A-Rambam: Stories, Poems, Opinions, Musings...

Life's Important Questions...

2012-01-27T18:14:00.001-08:00

Thanks to the site, graphjam.com, helping in providing a pictorial view ! :-)

The Fight !!

2011-08-17T18:00:00.001-07:00

Shalini was pissed. Very pissed and angry and mad... Add all the words from thesaurus that could convey the depth of the anger. She was glued to the TV all morning, even bunking the the special 2hr economic lecture today. (The fact that she abhorred the economics, in her very first year of her BA class was orthogonal to this story - her hatred for economics stemming from the fact that she didn't get the complexity of it). But today her hatred for economics was only replaced by her hatred with what is going on - in her mind this was simple to hate. She and her friends talked about it last evening after college at Coffee-day, and sat there for hours debating the pros and cons of it. After coming home, she went to her room, turned on the TV and watched the Arnab talk in his typical aggressive style questioning the Government's decision. At the same time, she tweeted effusively and facebooked prolifically - and retweeted multiple messages and shared multiple facebook messages from her friends. As she had gone to bed, she felt her angst still simmering.

It is now - This morning; she was at the junction of the Victoria statue, near the entrance of Cubbon Park. She and her friends had arrived there on a call by some "Brashtachaar Andolan, the Bangalore Chapter". The call was all the like-minded people to gather at the site to protest the arrest of Anna Hazare and subsequent non-grant of permission by the Delhi Police for Anna to fast in his place of choice. There was this bald-man, who was egging on, saying something in Kannada into the megaphone ! She and her friends held placard and shouted slogans at the government... She was glad, that she along with majority of friends (and her parents) had not voted in the last election and felt a lot less complicit with this Government's decision. The fact that she and her family had some other pressing engagement that day and did not fancy standing in a queue for election. Her dad had joked, if only there was a Tatkal option for voting; and she had promptly facebooked it as her own and got huge amounts of likes.

Coming back to the present, the crowd was getting vocal; Shalini found several friends from her past and there were several youngsters, along with some serious-types (as she thought). The bald man, who was holding forth why Lokpal bill made a lot of sense and why the politicians, including the PM need to be policed. A lady, who seemed to be passer-by, asked the question if we are asking extra-constitutional authority for non-elected representative - the bald man, hemmed and hawed a bit, but at the same time, Shalini and friends boo'ed the lady and started questioning if she was a true Indian!! The lady beat a hasty retreat...

After being around for about 3 hours, it was getting to be evening and Shalini and friends started feeling a bit of ennui... They expected this to be fun, but weren't able to envision an end-game to the evening. Fortunately for them, good news arrived. There was suddenly a commotion. The bald man was conferring with a couple of other people. He, feeling important as the eyes were on him, picked up his cell and called someone ! He was flush with excitement as he animatedly talked alternately in broken Hindi and English... As he was talking he raised his fist up and a cheer went through the crowd, without knowing what really has transpired. The bald-man pocketed his cell, in a very self-important gesture, stood up on a soap-box and announced grandly - "We've won !! The Delhi Police have caved in - Anna will be fasting now !!!! We will get our Jan Lok Pal Bill passed !!!!!"... Immediately, a big cheer went through the crowd. People hugged each other and Shalini and co were ecstatic - they've won. All the tweets, facebook and bunked classes is going to change the world. They decided that they need to go out and celebrate the victory - where else at Coffee day !

She kicked her scooty back to life; and Avi, her class-mate got behind her. He was one of those boys who were extremely talkative and she was glad that he was in the pillion as they talked, feeling an enveloping aura of victory as she drove... Then, shit happened... She suddenly saw a policeman in front of her, flagging her down ! In her discussion, she had erroneously turned into an one-way street !! She slowed down and parked the the scooty, a bit ahead of the policemen. Avi, took her papers and license and took it to the policeman. In her rear-view mirror, Shalini saw Avi talking to the policeman...

In about 5min or so, Avi was back; as she stuffed the papers and started her scooty, she asked, "What happened ?". Avi responded, "I just gave him a twenty; saved a 100 bucks fine; lets go !!"

Of Pigs, PFand Pearls...

2011-07-16T22:38:00.000-07:00

I'm part of a Fantasy football league for the past four years - its a pretty easy going league with lot of banter, ill-translated sentences, fun but quite competitive place. It is also run by a commish, who does things pretty much with an iron-hand (:-)). During the commish's tenure, the rabbits' DNAs have mutated, that their 4th leg has become an vestigial limb and can no longer be found... (in the lines of முயல், மூன்று கால் etc).

As the new season unfolds this year, he had decided on the draft order (with a feral and ferrous hand, of course), purportedly based on a lunch meeting at a Pizza joint with a few of the leaguers... My reaction to his post where he had published the draft order was as below:
___________________
The below is the result of sinister conspiracy hatched by neo-fascist extreme-left-wing cabal (of 1) !! The order of draft was totally different...

I'm sure commish would Meddle in, generate proof in terms of a torn masala-dosai smelling napkin that he quickly rushes out and picks up from an Indian restaurant nearby and claim it to be from the Pizza joint. This is so typical of first 4 seasons - I was hoping (against hope) that the Echoes of change that is sounding elsewhere in the world will also come to this league... but alas NO ! From behind the Wall, Commish continues to reign in with an iron hand and puts down any semblance of sense. No doubt, we would be pointed to the change in draft process; Its just a momentary lapse of reason and an aberration of deviant from the dark-side; just an exception that was obscured by clouds of, what appears to be traces of transient sense found in the relics of continuing autocracy.

The draft order is the last straw, the final cut. Let me ring the Division Bell, demand not to be treated as one among Animals and set controls to the heart of the son !!! I'm flaming outta here, praying that a new piper would lead you all to a gates of new dawn ! Bye then...

... until the draft day...
_______________________

Well, I was so disappointed, that except the commish, no one else picked the message of the post !! But life... as they have said...
"Sun is the same in a relative way, but you're older,
shorter of breath, one-day closer to death...
...missing the finer points from 17 channels of shit to choose from !"

Love in Modern times !

2011-03-21T21:19:00.000-07:00

On the day poetry,
professing love to thee...
"alas", whispered a lil' birdie,
"keep it under 140".

Music !

2010-06-19T22:57:00.000-07:00

Dreamy nightmare...
scary angels
Friendly demons,
Balmy suns,
Scalding nights,
real imaginations
imaginary reality.
Restless soul
Trapped in strife,
cant explain,
It isn't who I am !*
Dream a little,
Jailed soul
soaring free
Life isn't
reams of reasons
but, notes... ...,
bars of rhymes...
Cant explain,
That is what,
I'd yearn to be !
___
* Two lines, as tribute to Pink Floyd :-)

The Flow

2010-03-13T16:36:00.000-08:00

Today Neel was pensive. That’s a bit of understatement; he has been quite pensive and lost for a while. "For a while" is a bit of understatement – that being a few years. He was driving today in the peak Bay area traffic around 5PM; where opportunities abound in the Land of opportunities. I’m being cynical, as usual, he thought. The ‘as usual’ had become a norm in those afore-mentioned few years. As he slowed down at the intersection, he wondered if it symptomatic of the proverbial cross-roads he seemed to be at. If he had a say today, he’d be back at work, generally procrastinating or checking out what was happening around his home town, surfing the internet; or back at his large stylish house, seeing movies that he had enjoyed growing up; or those lovely mellifluous Rafi’s or P.B.Srinivas’ songs.

Neel a.k.a Neelakantan R Iyer, to the outside world, was living the American dream and had arrived in life. He had 4BR house in the Palo Alto, 3 cars; he himself was driving a Beamer. Or whatever, he thought! His lovely wife – when was the last time, they had a good conversation – Pam (a.k.a Parimala), who had a career of her own now; and two children – A girl who was a senior in the High School – was it 12th? Or as he would have said in his days – “My name is R.Neelagandan, 10th Standard B section” in his small town back in Tamil Nadu. Today, as much he tried to avoid, he had to pick his daughter from the special math class that she was going to a tutor on the south-side of the town - he had not wanted to face the very uncomfortable silence that fills the chasm between them and compensate with banalities. Pam had an important meeting that she didn’t want to miss and had asked Neel to do the chore, as an exception to their division of labor. So here he was, down the 85S in the start-stop traffic, driving from rote without really concentrating…

As he got into the steady moving traffic, his mind once again rewound to black and white… He had married Pam after both the families had matched them up; He had stars in his eyes and dreams in his head. The American dream. He was a hot-shot techie who was very good in what he did. It was a great time, a time that he always looked back in fondness – they were both genuinely happy in each other’s company and made plans. Work had been good, in fact, feel-good too. Then life happened, he thought wryly – they had Shreya, their daughter; Pam had put her own plans on hold. Pam was very keen to stay with the kids in their formative years. As Shreya grew up, she was a bundle of joy for Neel; she was there when he left for work and then made sure she was awake when he came back from work, however late it was. He adored her; his life seemed so complete and blessed when Sharan arrived. Pam spent another 5 years with him. As both the kids started school, Pam started on her career – she went to school, got a degree and joined one of the few start-ups. That was nearly 10 years ago. He was growing fast in his company; from an individual contributor, he climbed the ladder of Technical lead, architect and was behind some of the company’s key innovations. . He was busy, she was busy and the kids were busy. But slowly, something gnawed at him. He wasn’t sure what it was initially… Was it burn-out? Was it lack of time together as a family? Pam now is in a place in her career that he was when he was growing rapidly and feeling the glow. He never found the kids at home – they were either some class or the other; or were at sleep-overs. He often came to an empty home, pottered around the kitchen, and cooked something up for himself and the family. They hardly had dinner together. If they were all at home, they were all doing their own thing. His attempts to get all of them together were all thwarted by lack of cosmic alignment of everyone’s calendar! Or my feeble attempt, rather.

