully we're not that evolved yet. Ok son, now have dinner, see I've got thick-upper-lip-smacking bashed dodo brain for us. Then say your prayers and off to bed. Nitey-nite !!

Darwin's ghost (in background): Hey 20,004 BC was kinda like 2004 AD !! Et tu, evolution?

Gah: And so the sun sets on yet another ordinary day in the life of our typical hominid ancestors ...

* And here endeth the Prehistorical Play *

The Weekend That Was, WWW and Animalspeak

2004-09-06T02:24:00.000-07:00

Another good Mumbai-centric weekend.

Saturday being an off, lunch was a very "prawny" affair at Sahibaan. Saw Fida in the evening. Quite a Hitchcockian movie, though weak in parts, especially when Shahid woos Kareena in such an unrealistic manner, and the oh-too-frequent bits where the protagonist and antagonist lose it and start bashing each other up. Ken Ghosh looks all set to be the answer to Ram Gopal Verma's mindspace monopoly (is he Ramu's protege btw?), but to have the same panache as Ramu, he needs to focus on subtlety rather than the crudeness that kept cropping up in parts. The movie's pretty good nonetheless.

Went to Chand Sports to buy some dumbbells to chisel my biceps. (Yes people, don't laugh 'cos it's true.) But they were out of stock. Sigh. Now all ye people know who to blame if I don't resemble Guv'nor Schwarznegger -- Chand Sports. Talk of them getting negative word-of-blog publicity.

Stopped at Mocha's to get info about their Backpackers' Club. Alas, the only brochures they had was of their Dog Lovers' Club. Took home some copies, at least the dog photos were sweet.

Sunday morning was our monthly visiting day. Mum and moi visited Majlee dadi, the B's, and KCK. By lunchtime, moi was so stuffed to the gills with snacks that reluctantly decided to skip lunch and take a consolatory nap instead.

After a Panipuri-and-Frankie-roll stopover on Linking Road, the gang went to the play "Uncle Samjha Karo" on Sunday evening. It was mindblowingly hilarious !! We just couldn't stop rolling around in our seats throughout the admittedly longish 200-minute performance. The script by Dinyar Contractor is rib-tickling and Paritosh Painter's direction is superb. Highly recommended.

FF is coming down from the US today evening, hopefully with bagfuls of chocolates. Luckily tomorrow's a holiday, so can spend time with the family.

Nsoi :)

***

It's been vindicated by History. Ever since Eve enticed Adam into nibbling at a healthy snack, ever since Cleopatra's nose launched a thousand Roman Galleons, ever since Queen Marie Antonette wanted to nourish her poor French peasants with cake, we men have always wondered WWW (What Women Want). Rather, most of the time we're going, WDHDTDAFWRWAA (What Da Heck Do These Dopey And Freaky Women Really Want After All) ? Come to think of it, the same question holds for cats too. As in, "What Do Cats Think?"

So here's the thought processes behind the WDHDTDAFWRWAA theory ...

Dogs think: Men give us food and water. They give us shelter and security. They give us love and care. Truly, Men are Gods.

Cats think: Men give us food and water. They give us shelter and security. They give us love and care. Truly, we Cats are Gods !!!!

Women think: Cats and Women will always do just what they want. Dogs and Men had better just get used to it !!!!

Men think: It's cool. I love all the three aforementioned species nonetheless ...

So who's the best of the lot? My vote goes to Dogs and Men. Any homicidal MCPs out there supporting me??? :)

The King of Kings

2004-09-05T22:14:00.000-07:00

(An attempt at a short story. Literary license to bend historical facts with impunity may please be granted.)

"My son is the King. King Robert I". That's what Robert James's doting dad would always say. And because Rob's dad was an honourable man, Rob believed him.

Robs' parents had emigrated from Germany to the US after WW-II. Rob was born soon after. Rob's mother was a brilliant but radical German authoress. She had died in childbirth, but the boy survived. It seemed she had passed on her talents to her only child. Rob was a child prodigy. As a precocious child of two, he already spoke in three languages -- his native German, American English, and Hispanic. He could rattle off his times tables until twenty by the time he was four.

The first time he saw a game of chess was when he was six. The wealthy old German neighbour had invited the family to dinner, and after the table had been cleared, had taken out an old chess board and invited Rob's dad to a game. Little Rob sat perched on a little stool, swinging his little legs, watching the game intently, not saying a word even when he saw his dad lose game after game.

At 3 am that night, Rob's dad was disturbed by a sound in the kitchen. He cautiously went down to investigate. What he saw sent a thrill coursing through him. Little Rob was seated at the table. In front of him were thirty-two pieces of cutlery -- sixteen silver, sixteen plastic. They had been arranged in a crude replication of a chessboard. Rob was whistling softly to himself and murmuring continuously under his breath.

The next evening, Rob's dad bought a chess set from the neighbouring Supermarket.

When he sat down that night to teach Rob the basic rules of the game, he was stunned that Rob already knew the fundamentals, simply from observing the previous day's games. Rob was introduced to more advanced concepts that night and the next -- the relative values of the pieces, simple sacrifices, some openings, and basic endgame mating combinations.

On day three, Rob defeated his dad in four consecutive games. On day four, Rob lost two games to their German neighbour, but only because he was not familiar with the intricacies of the Queen's Pawn Gambit Declined. Rob did not sleep that night. On day five, a bleary-eyed Rob thrashed the German neighbour four games to one. He had worked out counter-strategies to both the Sicilian and the Queen's Pawn openings overnight.

The next week, Ron's dad took his little son's hand and walked the five blocks down to the nearest chess club. The Warden of the Alekhine Chess Club, famous in Brooklyn as ACC, was Grandmaster Bruce Pandolfini. He had been US Open Champion three decades earlier, still had Elo Ratings which touched the top thirty in the world, and was known as the "God of the ACC". He brought his beetling bushy eyebrows together and his appearance became even more forbidding when little Ron was brought before him as an aspiring member of the elite ACC.

"How old are you?", he asked Ron grimly.

"Six, sir."

"And since when have you been playing chess?"

"Since last Wednesday, sir."

Pandolfini turned menacingly towards Ron's dad.

"Give him a month's trial, sir", pleaded Ron's dad. "Then you may throw him out. Take my word, he's got something in him."

Pandolfini agreed, though he charged the full year's fee for the month's trial.

As was his custom, Pandolfini walked between rows of competitors in the ACC the next day. His eyes fell on Rob. He walked over and, for thirty minutes, quietly saw him play a promising young prospect thrice his age. At the end of the game, which ended in a bitter stalemate, but only after multiple zugzwang opportunities had been missed by each player, he called Rob to his office.

"Have you really been playing only since last Wednesday, boy?"

"Yes, sir."

"Okay. Come an hour earlier from tomorrow. And come straight to my office."

Thus it was that Grandmaster Bruce Pandolfini became Rob's first and only coach. It had taken him just a day to agree with Rob's dad that there was indeed something in the child.

Rob went from strength to strength. He became World Under 12 Champion when he was eight. At ten, he FIDE conferred upon him the status of International Master. At twelve, they named an opening variation after him. At fourteen, he became the world's youngest grandmaster. He became the youngest winner of the US Open two years later, a title he retained for a record five consecutive years. His academic records indicated an IQ of 180 with an incredibly retentive memory. His USCF rating climbed to a previously untouched 2374, making Rob the greatest chess player in the history of the ancient game.

It did not take him much longer to reach the zenith. At the tender age of twenty four, Rob became the youngest ever World Chess Champion.