Neel got off the free-way and slowed down at the stop-light. It was red. Was it a symbolic message? Am I the Bruce Nolan? He waited behind several cars for the light. The light turned green, he eased into the traffic again. He was in the back-roads. Back-roads he thought aloud… or cross-roads… Neel’s career had hit a plateau. He wasn’t certain (and possibly didn’t care) if his sense of ennui was due to that; or his ennui created the career slow-down. He was also increasingly finding himself not able to connect to materialistic culture – yeah, it is easy to be not materialistic, when you drive a beamer! He had that inner urge, overwhelming of late, to reconnect with his roots – people, friends, language. He wanted to be able to connect to his parents, his friends, his childhood memories back home. The last time he was back in India, he had really enjoyed the time – connecting back with his father with their usual arguments and meeting his friends over a drink! He had instantly felt at home with those guys. He had started reading tamil literature; also tried and flamed out spectacularly in teaching in Shreya and Sharan Tamil. He was hoping this would be a project to reconnect with Shreya. Shreya had rejected the whole process outright, leading to a still-born project. She had just moved away from him during his hectic days and she had her own ideas now. He had heard Pam talk about some boy-trouble at school, a boy of apparent Indian lineage. Neel didn’t probe too much since he was sure if he knew all he would certainly not like what he hears.

The American dream had become a bit stale and rudderless. He had a sense of longing for something that he couldn’t really pin-point. He felt like a cast-away, without a sail shifting in the high seas with no frame of reference and no control. He and Pam talked a couple of times of returning. But it always fell through and they had, in the mean-time acquired the citizenship. He was an American; and his last tie to being an Indian officially was cut off, as he returned the Indian passports. Try as he may, he just could not relate himself to be seen an American. He tried the local Indian, South Indian, Tamil and micro-org meetings and gatherings – the ersatz culture left him more restless. Neel wondered all this restlessness stemmed from to the fact that he was culturally adrift and when the end comes, he would not know where he belonged. He yearned to be in the place where his heart knew it belonged. The only solace was he felt a reasonable sense of stillness, when he visited the temples in non-peak hours; he preferred to go alone there; he’d pray quickly and sit there for long. He wondered if it’s that hope in the faith (or was it faith in the hope?) that kept the sanity sometimes and do, eventually, what is pragmatically possible given where he was.

Neel smiled wryly, as he turned the corner - have I?; it seemed his life here matched the quote from Jack Higgin’s novel Eagle has landed – “Son, you don’t play the game anymore, the game plays you”. He knew that he was just a Bot in the flow. It was like an assembly line that he has gotten onto and some connected sets of strings had taken over his life; and he just have to go with those pulls and pushes in the flow, that he had no real control over.

He parked in front of the building where Shreya’s class was on. As he waited, he saw her coming out with a boy talking animatedly – they had stopped, Shreya with her back to him and continued the conversation – it was obviously not pleasant. Then Shreya turned abruptly and walked towards the parking lot; she was crying – and she was surprised to see him instead of her mother. She quickly and furtively wiped the tears off and got into the car.

He looked at her, unsure if he could ask what was wrong; instead he smiled and asked her how she was. Shreya, responded with a simple ok and turned her face away. He guessed she didn’t want him to see her tears. He started the car and eased into the traffic; as he exited into the free-way, he stole a glance at Shreya; He reached out and smoothed her hair; she smiled weakly and looked out – she was still crying. He had a sudden urge to hold her as he’d done when she was a small girl and talk to her and if he could help. But he just couldn’t…

…Instead he entered the high-way, did the dance with the traffic, maneuvered himself to the car-pool lane on I-85; it was now automatic, the strings were activated – the flow would take him to his 4BR, 3B, 3Car Garage house. And to the next day. And beyond.

Book Review - Checklist Manifesto

2010-02-28T21:34:00.001-08:00

I had recently bought the Kindle, the e-Reader from Amazon - the first book on it was Atul Gawande's "Checklist Manifesto" - this book was recommended by two people I know, one from work and by another friend of mine from college, who I had reconnected with recently. What interested me in the book was the reviews that talked about resolving complex problems. I've personal interest in the theory of complexity and have my own perspective of it.

After reading the book, I believe there is a slight distinction - there are problems which are "complex" in nature in trying to find solutions and then there are problems that have known solutions but the complexity is in execution. The book is about the latter part of it.

Interesting part of it is Gawande' talks about Brenda Zimmerman and Sholom Glouberman (Univ of Toronto's) work on Complexity... Its another matter that it is very similar to Cynefin framework (that had interested me significantly and made me write my perspective on solving problem in complex space). Gawande, in his book, introduces the concept as following: systems can be understood as being simple, complicated, complex. Simple problems, such as following a recipe or protocol, may encompass some basic issues of technique and terminology, but once these are mastered, following the "recipe" carries with it a very high assurance of success. Complicated problems, like sending a rocket to the moon, are different. Their complicated nature is often related not only to the scale of a problem, but also to issues of coordination or specialised expertise. However, rockets are similar to each other and because of this following one success there can be a relatively high degree of certainty of outcome repetition. In contrast complex systems are based on relationships, and their properties of self-organisation, interconnectedness and evolution The metaphor used for complex systems is like raising a child. Formulae have limited application. Raising one child provides experience but no assurance of success with the next. Expertise can contribute but is neither necessary nor sufficient to assure success. A number of interventions can be expected to fail as a matter of course. Uncertainty of the outcome remains. You cannot separate the parts from the whole.

After classifying the problem-types as above, Gawande goes ahead and calls the challenges he describes in his book, as complex. Its erroneous since the most problems he describes are complicated - i.e., they are in the knowable space (as per Cynefin framework) and it just needs diligence in execution. The "complexity" in execution is a function of two things - the number of tasks that needs to be done without any errors, in the right sequence and short time duration within which those tasks needs to be executed...

If you let go the above issue, I'd still think his book is worth a read - he tells a good story. He has quite effectively woven a good front in building up the theme and then presented the solution. He could have been bit more concise, but I guess he was driven by a page-count-need ! Gawande's view is that in a complicated problem, due to its magnitude, the difficulty lies in getting the order, interfaces and hand-offs right amongst equals who bring in different competencies to the execution of the solution; A very visible and concise cook-book, not the one that tells what to do (which the experts usually know), but the one that is a gentle reminder/nudge. He calls this a checklist. I, personally agree to his solution. When you are up against time and pushed to do a number of actions (in a sequence that is essential), I'd rather have a guide (or a checklist) that helps me to do those. Personally, I'd rather take any guidance that would help me get the syntax right, that would help me spend my competency on the semantics of doing my work well.

Another key point of note that he talks about in the book, but I believe he has not highlighted it enough is the adoption of checklist. He describes how tough it was to introduce a checklist in the medical profession, when compared to the profession of flying. The essence being is that checklist are seen as a affront by the expert (surgeons) who believe the checklist are an insult to their authority, knowledge of systems and competence. It would have been of greater use, if he had also addressed some of the work, that led up to a successful adoption of checklist. Was it change management ? Was it working through the chain of command ? Was it through data ? Was it something else ? The message of checklist came through clearly in the first few chapters; instead of repeating it across with several more examples, it would have been a better, rather complete, if he had discussed the adoption too...

In any case, even though it falls short in some areas, a good book to read. Read it if you've the time, $$s and you'd want to know more than what is written above ! :-)

Footprints...

2009-12-30T00:27:00.000-08:00

December. Work shut-down. Vacation. Chennai. Morning. Elliot Beach. Walk/Run...

That sets the context. When we are in Chennai during the annual december vacation, we love to go to the Elliot's beach (in Besant Nagar) and enjoy the early (or late) morning ambiance. That is also the time, I run and walk, sometimes on the tiled side-walk, service side-walk, on the sands, and sometime close to the waves.

I've this habit at times, after I run the length couple of times, I tend to look for the foot-prints that I've left behind in my earlier lap and see if I could recognize those. I typically look back as I run to see what imprint my shoe-soles leave and try to match those fresh-ones to the earlier ones... Needless to say, I most often fail to even find a foot-print from the previous lap - in the cornucopia of several thousands of other footprints. And as you are running, the mobility makes it much more tougher...

As I was doing that this morning, it kind of struck me - the greatness of people like Gandhi, Lincoln et al, who have their footprints firmly etched ! I'm sure their journey/run was a million times tiring than a 7.5K run !

Kaminey - Movie Review

2009-10-30T11:14:00.000-07:00

A pretty good movie. Considering its a Hindi movie, where run-of-the-mill mushy movies or overly macho gangster movie typically works, this is much more well made and well acted.

The story itself is not very deep, but it has been adapted to a very taut screen-play with excellent editing and direction. All the actors do justice to their roles. Although Vishal Bharadwaj is said to have stated that the movies is a tribute to Quentin Tarantino, this movie is neither dark as QT's nor have the funny lien that a Guy Ritchie's movie has - the other guy's creations with whom this has been compared with . It could be placed in that genre with multiple story-lines interwoven giving a good enough time, but taut, for the characters to develop.

It does hold the viewers in thrall and doesn't overly insult their intelligence by going overboard on emotions (except, probably, for the Mikhail's role). Shahid Kapoor is quite brilliant in both the roles - he was quite a revelation; and has shades of Tom Cruise in some of the scenes. Priyanka Chopra as Sweety is different and has done justice to her role, rather than just being a doll.

If you are a fan of such a genre, watch it - you'd enjoy it. However, I'd place this movie a notch below to that of Omkara, which had a bit more of heavy cast with a higher star value.

Run !

2009-07-19T12:16:00.000-07:00

This is not about the movie, Run by Madhavan or Mr.Rai.

I had, for long wanted to run... I, infact, wrote about it on this blog a few years ago as Elevators and had an "Elevator Count" at the top of the blog. Then, as Confucius said, sh*t happened - one after another - knee, ankle, tummy, calf etc... (tummy problem, being just that - the usual middle-age problem :) ).

But, sometime in my life, I'd still like to run a mini-marathon... I know the window is ever-s0-surely closing. I have started running on treadmill - but one of my friends who has discovered running had told me that running on roads is altogether a different challenge... So tried it out today after a long long time (maybe 5-6 years). It was good, although a bit hot, but it was good. I did about 4.3K in about 40 minutes. The goal is to get to 10K and I'll be done ! The plan is to run on the treadmill during the week-days (twice) and run on the roads on Sunday...

Lets see how it goes...

Random Thoughts...

2009-06-21T14:36:00.000-07:00

...I somehow am getting to a conclusion or a philosophy: To lead a contented and satisfied life, not just materially happy, but emotionally too, I've to have a cause that 'is just beyond me and greater than my own well-being alone'. Basically, work for something that is greater than ourselves...

...Something tells me that I'm thinking that Nadal/Federer may not meet again in a Grand Slam final. Looks like this year Nadal is out - with the knee issue, am not sure how much pounding he can take on hard courts. Given Murray's improvement, I believe, next year, Nadal and Federer will alternate, Federer may reach 1, Nadal 2 and neither 1. The year after, in 2011, Federer no finals, Nadal a few. So, go ahead and reach for the tapes of the 2008 Wimbledon and 2009 Australian open.

...I am reading the Art of War by Sun Tzu - interesting. As previously noted by many experts, a lot of concepts that could be used in today's business - probably would blog once I'm done with it

...Some fat asses in BCCI is piling on Kirsten for his comments on Indian team and fatigue. These asses have criticized Kirsten about talking about fatigue after the T20 world tournament and not before ! Wtf are they thinking ? Do they think Kirsten (or anyone else in his place, and one who has no control on scheduling) would say that the whole Indian team is fatigued before the tournament and thus demoralize the troops even before they go into battle !

...Pakistan has won the T20- Jai Ho to them - However, wonder how much of a balm could this be to that nation

...Talking about "Jai Ho", I see the whole country going ga-ga over Rahman's Oscar for that. Couple of questions for all (1) Do we really believe that Jai Ho would have won the best song, if the Slumdog Millionaire (as a movie) itself had not garnered so much attention (2) and more importantly, how many of us really think that Jai Ho is the best Rahman's composition ? Really !

...Just found out a few days ago, that கூகிள் ஈமேஇளை உபயோகித்து தமிழில் கடிதம் எழுத முடியும் என்று. என் அம்மாவுடன் communication சுலபமாகி விட்டது.

....Interesting thought: There are always events that gives one a lot of hopes - then something comes along that dashes those hopes. Its a a sinusoidal wave - for every crest, there is a trough that pulls it down. Then it stuck me, what if I think differently: Its probably after every trough there is a crest that pulls me up !

Lights and Shapes...

2009-05-25T13:35:00.000-07:00

Inside a hotel room !

An absorbing movie !

2009-05-17T21:08:00.000-07:00

Watched the movie "Crash" recently. I did expect the movie to be good, but did not expect that, it would be this good. The movie is a study of various play and by-plays between various ethnic groups in an highly charged LA environment. It is an amazing take on the subject of racism - eventually, it comes down to the fact racism is not about the differences in the physical appearances, but within our own mind on how we perceive and assume the other to be. An excellent and taut script with several separate characters and events moving towards a point, where they are intricately inter-twined.

Even though the movie starts off with negativity, where every character appears to be racist, when put on the line of fire, most of them tend to do the right thing. There are several stand out scenes, acted and emoted in an outstanding way - where the racist policeman (Matt Dillon) pulls out his earlier victim (Thandie Newton) from the burning car after having felt her up the previous day in a stop, where the Shaoun Toub (Persian storekeeper) goes to shoot the locksmith (Michael Pena) and both are saved by the impenetrable cloak of Pena's 5 year old daughter, Terence' Howard (as the man whose dignity was violated by Dillon on that stop)'s second brush with the police. Actually, come to think of it, there isn't one frame that is wasted in the movie - most absorbing !

The thing I thought as I was watching this movie was - there is too much anger/angst in every character - their starting point of interaction with the other is mistrust. And towards the end, Sandra Bullock echoed that :-) All in all For people who liked this style of movies where multiple story-lines come together (Pulp Fiction, Traffic, Babel, Syriana or my own story - mysterious ways :-) ), this is a movie to watch. I would place this movie much much higher than those; and I'm a Pulp Fiction fanatic; but I believe for sheer movie making this is a must-watch. Highly riveting.

Mysterious Ways...

2009-04-19T10:21:00.000-07:00

Ganesh was in a hurry. He just saw the bus 83 go towards the terminus, which was about 3 (or 5, depending on the driver/conductors’ moods) stops away. He knew it would be back in another 30 minutes are so, with a 15 minute break. He had planned it in a way that he is on commute for the minimum time required to get to the job interview, so that he can stay with his mother who has been very sick, but getting better. He just could not afford to go all the way to Majestic and take another bus to the industrial locality outside of Bangalore. He had desperately wanted this job – his father had passed away three months ago and he was told he could apply for a job in the same company and will get a fair interview. Ganesh was confident that he could get the job – he was a bright young man and has also gone to the factory with his dad, when his dad had Sunday shifts. It was for a job as a machinist. He had cooked the food that his mother had needed with the help of his 11 year old sister who had gone to school for her exams; she would come home in about another 45 minutes.. His mother was still in the bed, coughing intermittently… He mentally checked everything, it was another 15 minutes to go. He was ready to leave, when his mother started heaving with wracking coughs… He sat her up in the bed, against a pillow and gave her some water and felt her fore-head. She still had slight fever; Ganesh was in a hurry, but her cough was bad – he decided to heat some water up for her; and as he was giving her the hot water, he watched in despair through the window, across the sparse lay-out his bus rolling into the bus-stop… His heart sank… he needed this job desperately and he could see that slip away, if he weren’t there on time… the bus would leave in a minute or so…

Thimme Gowda was lost in thoughts. Sitting on the bench Nair-Tea shop, with the work-day (or night) behind him, he let his mind wander. He was a police-man in the area. He has lived in the area all his life; or atleast it seemed so. He had just reached the position of head-constable. He had no great dreams or ambitions. He lived a simple life, with his wife and son, who will finish engineering in another 6 months and perhaps get a better job than he ever had. Maybe I would take the VRS and retire then, Thimma thought… as he sat on the bench sipping tea before he headed home. He has not done anything spectacular – he assumed those were all reserved for people who had high ambitions and not for himself… Maybe he would retire after doing something like that, he smiled to himself, amused at the thought. He had the night duty last night and told his wife that he would be home for lunch. Retiring would be good. The job has become complicated of late – earlier, he just had to tackle local thieves and at the highest complexity scale, the local goondas. Now, with all the crap going on in the world, they had every kind of fundamentalist to look for. In addition, these days there are also phoren terrorists! His inspector kept telling them to be careful and Bangalore had become a hiding place for every kind of people, particularly, in the suburbs where his police station was situated. There was a dossier that his Inspector got – there were every kind of people in that – Muslim fundamentalist, Hanuman Sena, Tamil separatists added to that local goondas and thieves, who had these days, had become allies against these outsiders as they called the ones in the dossier. How I wish things were as simple as old days; catch a local thief, give a thrashing, lock him up for a day or two and then let him out and you don’t hear back from him for another 3 months or so; and then the cycle repeats… In spite of all of these, Thimma had still wanted to do his job honestly, still believed that he could make a difference to honest people, who needed help, in the locality… As he was sipping the tea, he saw the 83 come to a halt at the bus-stop ahead…