His striking good looks, overt aggressiveness and powerful oratory brought popularity to chess which had hitherto been reserved only for baseball and the NBA. Single-handedly, Rob transformed the image of chess from a "drawing-room intellectual pastime" to a gladiatorial combat where, in his own words, "losing a game means losing my identity, being defaced, wiped off the face of the earth. I would much rather kill or be killed than lose a game."

This happy state of affairs terminated abruptly, just two months after Rob had demolished a strong Russian challenge to retain his FIDE World Championship crown. In February 1974, Rob's doting father passed away in his sleep. Rob was heartbroken and went into mourning. Eight months later, in October of the same year, Rob's mentor and coach Bruce Pandolfini died mysteriously.

This back-to-back double blow hit Rob hard. He became a recluse and cut down on his tournament participations. He made no further public appearances and was never seen in public without his personal security cover. It seemed as if Rob was mortally afraid of something ... or someone.

Exactly a year later, Rob vanished.

The public, the media and the police went into a frenzy. Was Rob dead? From all accounts, no. Was he kidnapped? Again, from all accounts, no. Where then was he?

The case was personally taken over by the Director of the FBI. The President of the US paid a high-voltage visit to the FIDE Secretariat in Geneva to discuss the issue. The US Army was deployed thrice to control frenzied mobs who were demanding their idol back.

But Rob was never seen by any living man again.

-------***-------

In the mountains of Ithaca, in Latin America, there is a little triangular valley at the base of three high mountains. The place is virtually inaccessible to mankind. However, if anyone had been observing the valley closely, he would have seen, one fine summer morning, a solitary figure parachuting into the valley from a chopper above.

A closer investigation would have revealed that the figure stayed in the valley for over three months, subsisting off nuts and roots and berries, before perishing of cold and starvation.

And next to the storm-ravaged skeleton of the figure would be found a diary. A secret diary, never seen by any human being save its creator.

The entry dated 12th January 1974 reads ...

"I am the King. King Robert I.

Can I be King while my father is alive? No! How then can I tolerate this man who calls himself my father? I must kill him. I must kill him!!! I will smother his face till he stops breathing ... !!"

The entry dated 12th October 1974 reads ...

"Who is greater than I? No one.

On the chessboard, I am the creator of life. I re-create my depleted army at will by queening my phalanx of pawns.

On the chessboard, I am the the destroyer of life. I can checkmate any living mortal at will.

On the chessboard, I am God.

If I am God, can I have a teacher? No! How then can I tolerate this man who calls himself my teacher? I must kill him. I must kill him!!! I will strangulate him to death ... !!"

The entry dated 17th September 1975 reads ...

"At last! I now have no parents. Nor do I have any teacher. For I am God. I am the King of Kings.

And the Truth is now crystal clear to me. The Truth is that the world has been created for me. I am the King and all this world are Queens, Bishops, Knights, Rooks and Pawns.

But is there anyone worthy of ever succeeding me as the King of Kings? No!

Is there anyone worthy of ever marrying me and becoming my Queen? No!

Is there anyone worthy of ever becoming my Son? Or my Daughter? No!

For I am God.

But I am a lonely God. And this world is undeserving of me.

I feel stifled by the mediocrity, the selfishness, the pungent odor of failure that abounds all around.

I shall not stay here any longer. I must not stay here any longer !!!"

The final entry dated 23rd December 1975 reads ...

"I am the King of Kings. Then why am I feeling so ill and weak and hungry?

Why am I feeling so lonely ... ?

No, I cannot be checkmated. No, I must not lose the game!

For I am God.

I am God.

But why am I feeling so weak?

Oh God, my God, help me. Please help me.

Please ... "

His self-created epitaph reads ...

"Here lies the King of Kings.

Robert James Fischer

Alias Bobby Fischer

World Chess Champion, 1972 - "

Making a difference

2004-09-02T01:57:00.000-07:00

True stories of people who, despite starting with almost nothing, have made a huge difference to the world we live in and, God willing, will continue making a difference for many many more years.

The Ahmeds and KBET

Afzal and Sakina Ahmed run two NGOs in Ranchi (Jharkhand). These are the Karra Society for Rural Action (KSRA) and the Kalanga Bazar Educational Trust (KBET). KBET was established in 1995. KBET works in urban poverty-stricken areas to help women, children, and disadvantaged communities become empowered through education, health and economic independence. Groups of women organized into Self-Help Groups (SHGs) get all the necessary training, loans, and support to start their own businesses. Poverty-stricken children are receiving non-formal education in 25 centers. KBET has raised women’s awareness of reproductive health, family planning, nutrition and sanitation. KBET is an amazing organization which started from very humble beginnings and is now doing an unbelievable amount of work.

e-ID: kbet@sancharnet.in

Vinayak Lohani and Parivaar

An engineer from IIT Kharagpur and MBA from IIM Calcutta, Vinayak, hailing from a middle class family, opted out of the placement process in IIMC in 2003 to became a full-time social activist. He has single-handedly founded Parivaar, an action group that works for education of children from segments of orphans, children of women in prostitution, and street children.

http://www.parivaar.org
Ph No: +91-33-3093 6136
e-ID: Parivaar_mission@yahoo.com

Vardan Kabra and Fountainhead

24-year old Vardan Kabra, an alumnus of IIT Delhi and IIM Ahmedabad, chose to stay out of IIM-A's placement process in 2004 and rejected a pre-placement offer of Rs 7 lakh from Procter and Gamble. Why did this boy from a middle-class family spurn a good offer from a big corporate? Well, Vardan is in the process of setting up a chain of primary schools whose teaching methods will be unique. Vardan has risked comfort and security to live out his dream. He calls his dream "Fountainhead".

http://www.fountainheadschools.org
Tel.: +91-79-3112 9167
e-ID: info@fountainheadschools.org

I am truly proud and honoured to have known these people personally.

"To give pleasure to a single heart by a single kind act is better than a thousand head-bowings in prayer." -Saadi, poet (c. 1200 AD)

Some this and some that

2004-09-01T22:30:00.000-07:00

Went out for dinner to three different joints last night. And what do we gorge ourselves on? Pani puri, sev batata puri, channa patties, cheese pav bhaji and paneer butter masala dosa. MmmmMmm. Fun-tastic. Talk of berserk binging. Why is it that hi-cholesterolic living is invariably so much fun?

***

Then there was this bus ride I had today morning. Two ladies were trying to get off as a particular station approached. Their way was barricaded by a chubby man.

Ladies: "Bhai sahib, hume utarna hai."
Chubby dude: "Ruko, abhi stop nahin aaya hai."
Lady 1: Pokes chubby dude in tummy with umbrella
Chubby dude: "Ouch !!!"
Lady 2: Shoves chubby dude with all her might
Chubby dude: Goes flying off the bus. Sprints rapidly in direction of bus, and hence avoids falling splat on ground and becoming gooey kablooie ketchup.

Boy, talk of impatient Amazons !!! At least the chubby guy got some exercise.

***

Just yesterday, one of the senior people in our office, while speaking to a vendor, goes "Don't fly my humour". We're all like, duh? Then one bright spark decodes it -- "Mera mazaak mat udhaao." Lololol :)) Talk of lingua hinglishica.

***

Some befuddling questions (in decreasing order of seriousness):

How can Kerry possibly lose the forthcoming elections to Bush? Are over 50% Yankees totally insane???
Is it right to give alms to a beggar who is young and healthy and obviously fit enough to work for a living?
Mumbai hasn't witnessed any rains for ten days now. Neither has winter commenced. The sun is shining. And India doesn't have any concept of Autumn. So what in the Met department's holy name is this season we're having???
Do our virtual friends truly exist? Or is it all a plan by a higher intelligence to conquer Terra Firma and enslave our rotting souls???
Does the JJ in JJ Shobha stand for "Jimmi Janum"???