Rafiq Ashraf was the typical guy with in-your-face-attitude; which these days was worn in the lapel as a badge of honour and as the face of New India! He worked in a call-center, had the money to throw away. Although, he just could barely get past his PU, he thought he knew more than everyone around him, since he spoke English with an accent, thanks to the call-center training. He belonged to the neo-youth that thought everything was wrong around them, without giving a thought as to what they are doing that adds to the faulty lines in the canvas. Like the rest in those elite, he too believed the money gave him the right to be arrogant. He was packed at the back in the company car, a standard Tata Sumo that ferries them to the company, to the 2’0 clock shift. After his work at 11PM last night, he had a late-nighter where he had lot to drink and a very little to eat – He had stopped on the way back, bought a few bananas; he recalled eating a few of those bananas on the way back in the auto-rickshaw and tossing the skins somewhere on the road. He had woken up with a splitting headache and a total hangover, using the deodorant instead of a shower and was in the taxi at the back-seat, hungry, with just one left-over banana. He saw his taxi-driver overtake the other vehicles, with the reckless abandon that he was used to and he kind of enjoyed it – as their speed made the other road-users scurry, like scared cockroaches he thought. He was finished with the banana; as the car sped and swerved to right side of the road to overtake yet another driver (“scared wimp”), he nonchalantly tossed the banana skin out of the window and it plopped on the road… The taxi hit a pot-hole and shook him up, as his head knocked against the side of the car, exacerbating his head-ache; Rafiq cursed the Government, driver, and the truck drivers and everyone around him for lack of civic responsibility. As his car overtook the almost stationery bus, he saw his car swerve back on the left side to avoid the oncoming truck and was heading almost straight at one of the guys who seemed to be sprinting…

Kulasegaran alias Sekar was living in the suburbs of Bangalore. He had taken a boat from Sri Lanka about a year ago, fleeing the Government troops, landed in an unmarked spot in the vast shoreline. With a little help from his friends, had gotten a new identity as Sekar, had moved several places and finally into the suburbia of Bangalore and had gotten lost in the milieu. Today, he had gone to the Terminus to get to the post-office and to the courier drop-off, to mail something back to his handlers elsewhere. He had gotten a specific instruction; since he was he was here, he might as well, eliminate one of the opponents. When going out, he usually carried two things – a gun and his Cyanide capsule. But the past year has been so peaceful, he didn’t bother to carry his Cyanide, just his gun. Today he was coming back from the terminus in the 83 bus – a standard guy who went about his business (as people thought he was doing). He was still in a call on his mobile as he got down on his stop – he didn’t notice that his bag had swung and knocked down an old man’s crutch, making the old man lose his balance. Had Kulasegaran noticed that, he would definitely have helped the old man and perhaps taken good care of him and helped to his destination… Unfortunately he did not!

…Thimma was watching the bus roll to a stop just ahead of the tea-shop. As usual there was the buzz around the back-entrance as people wanting to get down and board at the same time, but with a slow and painful progress. How about a bit of order to make it easy for all, thought Thimma. To add to the spectacle, there was an old man who was walking on the side of the road with a crutch, had stopped to the let the crown diffuse and he was watching the people get on and down through his thick glasses leaning on the crutch, waiting for the bus to leave so that he can hobble on his path. Thimma watched a guy, who looked quite educated, dressed neatly get down from the bus, talking on his phone and knocking down the crutch and the old man but didn’t bother to stop to help. That made Thimma furious and indignant. He kept his tea glass down, got-up from the bench, moving swiftly to confront the man…

… Ganesh was in a panic. He just cannot afford to miss the bus. Through the window, he saw the bus roll to a stop. As he began to leave his mother started coughing again – Ganesh was torn on what to do – maybe he would borrow money from someone and take an auto, but who? He was already in debt, with everyone… Fortunately, he watched his mother’s cough stop; he quickly told his propped mother that he had more hot water on the stool nearby and picked his bag, rushed out; the bus was still stationary, it would take about 2-3 minutes for him to clear the empty space between his lay-out and the bus-stop…His heart sank as the bus began to move…

…Rafiq’s nonchalance, in what seemed to be an eternity, slowly turned into horror, as he found that his driver was losing control of the car, as the car’s path would take dangerously close to the man who was sprinting. He wasn’t sure if the driver had noticed the man; the man seemed to slip on something and fell right on the path-way of the car; Rafiq could see his driver brake hard, the car screeching to a halt, careening a bit and hit the man with a sickening thud and the taxi losing control and heading for a lamp-post; when it hit the lamp-post, Rafiq was thrown into the back of the front seat, headlong first. It opened up a nasty gash and the blood started pouring… The splitting head-ache would not be his greatest pain for a while…

…Kulasegaran could not afford to get caught. He started running after he had evinced interest with the people around. His mind raced; he would brandish his gun, steal one of the countless bikes parked and make his get-a-way. He stopped running, pivoted quickly, but found that his leg gave way, as he stepped on something squishy – it was a mushy banana skin with half-eaten banana, he slipped; to his horror, he saw one of the Tata-Sumo heading his way; it hit him at his knee, probably broke his leg and threw him off balance and his gun flying the other way! Today, he wasn’t carrying his cyanide capsule!

…Ganesh was about 100 yards away as the bus started moving; and with that his hopes of being on time for the interview and the job! As the bus was eclipsed by a house, he saw it slow down. Ganesh raced at full tilt and got to the back of the bus, that had stopped completely now; as he was boarding, he saw an accident in front of the bus, where people had milled around a Tata Sumo; as he boarded the bus, he saw a panting policeman run past the bus towards the accident scene. After a few minutes of milling around, the bus started rolling. Ganesh heaved a big sigh of relief!

…Thimme Gowda alias Thimma was the star of the small police station an several other adjoining stations. He was scheduled to meet the Commishner a day later. He was lauded as a brave policeman, who with a lati had caught a dreaded terrorist with a gun; Every government that Thimma voted for and didn’t vote for and every politician that he liked and disliked, had promised him cash reward. Thimma felt as if the Gods had smiled at him just on the eve of the retirement.

The Weekend Cycle.

2009-04-05T21:27:00.000-07:00

Graph made possible by graphjam.com

Sunday... sum musings !!!

2009-03-15T14:07:00.000-07:00

Sunday afternoon - the cusp where excitement and inspiration slowly turns into perspiration, looking to the week ahead...
But even tomorrow would be the first day for rest of my life... (and with the additional one day behind me, bit more of past data to help me in my decisions and what I want to do), exploring what He has in store for us...
But, God moves in not so mysterious ways - its for a reason; that is an opportunity that our simple minds are yet to fathom and see
And being lucky with the opportunity being at the right time, right place... and more importantly with the right preparation...
Right prep making an honest effort at the key variables (x, the efort and y, the attitude) we control and be aware of the "K", that we do not...
Playing our role in the game, that is much bigger than our own cause...
...Believing our cause is a miniscule pixel in the vast expanse of the canvas; miniscule but NOT a trivial piece the overall big picture of the existence of this universe...

...Sunday, bloody Sunday, as U2 would sing; or Sunday, bloody boring Sunday !!!

Director Top Talent !

2009-02-13T18:26:00.000-08:00

Blogging after a long time - someone had forwarded me the link to the new Bala's movie - Naan Kadavul. Being a big fan of Bala, am looking forward to seeing the movie; after having seen Nandha several times and enjoyed Pithamagan. I have seen Sethu a long time ago too. In fact he made actors out of Vikram and Surya. Ajith was supposed to act in Nan Kadavul and it was said NK would do to Ajith what Nanda did to Surya and Sethu to Vikram, but Ajith backed out (and that had several other issues)... Given the pedigreee, Naan Kadavul should be a must-watch movie...

Then I thought back about the directors in Tamil movies. Here are some that I've enjoyed seeing over the past few years. These are some of Tamil Directors, who do make some really good films, but dont get noticed on national stage:

Bala: Outstanding director, but with a really dark outlook - if you are a fan of Pink Floyd and Roger Waters, you would love Bala. He weaves an amazing story together; the actors really fade into the background of the characters. Technically brilliant, with no frames wasted and no characters extraneous. Very very low noise/signal ratio. If only, he makes a movie, with more positivity like the one he produced - Mayavi (who else... with Surya); I suppose he needs to make peace with his urge of "poetic justice" thing and take some creative liberty !

Cheran: Pretty good, could be as good as Bala, if not for his first love of acting; apparently he wanted to be an actor, couldn't make it and then went on to become a director. He has several very very good movies. Pandavar Bhoomi, Solla maranda Kadhai, Porkalam, Autograph (a bit long, believe could have made the Sneha part a bit more terse) and Thavamai Thavamirundhu, aided by some brilliant acting by Rajkiran; if only Cheran had foregone his part (of eloping, suffering etc), the film would have been truly outstanding. His inability to make it as an actor when he started out, should have given him the message ! Of course, few friends I know didn't like the movie - their argument being why pay money to cry through the movie ? However, of late, seems to have run out of material with Maya Kannadi. I'm yet to see Pirivom Sandipom.

Radha Mohan: A new director; so far has combined well with Duet movies (Prakash Raj's production company) - Azhagiyae Theeyae was the first one - usual off-beat softie, a decent one. Then came Mozhi, which I had covered elsewhere in this blog; it impressed me a lot; the characters, storyline, dialogues, songs - each dovetailed perfectly into a well orchestrated symphony. He has recently done a another out of the box movie - exploring father-daughter relationship - Abiyum-Naanum... Stand-alone, it might be a good movie, but somehow it would get seen through the lens of Mozhi; I believe even Radhamohan had done that; seems like he felt a heavy responsibility to fit into a genre and tried hard to to be as good as Mozhi.