Any answers?

What's in a name?

2004-08-31T22:22:00.000-07:00

Of late, I've built up quite a name for myself in certain circles. This name is "Gah".

Gah: noun. a. Word or language having no meaning or conveying no intelligible idea b. Language, conduct, or an idea that is absurd or contrary to good sense c. Synonym for Suhail. First used by SM.

So how did Suhail (as per Birth Certificate), Babloo (in childhood), Suka (in BITS), Kishmish (in WIMWI), IHPT (at work) and SK / SSK (in various fora) now acquire the name "Gah"? Here's how ...

Circa 1990:
(SK = our hero Suhail Kassim, D = his daddy)
SK (leaning out of taxi) : Oooh daddy, look at that group of cows.
D : "Herd of cows".
SK : Of course I've heard of cows.
D : No no, I mean a "cow herd".
SK : So what if a cow heard? I didn't say anything to be ashamed of.
D : Gah !!

Circa June 2004:
GSS (in romantic mood, under canopy of stars) : Suhail darrrling, I love you.
SK : Thanks pal. Even I love myself !!!!
GSS : Gah !!

Circa July 2004:
PN (preening himself) : This is my "Tom Cruise" look.
SK : Ha, so what? It isn't Tom Cruise's Tom Cruise look !!!!
PN : Gah !!

Circa August 2004:
(MTCG = Movie Ticket Counter Guy)
SK (to PN, walking up to the ticket counter) : ... so Coolcat's post is titled, 'Social Service for?'
MTCG : Social Service, four?
SK : Yep, that's what I said.
MTCG : You want 'Social Service', four tickets?
SK : Not exactly, I want social service for the poor, the downtrodden ...
MTCG : 'Social Service' doesn't run in this theater.
SK : Dude, social service hardly runs anywhere in India.
MTCG : Go somewhere else for 'Social Service'.
SK : See, that's exactly what all these rich Indians keep saying ...
MTCG : Here we have 'Dhoom'.
SK : Yaar, dhoom dhamaka nahi chaahiye, gareebon ke liye sirf do waqt ki roti chaahiye.
MTCG : Ok, so no 'Dhoom'. Phir which movie do you want to watch?
SK : Dhoom, of course.
MTCG : ???? Ok, Dhoom. Four tickets?
SK : No yaar, two.
MTCG : Gah !!

Circa last nite:
I dream that Lalooji is attending a World Cow Conference, and he goes, "Gah hamra maata hovat hai. Gah hamka doodh devat hai. Is doodh se rabri banaawat hai. Is liye hamri dharampatni ka naam Rabri hovat hai. Gah ke do pair aage hovat hai aur do pair baad mein aavat hai ... "

So now I've decided to rechristen myself. Can I hear your traumatized voices saying, "Oh my Gah" ... "Gah help us all" ... ???

~ Gah the Great :)

The positive thinking poem

2004-08-31T04:41:00.000-07:00

Little birdy in the sky,
I look up and it shits in my eye.
I don't mind and I don't cry,
I just thank God that cows don't fly.

Excerpts from my autobiography

2004-08-31T01:54:00.000-07:00

Moi's in the mood to laugh at moi :) So here are some incidents, all true, all at various points in the last one year. Read on :)

Scene 1:

PN, TT and Suhail are sitting in the office. Suhail is working on PN's laptop, takes out "Chameli" CD from the CD drive and tries to put in a floppy !!!!!!

Scene 2:

PN and Suhail in GT Hostel room. Suhail wants to take PN's laptop for work. PN asks Suhail to carry the laptop. Suhail packs the laptop bag and goes from the room. After a while, PN calls from the room: " Abe Suhail kahaan jaa rahaa hai?? Laptop aur charger to table pe pade hue hai !!!!! "

Scene 3:

Suhail and TT in a meeting with DRDO, Jamnagar (IAS Officer). Suhail puts down his pen on the table. After a while, he wants to explain something to the officer. He takes up the IAS Officer's pen and starts explaining. TT offers Suhail his own pen to work with. Suhail does not bother, refuses TT's offer, finishes his argument and puts IAS Officer's pen in his pocket and walks out !!!! DRDO is astonished to find Suhail in his office 2 minutes later, offering his own pen back to him !!!!

Scene 4:

Suhail playing some music on his laptop (finally, his own !!!!) and is listening to some songs.
TT: Suhail, yah to Talat Mahmood hai, Manna De to nahi hai.
Suhail: Yah Manadi (Manna De) Songs kyaa hote hai !!!!

Scene 5:

PN (on a crystal white beach in Mithapur) : How are waves created?
All-knowing Suhail : Ahan ... the earth revolves at velocity v1 while the atmosphere lags behind at velocity v2. v1 minus v2 creates a friction between earth and sky. The water stuck in between becomes angry and creates waves !!!!

Scene 6:

Suhail the Logic God to PN (on the same beach) : Our feet are waterproof, right? So we cannot absorb water through the soles of our feet. That means we are not plants !!!!

Scene 7:

Suhail in varying moods ...

Stratospheric mood: "Everything is okay in the end. If it's not okay, then it's not the end."

Don't care mood: "Rafi ho ya Kishore Kumar / Ki farak pende, mere yaar?"

Optimistic mood: "Duniya mein kitni hai fight / Phir bhi end of the tunnel hai light."

Pessimistic mood: "It's sad. However much I achieve in life, I can never become a nani."

????

~ The absent minded professor !!!!

Ze Engleeche Langwidge

2004-08-30T02:46:00.000-07:00

Moi loves word games :) Did you know ...

No proper English word rhymes with "month"
"Queueing" has the most consecutive vowels in the English language
"Floccinaucinihilipilifacation" means "Action of estimation as worthless" (If you don't want to join the "What-in-heck-does-the-meaning-mean?" club, please to explain the meaning to moi). It is also, according to the Guinness Book, the longest English word with 29 letters.
"Arachybutyrophobia" means "Fear of eating peanut butter sandwich lest the peanut butter sticks to the roof of your mouth". Now you know what was always bothering you :)
"Pantophobia" means ... yep you guessed it :) ... fear of everything!!! Oooh sorry, guess you didn't guess it. Ne'er mind pardner, nice to know you're human too.

And a few cute quotes:

Outside of a dog, a book is a man's best friend. Inside a dog it's too dark to read.
Life is a waste of time; time is a waste of life, so get wasted all of the time and have the time of your life.
No guts, no glory. No brain, same story.
Familiarity breeds contempt and children.

Keep smilin' :)

On Raksha Bandhan

2004-08-30T02:45:00.000-07:00

An ode to Raksha Bandhan (and no, it's not autobiographical) ...

Ummeed ki imaarat beh gayee
Aankhon se aansu ki nadi beh gayee
Tumhaari kya izzat reh gayee
Jab padosi ki ladki tumhe BHAIYA keh gayee!

It's a beautiful festival nonetheless :)

Ruminating Ramblings

2004-08-30T01:28:00.000-07:00

Ahhh at last ... a full weekend in Mumbai. The first in a month. Not bad for a change :)

Blondie had come down en route from Hyde to Ahmedabad. We had a blast sipping litchi smoothies and reminiscencing about the good ol' days, laughing about unsuccessful NID ambushes and imitating all those goofy profs (RaviC - "I am stunned by your intellectual inferiority!", AB - "Consultants are insecure overachievers!"). Was fun-omenal :)

Checked out this play "Heads ya Tails" starring Nandita Das and Sushant Singh. Coming in the immediate wake of light-hearted attempts to enliven the Mumbai theater scene by the hilarious Boman Irani ("I'm not Bajirao") and Rahul da Cunha ("Class of 84", "Pune Highway"), this one turned out to be ultimately serious and profound. Too heavy metal for moi :(

Met DK, she was back from Nagpur for the weekend. Seems like she's actually falling for GSS, and, more importantly, vice versa. Bingo! Notch up another hit for the most successful matchmaker since shaadi dot com. All you unmarrieds and thrice innocent divorcees, pass on your CVs to moi and rest assured in the knowledge that your fate is irrevocably ruined.

Tried out Mini Punjab (their Fish Malwani is yummy) and Zaika (you must go for their Zaika Special Kebab). Both rate a 4/5 on food, though the service and ambience is eminently forgettable.

There's this Mocha Backpackers' Club which I'm gonna join this coming weekend. They have weekly gyan sessions for trekkers and they also organize treks, something most useful for disorganized trek afficionados like moi. Anyone else game?

Wanted to watch Dhoom or Phir Milenge (no, not Kyon ... Ho Gaya Na, heard the storyline's rotten, though how any mortal can focus on the storyline while Ash is on screen is ash-ually beyond my comprehension) with with the gang last nite. Discovered to everlasting regret that both are houseful until next weekend. So slept off early instead. Ho hum. Guten nacht.

***

So India's 66th at Athens 2004, and last in the world in terms of medals per capita. And had Michael Phelps been a country, he'd have been 16th in country rankings. Cool.

NG goes, "It's an ingrained cultural thingie. We're taught from birth upwards to be non-aggro and polite and let the other guy win." Then he's stumped when we mention Chinese Taipei, which is a Buddhist country -- who can be more non-aggro than that? -- and still wins medals every Olympics.

Still, the scorecard isn't too bad. Lee-Hesh a fighting fourth. Anju Bobby George coming close. Shobha setting a new record for bravery.

Hey, we did win more medals than most of our neighbors. And we do tend to excel in an atmosphere of mediocrity. So not all is lost. Hail SAARC Games ...

***

Then there was this spoilt-son-of-rich-dad who runs out of pocket money on campus. So he writes to daddy:

"No mon. No fun. Your son."

Shoots back daddy:

"Too bad. So sad. Your dad."

Bwahahahaha ... daddy's da dude :)) Thanks XLRI Class of '74 for providing this snippet from your archives :)

***

The Junkees seem to be invading Blogland with a vengeance, enmeshing the gossamer fabric of virtual reality with words calculated to flit like the proverbial butterfly and sting like the Queen bee. May the Seenu-Khandu-Suka troika flourish and prosper.

***

Project Oaks is running along nicely, thank you very much. Six members so far, all involuntary of course. May the tribe increase.

Sugar-coated dreams to ya all :)

Stories of Mumbai Locals

2004-08-26T21:47:00.000-07:00

For the intellectually challenged, the aforementioned "Locals" refers to the local trains, not the Mumbaikars, dahling!

So here's a tribute to the immortal spirit of rush-hour second-class local train travellers, based on the fond reminiscences of a year-old veteran of Mumbai local train travel.

***

June 2003. My first "trainy" day. As I confidently lean out of the second class cubicle, I observe my station approaching. People begin leaping out of the train well before it has stopped. I think, "What da heck", and do the same. Now you see, I disembarked on the left side with my right foot. Zap! I am swung around, round and round, like a human whirlpool. After 3,600 degrees of turns, I am safely deposited in the arms of an ample Punjabi lady. She whacks my head with her grocery bag. Was she carrying cement in it? Now, apart from being dizzy, I also have a bump on my head. I regain my balance and composure, and disdainfully ignoring the mirthful audience, make a hasty exit.

Lesson: Leaping out of a fast moving train is both a science and an art. Since it has never been documented before, here goes! Assuming you are dismounting on the left side, follow the nine-step process documented herewith:
1. Hold on to any appropriate support with your right hand. Keep the fingers firm but the elbow supple.
2. Lean out as the station approaches.
3. Dangle your left leg out of the train.
4. Point your left foot towards the ground.
5. You should now be standing straight, with the angle between your legs being 30 degrees, your left leg inclined at 15 degrees forward to the horizontal, and your left foot at 45 degrees to the ground.
6. As the train starts decelerating, start leaning out further and coming back in. Repeat the process a few times so everyone is convinced that you're going to get off.
7. When the train slows to 6 Kmph (3 Kmph for ladies), shout "Chalo Boss!", straighten your right arm, touch the platform with your left foot, and simultaneously release both right foot and right hand from the train.
8. Run like madman in direction of train, else will fall flat on face courtesy Newton's Dumb First Law of Motion.
9. Rely on dense crowd on the platform to save you from falling flat. However, though it may be very tempting, do not fall into the arms of stout Punjabi ladies. Also stay away from heavy grocery bags and ladies' umbrellas.

***

Second week of travel in second class. I have a comfy window seat. As my destination -- Bandra station -- approaches, I get off my haunches and start pushing through the dense crowd and moving, inch by inch, towards the exit. The more I push and shove, the more the others pull and grunt. It is a war. They outnumber me. I do not give in. I push even more. Finally I reach the exit. Oh heck -- Bandra station is gone! What's the next station? Khar. Which side does it fall on? The other side. Dammit.
So I push and shove, grunt and groan, and I again part the Ocean of Chaos to reach the other side. Here a pretty sight awaits me. Khar station does look beautiful as the train is leaving it behind. What's the next station? Santa Cruz. Which side does it fall on? The other side. Dammit again.
Some dumb guy tells me to stay on this side, and jump off when Santa Cruz arrives. I do so. Now there's a new problem. A big one. There's this high fence plumb in the middle of two tracks, right where I got off. Now how am I supposed to know that I should have leaped over this fence onto the other side? I'm not Superman to do such stunts, am I?
So now I'm stuck in a 2-foot gap between an insurmountable fence and a crowded train. Kindly people on the train start animated discussions on what an idiot I am, and how I have committed suicide. I hear "Bechaara ab kya karega? Waat lag gayee." "Dekho, ladka marne waala hai. Train aur railing ke beech mein chipta hone waala hai."
Then, just as the train starts moving, someone yells, "Abey jhuk jaa". Talk of an angel's voice from heaven. I grab the railings and squat. And the train, along with all its overhanging passengers, crosses safely over my head. And then I cross the tracks and safely reach home.
Whew.

***

One day, as I get off the compartment, my bag gets stuck. I'm holding it from the handle, but I just can't pull it out of the crowded train. I yank. No result. I yank harder. No luck. I ask the passengers to make space for the bag. They try, but there's no space for them to budge. The train starts moving. I become frantic. I give one mighty heave. The bag is pulled out ... along with a burly Sardarji. "Oye paaji, tussi yahaan aao", he thunders, crazy with rage at having missed his train. I choose rudeness over Total Annihilation. Accordingly I discourteously turn down his earnest invitation, and flee for my life. Talk of near death experiences.

***

Then there was this boisterous woman who clambered into our men's compartment and started pushing people around. She smelled of fish, so people were happy to be pushed away. Suddenly this elderly gentleman starts yelling at her. Apparently she had tried to pick his pocket. But her hands are empty. He points at her and uses colorful Marathi words, the real flavor of which is tragically lost on a non-Marathi like me. She has spirit. She yells back. The instructive discussion reaches a deafening crescendo. The station arrives. The lady dismounts, taking both noise and smell with her. The old man is virtually in tears. I feel very sorry for him. I get off at the next station. I suddenly feel light. Is it my conscience? Am I going to have an out-of-body experience?? No -- my wallet is gone. Now how the heck did that happen?