Ameer: He of Bala's understudy. He seems to be more versatile and makes films of all kinds - Mounam Pesiyadhae (an entertainer), Ram (serious subject with "autistic" as an hero) and Paruthi Veeran (somewhat mirroring Bala's style of story-telling, complete with a dark ending). Paruthi Veeran, with the village background and Karthik performing like a seasoned actor on his debut was worth watching. It was kind of throwback to Bharathi Raja's Padhinaaru Vayadhinilae kind of set-up ! Some trivia about Paruthi Veeran - pre-release, it had gotten into some controversy around money, and Ameer who was very close to the Sivakumar's family split with them, after this movie.

Myskkin (Or Mishkin): Possibly, the new emerging talent - with Chithiram Pesudhadi and Anjaathae - IMO, both were very intriguing with some unexpected twists - the one in CP was brilliant; He seems to have lots and lots of ideas and comes across as struggling to fit all of them in the same frame. He also chooses some unknown actors - Naren and Bhavana for Chithiram Pesudhadi, who were very very irritatinlgy loud in the movie; In Anjaathae, Naren, Ajmal Ameer (who was passable as Krupa) - and Prasanna who, in my opinion was terribly miscast as the villain. Additionally, I also think Mishkin works with very poor team; usually you find some of the editing amateurish, screen-play redundancy, camera angles puzzling. If only he had a good technical team, he would come across lot more professional; and perhaps a better product packaged well all around.

Venkat Prabhu:

He of bit-characters-in-Vijay movies and he of son-of-Gangai-Amaran fame. He is the up and

coming director who looks very promising. Much like Radhamohan-Prakash Raj combine, he seems to have struck a good rapport with S.P.Charan (he of S.P.Balasubramaniam's-Son fame). His first movie Chennai-600028, was funny (thanks his to his brother Premgee, narrative, dialogues and screen-play), very cogently constructed and narrated. Some good scenes, with funny twists, down to earth dialogues ("Dei, leg side'lae podathada"..."eppadi pottalum, adikarangada") made the movie lovable. His second movie was Saroja. If you didn't know its a rip-off from an English movie, it is a good movie pictured well. If you forgive the start trying to woo the college folks, its quite taut thriller, building up the intensity slowly. Lets see what he comes up the 3rd time, now that everyone knows that the 2nd movie is a rip-off.

Vasanth: discovered him recently :) with Rhythm... Need to look at his other movies

If you are not looking for story lines, but want to take your brain off and get completely entertained, look for these directors; there are pure, 100%, unadulterated entertainers... like Hari (Thamizh, Saami, Aaru, Thamiraiparani), A.R.Murugadoss (Ghajini), Dharani (Dhil, Dhool, Gilli), Perarasu (Sivakasi), Lingusaamy (Anandam, Run, Sandaikozhi, Beema) K.S Ravikumar (who is fun to watch - has directed quite a few Kamal, Rajni movies)...Gautham Menon started well, but has hit a plateau. All of them have their flashes of brilliance and some of their movies stand-out.

And ofcourse, not talked about Maniratnam - i thought he was over-rated, anyways, because of the urban appeal !! And after Mouna Ragam and Nayagan, imo, he kind of lost it.

Deep Thoughts !

2009-01-28T16:43:00.000-08:00

Not to be anywhere close to the original Deep thoughts !

...but my question, should I leave January 2009, unblogged ?!

Reach for the Skies !

2008-12-19T15:14:00.000-08:00

On the way to Lake Tahoe sometime in summer !!

Slow down, Cross Roads Ahead !

2008-12-07T18:36:00.000-08:00

Musing over
a shot of expresso...
I had felt
a tug on legs
Jokes on me,
Thank you Lord...
Dusting myself up,
Left behind,
Ahead of me,
Is that life ?

Gentle knock,
in my head
Feeling that bump,
I see
besides me...
Opportunity!
I'm told
Life's a circle...
I'll board it
the next time around.

A shot of expresso,
lazy pain expressed
in mutilated pottery!!

Genius Vs Genius - Who is better ?

2008-11-14T17:03:00.001-08:00

I’ve grown seeing Borg and Mac play and win Wimbledons. Then when the TV was truly in India fell in love with the beauty and precision with the serve and volleys in the 80’s. To me it was a combination of Art and Engineering coming together! McEnroe, Edberg, Becker, Henman (to some extent) were all masters at that. They brought a kind of wistful romanticism into Tennis…

…Then came this kid along – as a 19 year old winning the first US open in 1990 – he was good at that time, but personally I thought he would be in the top 10 player. He didn’t win another grand slam for another three years; and then it rained. Pete Sampras was a sight to behold. In the era when you needed to be bad and loud to be noticed, he was boring and great. To me, it was just good enough to watch his game. Serve, move in and Volley, finish. Go back, serve and iterate until win. In the mean time, on the opponents serve, unleash that ferocious tongue-hanging-out cross-court winner, killing the opponent flat footed. Or swift and bleeding cuts with the one-handed back-hand… He was unparalleled with his single minded focus and pursuit of greatness. Perhaps one thing that can be held against him was he was never good at clay. He has never even played a French Open final. I believe the closest he came to it was in 1996 when he had a great preparation on clay, playing Russia in the Davis cup (IIRC) and he beat the clay-court specialist (was it Kafelnikov ?) in the 5^th match and in 5 sets. On court, although he had his vulnerable moments – when his coach and mentor Tim Gullikson was battling cancer and was critical; and playing against Courier in Australian open and a fan calling out, “Do it for Tim!” – from there on it was gut-wrenching to watch – he cried, cried and cried through rest of the match and demolished Courier from there on. He ended up with 14 Grand Slams – 7 Wimbledon, 2 Australian and 5 US open. He would have won 8 wimbledons in a row, if not for a loss to another up and coming genius…

…Roger Federer. If Sampras was a complete serve and volleyer, Federer seemed to be complete all-court player. He is graceful, quietly confident without being arrogant, moved as well as Sampras, has the same forehand as Sampras, has a backhand that was amazing when on song - (in this youtube video line, watch for the amazing backhand flick winner) and all over the place when the timing was off. He has a serve that was very deceptive; he seems to use his wrist a lot more to generate incredible racquet speed. His movement in the court is graceful and with his sense of anticipation, minimalistic – he seems to be there before the ball gets there; that also perhaps explained why he was healthy and injury-free during his peak. If I’ve one doubt about Federer’s game, it is the serve and volley – I’m not sure if he is in the same class as Sampras (or Edberg or Becker) was. I used to joke to my friend that Federer starts practicing for French open throughout the year by staying at the baseline and winning just as easy out with ground strokes, some of them just incredible and defying reality. The 4 years, from 2004 to end 2007, were Federer years; perhaps for the first time in recent years there was a complete domination of one player in an individual sport – there were others too, with Nadal being in the fore-front. This was the time, when the aura of Federer was good enough for him to go to a 5-set match with a 1-set lead; the opponents seemed to come to the match with a resignation of defeat. From there, it always seemed the opponents had to win 3 out 4 sets, which was impossible. Of late, there is a marked decline in his wins – not sure if it is due to his game decline or his health issues or if the opponents have caught up – definitely Nadal seemed to have caught up. One dimension that stands out in favor of Federer when compared to Sampras is this – Federer reached three consecutive French open finals (the streak that was a started with a semifinal appearance). And in all the three he had lost out to Nadal – who possibly, after his time, would be known as the greatest clay court player ever (Sidenote: I had a fortune of watching live in Chennai in 2007). We can safely say, at his peak, Federer was the best Grass court and hard-court player and 2^nd best in the Clay-court. For the record, Federer now has 13 Grand-slams, one shy of Sampras’ – 5 Wimbledon, 5 US Open and 3 Australian.

Watching some of the games with couple of friends and in discussions, usually the discussion around who is greater would surface. I tried to do a mathematical compare of the two, based on their wins.

Here goes. The below table assigns points per Grand Slam wins and bonus points:

The table is self-explanatory - The Grand Slams carry the most points, ATP Masters half of that and the ATP tourney half of ATP masters (I think ATP points are similar - 1000 for GS winner, 500 for ATP Masters and 250 for normal tourneys). Qualifying for Masters gets a point. Finally, #1 ranking gets a point for every week.

Using this, here are the tables for both Sampras and Federer. For the “Years at Peak”, I looked at their number of years they have been within top-10.

Federer:

Sampras:

So what does this mean ?

Although in points per year, Federer seemed to be much ahead, I’ve no doubt that would fall in the next few years, when he continues to play to beat Sampras’ grand-slam record. Also, if he does that in the next two or three years, I’m not sure if he would have the same motivation to play any longer. I believe Federer would probably retire earlier than Sampras, so he would always have an advantage on points per year – ofcourse the extreme case being that he wins nothing in the next 2-3 years.

In conclusion; I loved watching and was a great fan of both of these geniuses; I’d like Federer to also get 14 grand-slams and retire; perhaps for his French-open deeds, may be get to 15. Both are geniuses and we were lucky to have one follow the other – it leaves space for lesser mortals like us to work the spreadsheets! The versus should hardly matter !!!