***

Nowadays I travel first class, and that too usually in the direction opposite to traffic. No wonder life is much less interesting. Yawn.

Eritrea who?

2004-08-23T04:15:00.000-07:00

Have you heard of Eritrea? It is a country with a population of 41 lakh, less than one-fourth of Mumbai's 181 lakh. The first language there is Tigrinja or something.

So what? Well, Eritrea joins countries like Chinese Taipei, Kazakhstan, Lithuania and Mongolia in having won a medal in the Sydney 2004 Olympics. It is of course well behind Slovenia, which has won three, and Estonia which has bagged two.

I, proud to be Indian.

Time of my life

2004-08-23T02:15:00.000-07:00

Life is beautiful :) Especially when it's anything like the last 3 days :)

Friday was the chill masti day. Caught Spidey 2 in G-7 at last. It's such a cute movie. Especially liked the inspirational bit where his aunt goes something like "we should live our life so that we can die with pride" ... I'm typically quite immune to gyan, but this lady was so amazingly charming and she said all this stuff so calmly, it was truly an Aha! moment for me.

We then went to Persian Durbar for dinner, tried out some new items, it was quite interesting. While there, Shash phones and comes up with this devastating one-liner, "I'm not well. I'm suffering from constipation of thought and diarrhoea of words". Lol :) I almost expired with mirth. Looks like I'm not the only victim of verbosity in our family :))

***

Saturday was the trek. Mangy phoned me at 11 pm on Friday night and suggested an impromptu full-day outing. Departure scheduled from Dadar at 5 am. So I turned in at 12 midnite, of course couldn't sleep until 3 am, and the darn alarm rang at 4 am. Groggily got out of bed (how I wish I had a Jeeves who would make one of his life-saving pick-me-ups at such opportune moments), dressed in trekking gear and rushed to Dadar. The seven of us (Mangy, Guru, Rambo, Pakora, Sweetie, Ranga and self) boarded a 7 am Lonavala train and then went by rick to Molevli, the starting point of the trek.

Molevli is this stop somewhere between Lonavala and Khandala. We walked 4 km amidst lush green farmlands, across narrow rivulets and narrower bridges, and finally arrived at the foot of a peak atop which was one of Shivaji's famed fortresses. This fortress had often been attacked, and always in vain, by Aurangzeb. In our ascent, we realized why.

The uphill climb was about 5 km. There was this initial winding road which was inclined at 45 degrees to the horizontal, and was straight up in certain places. Then there was this little flat stretch which led us to the illusion that the worst was over. Then came the Steps. Each Step was about two feet high. And there were hundreds of them. After what seemed an eternity, we arrived at the First Gate, and realized to our collective horror that there were three more Gates before we could reach the zenith. Finally, huffing and panting, we arrived at the "Summit of Olympus", or as we had irreverently nicknamed it, "Duke's Nose". There was this little dargah and temple right on top. We really felt like all-conquering Olympians :)

The climb had taken us 5 hours -- from 9 am to 2 pm. The descent took us less time -- from 2 pm to 6 pm. Of course, it rained throughout the trip ... We were soaked from top to bottom by 10 am, and didn't dry up till we returned to Mumbai. Of the four umbrellas which we had foolishly brought with us (talk of trekking in the monsoons while carrying an umbrella :)), one's handle broke (!), two got torn, and the last was upturned so often that it soon became unusable.

The air was such pure ozone, we could almost eat it. And the view ... how do I describe it? Breathtaking, astounding, stupendous, unbelievable ... the English Language falls short of adequate descriptive nouns. How does one describe the sensation of standing right under a cloud which is pouring rain on you, and then actually walking right through the cloud (yes, it does rain within the cloud too) to a point above? How do I explain what we felt when we stood atop the summit, in temperatures of about 8 degrees celsius with a hurricane hurling us about like toothpicks, and looking down but seeing only a sea of swirling white clouds all about us ... as if we were shipwrecked on a stranded island and were surrounded on all sides by a billowing ocean of frothy milk? How do we explain what we felt when we saw three little streams originating from three different peaks, rushing down the green and brown hills like a white scythe cutting through a mountain of mud and stone, and converging to form one mighty river which gushed down the hillsides and, swelling angrily, rushed turbulently away into the distance?

There were minor adventures galore. Mangy fell into a pool of muck and was washed "like a cow" by Pakora. Pakora caused a landslide when he tried to wash his shoes but washed away the ground beneath him instead. Ranga tore a ligament. I dropped my wallet which fortuitously was recovered by Mangy. We blushed with embarrassment when we saw two little barefoot kids, barely six years old, blithely skipping up peaks which we sturdy grown ups were afraid to even attempt. And we all had a blast having pakodas, omelette and chai from quaint picturesque little stalls dotted along the lonely way.

We finally reached Molevli after an estimated 19 kms and 9 non-stop hours of climbing, scrambling up, slipping and sliding, crawling, and some walking too. On our way back, we were informed that the peak we had scaled was over 1,000 metres high and was 1/8 th the height of India's highest peak, Kanchenjunga (8586 metres). That felt real good :)

Finally, the weary seven reached their Mumbai homes at 9.30 pm and collapsed into dreamless sleep. The trek, despite being relatively easy and smooth compared to most other treks, was really long and had left all of us with strained legs and sprained feet.

***

Sunday morning was Shailu's wedding. The mahurat was at 9.20 am, which is also when I awoke :( Rushed to get dressed and despite leaving the house at 10 am, managed to reach the venue (in Mulund, which is in Thane and is far far away from Mumbai) only at noon. Was wondering if I'd miss even the reception, but was relieved to find that the rest of the TAS gang was also just arriving. The wedding was a simple and sweet affair, typically Maharashtrian and superbly organized. The decor was traditional but intricate, and the spread was lavish and excited the taste buds no end. Bhabhiji is a lawyer who had won Shailu's heart in Class 10. No wonder he just couldn't stop gurgling with happiness, like the proverbial cat who's swallowed the cream. Here's wishing them both many decades of boundless marital bliss together.

Returned home by 3 pm, and was off to Sharafat uncle's house at 7 pm for a night long function. It was really nostalgic and brought back memories of the heady night outs in Kolkata. Arrived in office only after lunch on Monday .

It was a truly amazing weekend, and it's made moi totally refreshed and so truly happy. I'm feeling as uplifted as a newly created soap bubble, as amazed as a newborn child :)

Life is beautiful :)

Silver and all that jazz

2004-08-18T23:44:00.000-07:00

So things are finally looking up for us at the Olympics. Shooter Rajyavardhan Rathore's silver medal effort really made my day. And now Lee-Hesh are in the semis. Yippee :)

We celebrated Rathore's podium finish along with boss's b'day in style yesterday. Our HR arranged for this yummy gooey chocolate eclair cake, part of which we spread with loving care on boss's face, and the rest of which we imbibed like there's no tomorrow. (When it comes to cake, you really can't say, you know). We then bumped boss on his posterior and then, rubbing his behind tenderly, he gave his b'day speech which sounded remarkably like "I'll get back at all you miserable excreta real fast".