5C's of Problem Solving in a Complex Space...

2008-10-22T21:20:00.000-07:00

I’ve used a framework (5Cs) that I’ve come up with to solve some complex problems – both in professional life and personal life… I’ve solved and am in the process of resolution for a few of them using this concept. Although you could live without complex issues, at one level these are exciting and keep life interesting.

When I had first inherently started using the model of 5Cs approach to a solve a problem, I did not have a knowledge on Cynefin framework. However, understanding the Cynefin framework, gave me further clarity as to when to use the 5Cs method and when to use other methods like reductionism etc.

My first approach to a problem is to step back and think and place it in the Cynefin Framework. Although I had inherently used the 5Cs framework, the knowledge of this tool has given me more clarity. Cynefin framework essentially divides the problems into 4 quadrants – Simple, complicated, complex and chaotic – essentially a problem can be based on how much line of sight you can draw between cause and effect. The further the cause and effect are, the problem tends to be in complex or chaotic domain. Cynefin framework also talks about complicated problem could be solved by reductionism, where as different approaches are required for problems in the complex quadrant.

Looking at complex problems, where we cannot clearly draw a connection between cause and effect, I use the 5C framework mentally to discover, construct and craft solutions.

Compartmentalize

The first C is Compartmentalize the problem. A complex problem could have lot of extraneous information, corner cases that can appear central to the problem thus only serving to introduce a high noise ratio. Hence, it is key for us to compartmentalize the problem into several cores (fewer the better) and excluding those noises. This is not linear reductionism approach – the problem itself not broken down, where the sum of the parts is equal to the whole; the cores have similar complexity to that of whole, but perhaps at a lower scale. The core at the center has higher clarity and at the edges it could be blurry. Imagine core to be something similar to fractal - a piece of similar shape although a bit smaller in scale.

Constrain

Once the problem is compartmentalized into multiple cores, the next C is to Constrain the core. Name those variables that have an impact to this specific core; including dependencies amongst these variables. Analyze in-depth to out the variables; but use the 80-20 rule to name the variables that only has bigger impact on the result; for now ignore the weaker influencers. There would be variables that play across the cores; have cognition of that fact, but for now keep them in the back-burner; you will bring them to the fore-front later on.

Contain

The third C is the Contain. The fact that it is a complex problem implies that there will be dependencies across the cores. But it is also important to use the same approach and contain the problem within the core. Minimize the interfaces across the core; eliminate dependencies across the cores as much as possible and as much as a solution allows for the specific core. As we are looking to contain the core and ignore few of the variables, it is possible that the solution that we would have come up with would be incomplete to a certain extent. Let us live with it for now.

Now the core is small enough for it to be solved, although the complexity of the core (much like fractal doesn't lose its shape) is not diminished – the scale could be lower. This is where we use whatever standard methodology for any solution - analytics, empirical, statistical etc. By resolving multiple cores, we perhaps have reached much more clarity on a larger part of the problem that we started with. There would still be areas of holes – that’s where the next C comes in.

Connect

Once the cores are resolved, we are going to have few loose threads, the ones we left in the backburner – some part of solution that seems not in place or fitting in right since it has the dependency on another core or an adjacent one. Now its time to Connect; and introduce the variables (from the back-burner) and across the cores – this is where one looks as each core as a puzzle piece and then start fitting the edges together. Now is the time to connect them – its like building a complex Lego pieces with dovetail joints… We now work on the connections to make the cores cohesive enough with each other – start introducing the variables that now run across the cores – go back tune the cores to manage the impact of the new variables. Re-work the core; as we do that, typically I found the blurry edges are places where I needed to work on; the center of the core remains untouched in most cases. In exceptions, it would take a couple of iterations.

Complete

Once you have the connections done, we now Complete the solution. The Complete phase is also the phase, I use, what I call, the “Bounce-High and Bounce-Low” method. We have to keep moving between big picture and details – bounce-high for a big picture view to see if the resolution of cores put together does solve the problem and bounce-low to see if the connectors are indeed fitting well enough to make the solution right. This is key, since the solution could be neither solved at a big picture level nor at details level – its like keep a 10 ft x 10 ft puzzle pieces… One cannot solve a large puzzle piece by either staying at 1000 feet level; nor can one put together the puzzle pieces, by just look connector end of the pieces.

The Final “C” – the sixth C – is the Context. But that is an assumption that I have all the time – it is a necessary condition for a problem resolution (so, it should really be the zero’th C). The context in which the problem exists needs to be understood. Without that understanding, my belief is that the people do not acquire the resiliency required to live in the same space in which the complex problem exists. Building that context is very important and essential – it also gives us the ability to look at things in the shades of grey and not just black and white.

Sighting Surya

2008-09-21T21:49:00.000-07:00

It was about 11AM in the morning – I was taking the Chennai MRTS for the first time today. I had gotten a job at a software company in the ITPL at Velachery. Since this was the first day at the job, this company had asked us to report at 1PM – I found it unusual, but when asked, I was told it was easy to get all the HR formalities done at that time, with the availability of a bank representative to aid us open the salary account and so on and so forth (thus spake the HR person who had made me the offer 2 weeks ago). I had worked for about 2 years in a small company in Coimbatore, staying with parents; and then took up an offer at Chennai as the company seemed to be bigger and the work seemed to be interesting – in the product creation area as against IT services.

So, the planets had aligned and here I was waiting at the Thiruvallikeni MRTS station. I was going to join a couple of my college mates who had taken up a house nearer to Velachery, but both of them were out of the country and one of them was returning in a month’s time. Until then, I was to stay with a distant relative of mine, who had children in college. It was not the perfect situation I would have preferred, but I was ready to roll with it until one of the friends returned; atleast the relatives kids are older !

Since it was late-morning, the office-growing crowd was thin at the station. So was the MRTS train that bawled into the station. I got into general compartment, which was just half-full (I am not the one ever to be blamed for seeing things half-empty…). I got in, made myself comfortable in a window seat and took out the book I was reading. As I opened the book, I heard my cell phone ring…

I picked it up – it showed my house number, should be mom. As I picked the phone up, I let my eyes rove absent-mindedly… I almost gasped – was that guy on the sunny side of the compartment, Surya?

“This is Shalini…”, I answered as a matter of habit and mind being elsewhere. It was mom, wishing me the best on the first day and as she was enquiring about my well-being. I quickly answered my moms few questions and then said byes – I had promised that I will call her later in the day after everything is settled.

I looked at that guy again – He looked very much like Surya in Khaka Khaka !! He had laid his head back on the guardrails of the window and was snoozing – or so it seemed… I took another glance at him. Hmmm… he had serenity in his face – a sort of still calmness that is compelling and makes you look at someone one more time… In his case, I had shamelessly looked many times.

I noticed that he had an ear-plug. There was obviously some music playing, since I could see his fingers drum and his feet tap once in a while. I wonder what music would he be listening – would it be Sheryl Crow that’s on my phone? “Shoot!” I thought – what the heck is this – how long have I been looking at him! I tore myself away, looked out and into the book, that talked about the specifics of product development and management. I had found the book very interesting and absorbing thus far, but in the train, I just could not focus. I was hoping he too was joining my company!

As I looked down at the book, I mentally checked out myself – not bad looking myself, in fact was quite attractive and was told to be photogenic, with a great smile and much greater sense of humor; I was wearing a colorful dress, yet not very stand-out but a simple patterns; I believe it accentuated my personality. I was wearing shades pushed up on to my head. I was wondering if he would see me, when he wakes up or his station comes by.

As the stations rolled on and Taramani was the upcoming one, I discreetly looked myself on my tiny vanity mirror (“looking good”), got up, stole a surreptitious look at Surya – he was still looking handsome, I told myself. I could see early signs of movement on him. I quickly moved and stood in way that I will have to be on his line of sight, just in case he was getting off at the station. As I planted myself on the way, it became quite apparent that he was getting off too… He was taking off his ear plugs and switching off his ipod. I was directly on his way to the door and there is no way he is going to get past me, without looking at me – my heartbeat quickened…

As Surya got up, he looked directly at me, took out his sun-glasses out of his pocket, wore it and took out his stacked white stick, opened it up, tapped it on the ground and moved towards door…

_____________________

Author's Note: Had to use "Surya", since my DW has a crush on him ! :-)

Altruism 101

2008-08-14T22:39:00.000-07:00

Someone posted this link in one of the common forum in response to a "complaint" (which was actually set of observations mixed with his own editorial comments)...

http://www.livemint.com/Articles/2008/08/13234230/Taking-responsibility.html

The link has some great reading... However, I hold a view that I'm not sure if its complementary, alternate, contradictory or supplementary to that...

Perhaps some economist expert can explain better, what Adam Smith meant. On the other end of the spectrum (to the link above) was something expounded by Adam Smith in his book "An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations" (terming the concept as invisible hand) - "There is a school of thought in economy which revolves around the idea that every individual necessarily labours to render the annual revenue of the society as great as he can. He generally neither intends to promote the public interest, nor knows how much he is promoting it ... he intends only his own gain, and he is in this, as in many other cases, led to promote an end which was not part of his intention. Nor is it always the worse for society that it was not part of his intention. By pursuing his own interest he frequently promotes that of the society more effectually than when he really intends to promote it"...

(which in turn you see, Russel Crowe, as John Nash, say "Adam Smith is wrong" in the bar, when he and his friends all try to hit on a same women in a bar).

Through this, I'm not saying I'm for or on either side of the spectrum. Given this continuum, I believe people generally think of/about and do what is right for themselves and the society at large. Very few people pick just one (either). If they say so, they are perhaps not telling the truth - that goes for both end of the spectrum, imo.

Vibrant...

2008-08-01T23:21:00.001-07:00

Someone who saw this snap said the colors were vibrant and positive...

End of a Rainbow

2008-07-18T15:34:00.000-07:00

It was typical hot summer day – as is wont in our part of the world (which, by the way, is Chennai) when its hot, its really sweltering hot. The afternoons before the onset of the sea-breeze are the worst affected – it affects me and my friends more – the ones that lives on the street and off the streets! During such heat (or rain), I take shelter in the shade that the bus stand offers; with my friend, Jimmy, the stray – this was the stray who adopted me – and I named him Jimmy since every dog’s named seemed to be Jimmy or Tommy; I’ve very few needs and usually work when I have to and rest of the time, I sit around the shelter. My home was a makeshift made of paper and remnants of gunny bag, just beside a shelter. Due to the nature of the materials, my home does get renovated more often than any other houses in the world!! I get ignored by all who have their transience presence in the bus-stop. Looked like, Jimmy and I were the permanence in that part of small-world.

Today seemed to be different – I guess, its that time of the year when the first rains show up late in the summer. The hot afternoon seemed to be transforming slowly – there was a distant thunder. The breeze had picked up in strength to a brisk wind, brining in dark clouds from somewhere else and deposited them right overhead. It was cool and sultry. As the afternoon wore on, the college crowd seemed to increase, so were mothers who were going home early from the office. Everyone seemed to have a frown and a worried look on their faces as they looked up to the darkening clouds – there was a smart old man, who was smug in his looks as he was the only one with an umbrella !

Then the drizzle started. In a while the drizzle turned in a down pour – typical of Chennai, quickly water puddle appeared. As the rain poured, there seemed to be a transformation within that shelter – it had turned into a small world itself. Jimmy was curled up besides me, inconspicuous and trying to blend into the backdrop so that his place in shelter would not be taken away by others. I looked around – a fat lady, who seemed to take the whole corner, seemed to deflate herself willingly and give place to another old lady. The three college girls were giggling and talking about something else – at the same time they seemed to enjoy the rain and being consciously careless and get themselves wet. That office guy in the opposite corner, who seemed to peep out to look if the buses were coming, stole a look at the girls every time he did that. The girls conscious of that, increased their giggling frequency – one of them even smiled at the guy. Hmmmmm….

The shelter was getting smaller for the crowd; but everyone seemed to be kind and accommodating as more people filled in. The smart old man with the umbrella, even opened it against a leak in the corner and let another old man to share his umbrella, but at a cost – the other man had to listen to the changing weather patterns in the world and how unusual this rain in Chennai was.

There was a mother with her two kids in the shelter. It looked like on the way back from her office, she had picked her children up from the school. As she was protective of her kids and shielding them from the cold water spray from the heavy rain now, she found another kid, a bit older hit by the spray at the front of the shelter. She took her tiffin box out of the plastic cover and handed that to the boy – the boy thanked her and wore it over his head as a protective cap. Meanwhile, the old man’s umbrella had become another shelter on its own, he had added a small girl and her mom to his vast umbrella, and added them to his audience on global warming. The cycle-rickshaw man, who was in the shelter with others, looked hopefully at the crowd to see if he would get a ride when the rain-stops. He took at a beedi which I’m sure was a substitute for his lunch and started lighting it. Few of the people at the shelter looked at him; the man smiled and put the beedi out. As I watching the world around, I saw this person purposefully threading his way through the crowd towards us. He came near, opened his tiffin box and offered us his uneaten food. Jimmy’s ears perked up and started wagging his tail; I would have wagged mine, if I had one too – we both looked at him thankfully and devoured it down; I had not had anything since morning and the late-summer heat and humidity had taken a toll.

It was an ideal world in that shelter – everyone was benevolent and helping each other. It seemed a vibrant and symbiotic existence there. I thanked the rain, and looked at the people with gratitude, particularly the one who had shared the food with us.

Normalcy was around the door – slowly the rain had stopped to a drizzle and people were now craning their necks to look if their bus was coming. The girls had stopped their giggle, their wet dress a liability now. The rickshaw man who seemed not to have found a customer in the crowd, lit up his beedi to the irritation of others – but he could care less now. The old man had now turned his ire from global warming into the state of Transport Corporation – only now there weren’t any willing listeners – they had turned their back to him. The office guy stepped into a puddle and muttered a curse – he was no longer looking at the girls. The mother with kids wanted to get home early and was looking for an auto; she was irritated by the other kid who threw away the plastic cover that she gave as a shield against rain; at that instance her kid dropped the school bag on the ground and she smacked him.

As the bus appeared, in the horizon, everyone was hopeful – but the bus had a board that announced it was headed to shed and moved on without stopping and in fact seemed to speed-up as it was close to the shelter spraying an unprepared few with puddle water. The character of the shelter had changed definitely – it was clearly more tense and filled with irksome people. Fortunately, within five minutes another bus appeared, but it was so full that it had people hanging out of the door-way. The college girls were able to board the bus through the front door – they guy who had shared his food with us, tried his might to get in, and Jimmy went behind him. The bus started to move and the guy was left behind – as he turned, he stumbled into Jimmy who had followed him; The man was clearly annoyed and angry – he swung his office bag at Jimmy; it hit him on the head – Jimmy gave a loud yelp, continued to wag his tail and scampered from that place.

The rain had stopped, the sun had come out. As the collective mood turned blacker in the shelter, a rainbow had blossomed at the horizon. I wonder at the end of that rainbow, if there was a bus-shelter in a pouring rain.

Bouquet

2008-06-30T07:49:00.001-07:00

One of the shrubs in the apartment complex...

The Magnum Opus !

2008-05-22T20:55:00.000-07:00

This is my 100th post ! I was keen to finish my mini-novel - in fact, that was the first story I wrote several years ago, but never completed it. This novel was one of the triggers to start this blog, but its funny that it has made as the 100th post ! Thanks to prodding from someone near/dear, and thanks to the cross-country plane time, here it is, completed.

So here goes... I'm posting this as multiple chapters, one chapter a week. Hopefully, it would work!!

______________________________________________________________

THE BAIT

Prologue (posted 22/May)
Chapter 1: Opening Gambit - the Good Guys, setting it up (posted 26/May)
Chapter 2: The Past (posted 31/May)
Chapter 3: The Middle Game - the bait (posted 6/Jun)
Chapter 4: The Event
Chapter 5: The End Game - Cleaning up
Epilogue

______________________________________________________________

Prologue:

Vel had been ushered into the rear of the aircraft with rest of the passengers left behind. He was tense waiting for the signal. Then he heard three shots ring out from the front. Trusting his commando training in a worst case scenario, Vel sprinted to the business class section of the plane, stopped behind the curtain and took a silent peek with a heightened sense of alertness. There was carnage – with dead all around. Nawaz Khan was the only one alive and he had the gun in his hands and he turned, with the gun pointing at Vel….

Chapter 1: Opening Gambit – The Good Guys – Setting it up

The Scrap

Tariq should have been rejoicing – he had been just told by his boss that he has been chosen for a plum assignment; Instead, Tariq was furious. During the recent past, on a few occasions he had let go of the barbs. It was not easy but he was used to it and he was brought up and trained to ignore it. It had become more frequent since the patriotism had been usurped by a few sections, more so since the rise of rightist forces. But today it was different; Sikander Singh, who was transferred to same team Tariq was on about 4 months ago, had made it a point to needle Tariq at every possible instance. Today it went beyond the line…

Tariq was still furious – he was taking out his fury in the Karate dojo. Earlier, this morning, Major. Uday Chatterjee had called for a quick briefing session of his department. He had talked about imminent terrorist threat in generalities and specific intelligence that a possible hijack or a 9/11 type of attack is being planned within the country. He had chosen a team of two – Tariq and Murugavel (aka Vel) for a specific high-profile and high-risk assignment and the rest would support them. He had asked the two to meet with him in the evening at 5PM.

The Major left the hall and as the team began to disperse, Sikander looking at Tariq remarked, “The country is being destroyed by Muslim terrorists; why would another of the same ilk do anything to prevent that?”
It was the first time that Sikander got so direct with his innuendo. Furious, Tariq asked,
“what the bloody hell do you mean ?”
“You know, bloody well, what I mean”
“I will rip your heart out…”, said Tariq and jumped at Sikander; there was pushing and shoving with others getting into this; Vel separated Tariq,
“Tari, let go, it is not worthwhile, there will be another time”
“I will be looking forward to that”, baited Sikander

It was now pre-Lunch. Tariq and his partner (and who also became a very close friend through the past 3+ years in TIW) Vel were at the dojo ahead of the class; Tariq was letting go of the steam, doing his kicks and punches. Holding the punching bag for him, Vel wondered if Tariq was going to rip apart the punching bag. Just before the class start at 12 Noon, others filtered in, including Sikander (who claimed that he was an expert in another form of Karate). Sikander looked like he was in for a scrap and walked dangerously close to Tariq; Vel sensing that would happen had placed himself in between the two. Sensei Subburaman, a retired army major, walked in at 12 and after the initial warm-up, and kathas, announced the class would have shi-ai (sparring session), with standard rules; 3 points per shi-ai; when one scores a point, the fight stops and restarts; the stop-restart is to avoid a street-fight. Unfortunately and not knowing what transpired the morning events, he had paired Sikander with Tariq. By the time the sparring session started, Tariq was very calm – he seemed to be in complete control of himself.