It's been a pretty occupying week. Friday's a holiday. Parsi New Year, and nothing can be more Parsi than us Tatas. Dunno about Saturday though. Sunday of course is Shailu's marriage. It's in Mulund, and the mahurat is 9.20 am, so will have to wake up at the ungodly hour of 7 am yet again. These alarm clocks are so ineffective. Whenever they trrriiing, the melody somehow incorporates itself nicely in my dreams, leading me to sleep even more soundly. What would I ever do without mum?

Tried out this new joint the day before. Cafe Bandra. Food 4/5 (the flavouring was amazing, really hits you, a trifle too spicy, not enough variety, though the oversize portions makes it real value for money), ambience 2/5 (the AC room was too dark -- we almost had to touch the plate with our noses to figure out whether that was tandoori chicken or paneer tikka -- and the decor was minimal), service 3/5 (we had a dedicated waiter though he was a trifle too intrusive). Overall 3/5. Not bad. At the rate at which we're trying out new foodie points in Bandra (almost two each week), I'll soon be well qualified to write a booklet on the multitudinal gastronome opportunities of the "Queen of the Suburbs".

It's official. I'm a nut. Shafs did a complete psycho-analysis of me yesterday and has realized that I'm an evil demon, but it's not really my fault because I'm demented. This expert opinion was corroborated very directly by PN and very indirectly by Coolcat who totally avoided me for nearly two full days. RS consoled me a little via long distance from Bangalore by saying I'm not totally out, I'm definitely semi-sane, and also claiming that anyone who accuses me of being fully mental must be mental themselves. I forgot to ask whether this was because they were wrong, or because everyone who tells a mad person that he is mad have to be mad in order to have the gumption to undertake such a lethal risk. Anyway. So stay away all ye innocent babes in the wood --- growf !!!

It's hoax time!!! After Sweetie, PN and Guru so successfully masterminded that attempt in June where I was the hapless victim, it's my turn now. Further details shall be disclosed in due course.

So it's almost lunchtime now, and the morning work is done, and this post is well nigh over, and none of my dearest friends are online, so let me round up TT and Akshaya and Nikhil and buzz off for tummy satisfaction purposes. More later :)

Kaam :)

2004-08-16T05:55:00.000-07:00

When work comes, it comes in a deluge. I'm probably the last person to be informed that I've gotta make a PPT to Head of VSNL's Retail Business tomorrow morning ... fortunately got all the raw material, it's merely a question of trimming and formatting. Mast life nee, majaa noo chhe :)

So bye bye until tomorrow morning, fellow Bloggies. Sleep Tight, Dream Right. Catchy, hai na?

The Goan Dozen

2004-08-16T03:21:00.000-07:00

For the culturally inexperienced, here are some interesting tidbits on Goa, classified under twelve heads, as seen through a novice's tinted glasses:

1. The image I had of Goa was that it is much smaller than megapolis Mumbai. On this trip, however, I noticed that traveling across Goa by car often takes up to two hours. And should you attempt the same in Mumbai, on a day with zilch traffic (yep, I can imagine it though it'll probably never materialize), it will probably take the same time from Nariman Point to Vashi. My curiosity piqued, I checked the atlas. The result? Goa - 3,702 Sq Km. Greater Mumbai (excluding Thane and Raigarh) - 603 Sq Km. In other words -- Goa is SIX TIMES bigger than main Mumbai !!! So much for its being the "smallest state in India".

2. Perhaps the surprising size of Goa is more understandable given the city's topographical layout. Goa is composed of several mini-cities. On entering from the Mumbai (North) end, you first reach Mapusa city. You then move into Panaji (Panjim), the capital of Goa. Then follows vast stretches of forest before you touch Vasco, the mini-city where Vasco da Gama landed in India. Another stretch of jungle and Madgaon appears on the horizon. Panjim, Vasco and Madgaon form roughly three ends of an equilateral triangle. And all of Goa is undulating -- the city seems to be built on a sea of little hills and hillocks. It's truly a trekker's paradise.

3. Online sources claim Goa's land area is divided into greenery : residential areas in the ratio 20 : 80. A very reliable eyewitness (viz. me) estimates it's more like 50% forests, 25% agriculture and the rest residential areas.

4. Because of the abundance of flotsam and jetsam, the air is sooo fresh and ozonized. Something sorely lacking in cloying claustrophobic Mumbai. A welcome respite for the typical Mumbaikar's overworked lungs.

5. Water abounds in Goa. From the famed sparkling white beaches (I must visit one of them on my next trip) to the little rivulets running down the hillsides on each road, due to the monsoon rains.

6. Bird lovers will have a field day in Goa. The air reverberates with the sweet melodious strains of birds calling out to their mates, competing for supremacy, or simply expressing their sheer joie-de-vivre.

7. Everyone in Goa seems to be well read. The 1991 Census states 77% of the populace is literate. That's a pretty good figure, well above the national average. Konkani is the mother tongue, it's a sweet language, but fortunately most people are conversant with English. Their Hindi, however, is ouch!

8. They say that the way to a man's heart is through his tummy. If so, the ways to the average Goanese male's heart must be choc-a-bloc with traffic, because the Goanese eat well. Really well. Really really well. And because they exercise, it doesn't show. And the stuff they eat ... for the uninitiated, it's like yucky, but for those blessed with the divine Goanese culinary experience, it's like yummy.

9. Color runs in the blood of the typical Goan, irrespective of gender. They'll dress in the most outlandish loose flowing clothes -- hats, scarves, bermudas, tees. Their penchant for flowery patterns is the stuff of legend. A crowded Goan bylane is a riot of colors. A fully decked up male Goanese is more colorful than a peacock in the mood.

10. Goa is known as the "Sleepy City". And for good reason. The city becomes inanimate every afternoon. Shutters down as the sonorous sounds of soporific siesta overtake the somnambulent strains of silence between 2 and 4 pm.

11. And because they get plent of rest, the Goanese are a fundamentally happy race. They're always smiling, laughing, often singing, and ever-ready to help (and feed) anyone, from the neighbor's cat to the unknown tourist.

12. Goa is a fusion of multiple cultures and religions. Predominantly a Catholic city, it is filled with amazingly beautiful Churches and Cathedrals. A bird's eye view of the city reveals a paragon of spires, towers and turrets. And for the reasonable-sized Muslim and Hindu contingent, there are plenty of mosques and temples. Goa seems to be an idyllic haven far removed from the communal overtones of some other cities in that part of India.

Of course, the nostalgic say Goa was far better in the past, and the number of heritage sites has drastically reduced of late. But for people like me who have seen Goa as it stands today, and have liked what we've seen, the mantra is -- Goa Rocks !!! Go Goa !!!

A Goanese Odyssey

2004-08-16T01:24:00.000-07:00

So, having suddenly making the impromptu decision to visit Goa at 10 am on Friday, I left office at 4 pm (to the collective envious groan of more busy souls who had to plod on till 11 pm). Rushed home, packed toothbrush and nightdress, and managed to secure the last seat on the last bus leaving Bandra Talao at 7 pm. Of course, it was the which ensured a very bumpy ride to Panjim. Thanks to violent spells of torrential rain lasing the Mumbai-Goa highway, the trip took 17 hours instead of the usual 12. No sleep -- night out # 1.

Arrived at 10 am in our Vasco house and was immediately swamped by my boisterous cousins - Micky, Motts and Gaz - the "Three Musketeers". This must have been my sixth trip to Goa since March, but only the second when I've managed to meet all three. Micky is leaving for the UK in November to complete his exams for Third Mate in the Merchant Navy. He's really developed his physique since he joined the ships! Motts will be GRE-ing in November, planning to do his MS in Telecom Engg in Canada or the US. Gaz is enjoying Class 11, his dreams of becoming a doctor still on course. They are coping extremely well by the grace of the Almighty. How happy and proud Nafisa phoopo would have been.

The three together are a non-stop laugh riot. We chatted, laughed, watched Die Hard, spoke to Farida phoopo from the US, ate non-stop, worked on Visa formalities for Micky and GRE word lists with Motts, and suddenly realized it's 12 midnight. Happy Independence Day!!! Time for Gaz to revise his I-Day speech for the school assembly, think patriotic stuff, sing a few "Auld Lang Syne" songs, silently wish our neighbors a very happy I-Day too, and drop off to sleep by 4 am. Night out # 2.

Was up by 8 am on Sunday. Went to drop Gaz to school. The roads were paved with the tricolor. And on the way, what did I see but BITS Pilani Goa!!! My alma mater ... the construction of it's Goan setup is almost complete. The infra does look much more colorful and better designed than the Pilani counterpart :) Wouldn't be surprised if there's an exodus of the best profs from Pilani to Goa.

We visited Nafisa phoopo at her beautiful home, in the midst of rocky hills on one side and two scenic litchen-covered ponds on the other. A little ancient untended temple nests near one corner of the area, and rail tracks pass through the hills, creating a flutter among the resident waterbirds whenever they rumble through.

We toyed with the idea of visiting one of the beaches, but were told that due to the monsoons they had been roped off. Why'd I ever bother bringing swimming trunks??

So we went to Martin's Corner for lunch instead. The place has an awesome reputation, and is Sachin Tendulkar's fav food joint, and now I know why. It was sooo amazing !!! Traditional Goanese ambience, ethnically attired waiters, and don't even ask about the food. I'll tell you all the same :) We stuffed ourselves silly on rice, prawn curry, and ... hold your breath ... mussels, squid, oysters and shark. Yes shark!!! This was the first time I've eaten any of these items (except rice and prawns), and I did have momentary qualms about whether we're allowed to have all this stuff. But Motts's palpable enthusiasm and Gaz's blatant disregard for the rules was infectous. And boy, am I glad I gave in :) Everything was cooked to perfection, and after 75 minutes of non-stop masticating, we were totally knocked out.

Hardly had we reached home than it was time for me to depart. So I packed up and we all drove down to Panjim, where we roamed the area for an hour, saw I-Day street plays by little school children, sat by the wharf and saw police boats and fishing boats try to outdo each other on the sea. Also learnt the theoretical rudiments of fishing from Micky, along with an induction to maritime rumors. Don't eat dolphins, it's supposed to be bad luck.

Got a lovely seat in the sleeper bus, until I realized it wouldn't flatten & convert from a chair into a bed as expected. So I had two options -- sit on this chair-cum-non-bed throughout the night, or shift to the only empty seat -- yea you guessed right -- the upper left rear-most seat. Another bumpy 16 hour sojourn. Night out # 3. Hooray.

Of course, I reached Mumbai late and missed the Monday morning meeting. However, somehow, it didn't seem to matter at all. Things suddenly took on a new perspective. Perhaps it had something to do with what had happened in the course of the night.

The bus suddenly stopped out of schedule at around 12 midnight. Peering out, I was an unfortunate witness to a very sad sight. An accident had killed two young men. The road was swimming in their blood. It was ghastly. Very shocking. Very very sad. And no-one could do anything to help. There may be an excellent reason for everything God does, but how does one explain that to a shocked and helpless widow, a mother who has seen her son die before her old and weary eyes, a child who is too young to understand why daddy doesn't come home any more?

What if it had been me in the place of those unfortunate young men? I am so lucky and blessed, I can spend centuries in just thanking the Almighty for His mercies, and it will still be nowhere close to adequate. And yet, instead of being continuously grateful, I often find myself feeling angry, sad, greedy. What a waste of invaluable and irredeemable time.

What would those two men have not done to postpone their untimely end by just a few precious minutes, perhaps so they could have personally reassured their loved ones that they're going to a better place, and don't worry, everything's going to turn out just fine. Hopefully everything will indeed turn out just fine for the bereaved.

They say that, if everyone was informed they have only five more minutes to live, all the phone lines of the world would be jammed because of people phoning other people to stammer, "I love you".

"Dream like you'll live forever. Live like you'll die today."

"Dance like nobody's watching;
Love like you've never been hurt.
Sing like nobody's listening
Live like it's heaven on earth. "

I once saw on a tombstone in Kolkata:
"Listen to me, O passers by.
As you are now, so once was I.
As I am now, so shall you be.
So prepare yourself to follow me."

Hmmm.

Love to all, and Godspeed.

Friday, or the Day of Frida, wife of Thor

2004-08-12T22:19:00.000-07:00

Today morning started off on a pretty unique note. There was this Butterscotch Cornetto cone left over in the freezer from last nite's impromptu feast. So instead of maska pao with jam and cheese, I had icecream for breakfast today. Yummmmmy :)

Thanks to all strikes being called off and no rain today (so far), it took me only 45 minutes to reach office. Commuting involved multimode transport yet again -- auto, BEST bus, local train and foot. Time I started thinking of buying a car methinks. Indigo LE? Wagon R Lsi? Santro Xing XP? Ikon? Nah ... think I'll plump for an 800 mebbe ... they say it's the best first car ... hmmm ... dunno, dekhte hai kya hota hai ...

Boss is in Singapore until Monday. When will my foreign junkets start? :) So probably not much work in store for me until next week ... when the new project will commence and it'll be adieu to freedom and aishgiri ...

Ever since I came to know of my boss's absence today morning, have been in the midst of a sudden plan to visit my cousins in Goa this weekend. Mickey is leaving today evening ... he has a confirmed ticket ... maybe I'll pile on with him. Or maybe I'll catch the Volvo which leaves Bandra at 7 pm. Of course, that'lll mean I'll have to leave office by 4.30 pm ... of course everybody here in office will miss me terribly ... sigh ... it's really not easy being Mr. Popular ... :)

This will also mean scrapping plans of watching Naseeruddin Shah's latest play in NCPA this Sunday ... hope mum and Guru will not be too disappointed ...

Speaking of Guru, it's been nearly a month since I introduced him to Deeps. The nutcase Guru likes her, but has been too shy to even phone her once ... and Deeps likes him too, but is waiting for him to call first ... and now Deeps has been posted in Nagpur ... and her parents have invited some US returned NRI Sikh to see her :( ... Bechaara Guru! I'm really sad. It looked so good. Matchmaking can be so frustrating when the parties are interested but irrevocably shy.

Speaking of which, spoke to Khandu y'day. He wants to get married by next year, and that too only to a Khandelwal. And he wants help in the search process. Now how on earth am I gonna find a nice Khandelwal girl at such short notice? Gah!!!

Also got emails from some of my school batchmates. Wasif is marrying in December. She's a CA (Inter). Love + Arranged. And Arif Hasan is engaged to a 2nd year MBBS student, totally arranged. They'll marry after she finishes her studies. Happy happy news :))

Which brings me to my marriage. I was this happy chillax forever-single dude until a month back, when daddy on his last trip to Mumbai casually mentions that, "Suhail, you're 25, you should look at marrying before you're 30. So have you thought of the criteria you want in the girl you'll marry?" Criteria? Criteria??? Gimme a break. Bamboozling question. Befuddling. Confusing worse confounded. Khair, more on this later.

Met this amazing old man in the bus today. He must've been nearly 80, hunchbacked, skinny and wrinkled. But I fell in love with him. Totally. It was because of his eyes. They were constantly laughing, the irises looking like limpid pools of water. They shone with love and happiness, even while he was struggling to clamber into the bus. And he had such a sweet smile. Impish. Naughty yet wise. He also had an entrancing deep throaty chuckle, which he kept emitting every 2 minutes for no tangible reason whatsoever. He reminded me of my paternal grandpa. Love you lots, dadapappa. Miss you. Mmmmmm. They don't make them like you anymore.

Eyes are truly the windows of the soul. Newborn children communicate so eloquently through their eyes. So do the very old and the very sick. So do animals. Cows have the most lovely eyes. Soft, melting. Have you noticed?

Reminds me of Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan's Afreen, the verse on aankhen. Hey, also reminds me of Cliff Richards' Lucky Lips. Such a cute song naa :)) Am hearing it now. Bliss!!!

Time to work. Canteen, here I come :)

Where will the squirrels go?

2004-08-12T02:55:00.000-07:00

One of the most beautiful musical sounds in the world is the chirruping of squirrels. It embodies surprise, impatience, anxiety ... and yet fails to conceal the emotions of hope, a call of friendship and a feeling of deep contentment – the “all’s right with the world” kind. As I was strolling on the Bandstand promenade last night, I heard a squirrel emit a high pitched gurgle before dancing away into the shadows. It struck a poignant chord. Memories came rushing back. Just a month before, I had visited my home in central Kolkata – a derelict, rambling old bungalow, falling apart at the seams yet being held together by the memories of my grandparents’ love. This bungalow, which old timers say once housed forty people, is now occupied by just one family member and one housekeeper. And in front of the bungalow is the Garden. This was the Garden where three generations of our clan played, fought, reconciled, loved, and grew up in together. It has donned many visages over the all-too-soon-disappearing decades. The Garden was an ice skating rink in the seventies, though over the years it has gracefully accepted designations like cricket field, badminton court, hide-and-seek center and tree-climbing resort. It served as a laboratory for my grandfather’s experiments with agriculture, which yielded us delicious mangoes, tomatoes, coconuts, sem, ber, chillies and many other fruits and vegetables, besides an occasional riot of colorful flowers and an entrancing bouquet of fragrances. It also served as a place to hold formal parties, religious gatherings and various social get-togethers. The image the Garden built around itself was that of a perennial well of youth, mystery, surprises, fun, friendship, and life – both flora and fauna.

Animal life abounded in the Garden. Snakes, frogs, insects of various hues; dark caterpillars with red spots transmogrifying into bright yellow butterflies which flitted from white periwinkle to pink periwinkle as if they could not decide which to propose eternal love to; cuckoos which would sing lustily every dawn before the sound wheels of a great city would begin rumbling and drown their music; hordes of crows as black as night assembling on the branches of our giant mango tree and holding animated conferences at regular intervals all through the day; and cats. Never has the Garden been free of cats. At least one cat– black, white, golden brown or hybrid – has always condescended to make the Garden its home; and has subsequently protected its terrain vociferously from unwanted intruders of the same sex and species until it decides to shift house. As you will have guessed from this fact, the Garden is also never free of rats.

But on my last visit, I noticed new guests. As I sat in the Garden basking in the clear skies and the tingling warm winter sun, I noticed a pair of squirrels – a rare sight in morbid Kolkata – frolicking atop the branches of the mango tree. They disdainfully ignored my luring calls, and sat on their hind legs cordially exchanging pleasantries and insults with each other. Finally, tiring of the game, they began scurrying up the branches to the tree top, whence they literally flew across to the parapet of the roof of our bungalow. In seconds, they had circumnavigated the roof and had decided to invite some pigeons into their social circle. The disinterested pigeons emitted some guano and took to the air. Obviously affronted, the squirrels shrieked their displeasure to the skies, sniffed the guano and sat rubbing their shiny black noses with their furry front paws.

As I continue with my stroll, I begin to wonder. The house may soon be up for sale. The Garden will doubtless go with it too. A concrete tree will replace the giant mango tree. The birds, which have had it down from countless generations that the Garden will never change, will be astonished at the fact that change is indeed a constant. They will perhaps shed a tear before flying away to new nesting locales. The little patch of greenery and life which was supplying millions of citizens of Kolkata with much needed oxygen will be wiped out forever in one stroke. And, for perhaps the first time in sixty years, no stray cat will feel welcome in the land which once served, faithfully and loyally, as the Garden.

Maybe this change is necessary. Indeed, it is perhaps even practical and economically beneficial. But it is my obligation to my childhood, to the childhood of our future generations, to ask my conscience this one trivial question before it is too late.

Where will the squirrels go?

I'm a smiley fan :))

2004-08-12T01:55:00.001-07:00

Nice one ...

Smiling is infectious,
You catch it like the flu.
When someone smiled at me today,
I started smiling too.

I passed around the corner,
and someone saw my grin.
When he smiled I realized,
I'd passed it on to him.

I thought about that smile,
then I realized its worth.
A single smile just like mine
Could travel around the earth.

So, if you feel a smile begin,
don't leave it undetected.
Let's start an epidemic quick,
and get the world infected!

Happiness is contagious. Start an epidemic today!

Thursday, or the Day of Thurs

2004-08-12T01:55:00.000-07:00

Ya, I know the Olympics haven't commenced, nonetheless today I think I broke an Olympic record in office. Fourth day this week without work. How do the unemployed cope???

I did, however, have stuff to do. There was this hour-long intense metaphysical discussion on mysticism, the genealogy of the Khojas, Sufism, existentialism and "How does God think?" Not a bad way to spend an idle rainy morning :)

Speaking of which, the rains are back with a bang in Mumbai. I totally adore the monsoons (except when the consequent muddy puddles splash onto my starched white trousers). The rains are sooooo romantic, everything seems so dewy green and fresh and soft. Birds chirp. The sun blushes. And it takes an hour longer to reach office. To compensate for which, I had to wake up an hour earlier than usual. Guess what? I still manage to reach after everyone else. Another Olympic record!!! Of course, hardly matters given that I'm probably the idlest person in the 100 year history of this office. Boss, if you're reading this, please stop reading two sentences back -- thanks.

Have made a very nice new friend. Today was this new friend's birthday. Tried very hard, and very unsuccessfully, to discover what this friend wants as a birthday present. Sighhh ... next year maybe ...

Have just copied the songs of Dhoom, Lakshya (phenomenal movie), Hum Tum (an even better movie) and Main Hoon Na onto my laptop. Now shall put on my headphones, hear the songs and look very intently at monitor so everyone admiringly thinks I am doing pathbreaking work. Was hearing Kenny Rogers and Jim Reeves throughout the morning. Ahhh music!!! "A magic beyond any other". Wish I could sing well. Rather, wish I could sing. My family and friends have consistently claimed that my mellifluous "bathroom singing" voice is more of "bathroom croaking". Ignoramuses!

Now am off to relax my overworked brain with a cuppa hot tomato soup. Hope kittie is there. Love her. Love all cats. And dogs. Animals are cho chweet ... "They're the beauties, we're the beasts". Truly.

:)

Hello world

2004-08-11T02:40:00.000-07:00

Ahhh my first foray into blogworld ... thanks to coolcat ... how lucky indeed is blogworld ...

Dunno what to write ... will this first foray be my last? Don't know ... don't care ... should I ... ?

Am I supposed to write for myself in here? What if I can hear myself loud and clear without help from blogworld?

Am I supposed to pen my thoughts here? What if I have no thoughts to pen? (Like they say, naariyal mein malaai nahi hai :))

Help O Lord (Lady?) of Blog!!!