First round had started. Sikander danced around darted in and out with his front jab. Tariq, who seemed to be in a zone, easily swatted them out. Once Sikander tired himself out with his dancing, Tariq feinted with his own jab; Sikander fell for that speed and went for defending that; as he was doing that, Tariq followed the fake with a front kick to Sikander solar plexus. He had scored a point and clearly the round was over; as he was withdrawing to start the second round, Sikander hit him in the jaw, as if he was countering Tariq’s attack. Tariq brushed off the apology that ensued from Sikander and assumed his sparring stance – he felt a numbness in his jaw, tasted blood in his mouth and knew the swelling would start soon. The second round started as the first round had. Tariq again warded off attacks from Sikander with ease and had decided that first time in his life, he will pay back in kind; “well, what the heck, there is always first for everything”. As Sikander came forward with one of his front kick, Tariq quickly stepped to his left moving forward to the right of Sikander, drawing level with him, blocked the kick with his right hand and unleashed a round house kick. Typically, that kick in a sparring is aimed at the solar-plexus; but today, Tariq was beyond caring, he aimed at Sikander face; when it connected, Sikander doubled up with a scream of pain. He got up holding his nose with blood in his hands. Sensei, stepped in and stopped the fight and sent Sikander to the hospital and Tariq to corner for his punishment of 100 push-ups and 100 abdomen kicks.

Meeting:

It was 5’^o clock. Both Vel and Tariq were standing in attention in front of Maj. Chatterjee. Major started the conversation,

“Tariq, I had heard about the incidence in the gym. This is very disappointing”
“Sorry sir, but, to be honest, I’m notr”, Tariq replied.
“Sir, you should hear what Sikander did this morning and then at the dojo”, Vel interjected.
Major stopped Vel short - “That’s no explanation”, Turning to the other, he queried, “ Tariq?”
“I apologize sir, it won’t happen again”. After a pause, Tariq asked, “However, can I add something, sir ?”
“Go ahead”
“Sir, The real issue in this country now, when people like you look at people like us, we are first looked at as Muslims and then as Indians. Even during peaceful times, each and every one of us has to constantly prove our Indian-ness Sir. Somehow, I hope that isn’t spawning new terrorist elsewhere”

The room fell silent for a while. The Major broke the silence,

“Sit down both of you; I need to talk to both of you on this assignment. What do you know about Maulana Mazhar Khan ?”
Vel broke in, “Sir, he is the one who led the mid-90s insurgency in Kashmir; and after the successful brokering of peace in the 2000s, he went underground somewhere in Pakistan”.

Peace had indeed been brokered between Pakistan and India. A combination of US tilt towards India after the India voting at IAEA against Iran, softening of the LOC post the Kashmir earth quake had accelerated both the countries towards Peace.

Maj. Chatterjee nodded, “and when we established peace with Pakistan last year, and under pressure from Western agencies, it was getting too hot for him there. He apparently fled from there and was supposed to have come back into the country and is hiding somewhere in the north. He is heading a terrorist organization named Jamiat Ul Islamia (JUI). Inspired by the 9/11, he is planning an attack within the country – our information is either a 9/11 type of attack on one of our buildings or a hijack with inside collusion”.

He added, “Here is the dossier, go over it. We will talk again at 9AM tomorrow. Dismissed”.

Tariq and Vel rose, saluted and began to leave.

Maj. Chatterjee called out, “by the way Tariq…” Tariq stopped and turned around, as Vel left the room. “Major Subburaman and I spoke. I’ve recommended Sikander be transferred out”

Tariq remained silent.

The major continued, looking Tariq in his eye, “Tariq, I wish everyone else had your commitment to the regiment and country; I am proud to have you in my regiment. I will see you both at 9 tomorrow”.

Tariq started to thank the major, but the major was already looking into another file. He turned around and joined Vel in the corridor.

The Plan:

Tariq and Vel had just finished their breakfast and there was untold excitement in them – they had hardly talked with each other during the morning run or during the breakfast, probably deeply lost in the thoughts of what the assignment would be. Their initial attempt at conversation petered out. When they reached the major’s office, he was already in there talking on the phone and seemed had put almost 4 hours of work already.

Maj Chatterjee looked up from the phone and gestured them to take their seats. He handed them each a folder as he continued talking on the phone. He was saying to someone on the phone, presumably his superior, “…Thank you, sir. We will need complete support and anonymity and strictly need to know basis on this assignment”. He looked up at both Tariq and Vel, winked and continued, “I’m having my best people on this”.

He replaced the receiver on the hook, he asked,
“What do you know of changes in the airlines post 9/11 ?”
Vel answered, “Unidentified Air marshal for a while, some basic commando training for the pilots”.
“As time went on, I’ve heard the airlines were against having air-marshal in the flight; solely for commercial reasons and they believe that the threat perception has come down significantly”, Tariq interjected.
“Right”, said the major, “Instead as a part of basic commando training, the pilots were also given basic training on shooting. The airlines installed an automatic gun in the cock-pit, secured inside a safe”.

Both Tariq and Vel looked surprised.

“Yes, this practice was started some 8 months ago”, Maj Chatterjee continued, “however, the gun can only be taken out after the Chief pilot and 2 other cockpit crew punch in the number for the safe. This apparently, is to avoid pilot based madness as it was alleged with the Egyptian Airlines in the late 90s”

Both the field operatives knew this was going somewhere and waited, finding their excitement growing.

“We had an intelligence tip-off that there is a captain who would give away the gun to potential hijackers for the hijacking to be carried out. You have read about the JUI in the dossier...", the Major trailed off absent-mindedly waving towards a bunch of files on his desk. "...The JUI have this captain on their radar and if they get to him, the consequences would be terrible. I would like to bait the captain out and put him away for ever. That’s the assignment”. He paused; there was a silence in the room for a while.

The captain looked at Tariq – Tariq seemed glazed over. Tariq’s mind was working furiously. He got up from his seat and paced the room a couple of times. An idea was forming in his mind…

He turned to Vel and the major, “Sir, I’ve another plan…”

The Plan B:

As Major and Vel listened to the Tariq’s plan, they could feel the tension in the room and possibilities. It was a plan most daring and most dangerous and most comprehensive – it will be a major coup against terrorism. Although the TIW had enormous powers and autonomy, for this plan, Major needed to go back to his superior for approval who will perhaps need to go the secretary in the ministry; It was not going to be easy, but that his problem, he will have to solve it and he will, and at the same time ensuring that plan is not known outside 3 of them and perhaps one more. He didn’t believe the sieve that is bureaucracy. He will have to manage his lies.

For the next 5 hours, well past Lunch, they sat in the room and discussed the pros and cons and each and every possibility in detail. At around 2PM, the major had asked for some lunch to be served and dismissed both his officers.

“Go back and think more about it on your own and come back at 6PM”.

At about 6PM, both Tariq and Vel were back at major’s office. When they broke after going through each and every possibility, they had a draft plan by 2AM in the morning. It was also clear, that both of them will have to be transferred out of the base due to the very high sensitivity of the plan and will set-up base in an undisclosed area, where Major is the only other person they would see. They had by that time, in broad terms, had set up contact points, codes and modus operandi; and because of the expanse and the need for travel, Vel and Tariq knew that they would hardly meet in the next 3-4 months. Little they knew that will never meet in the next few months, and when they eventually do, it would be in circumstances, so uncertain and that potentially can set them up against each other.

Chapter 2: The Past

Tariq Ahmed:

Tariq aka Tariq Ahmed was born in a small-town in Tamil Nadu near Nagapattinam. His family and world were made up of his parents, mother a teacher in the local school and father running a up and down tailoring shop and his older brother, Shafiq, who seemed to be constantly ailing of something or the other and was a paraplegic. He was brought up in a household where his parents were righteous and god-fearing. More, they brought up both their kids with a strong sense of social and civic commitment and what was wrong and right (they had a picture of Gandhiji in their hall, which also doubled up as bed-room). Shafiq hardly went to school, whereas Tariq seemed was outstanding at everything he did – with minimum effort at studies, he constantly seemed to top in his class; he had a great flair for sports and was exactly opposite to his brother, whenever the schools were closed for holidays he helped out his father in small chores in tailoring – within a short time, at the age of 11, he could cut and stitch dresses. In short, in that innocent and young age, Tariq was an extremely well-behaved boy with outstanding talent, an amazing sense of inner-strength constantly fed by his parent’s teachings and extremely positive thinking. He was a happy kid and was well appreciated in the neighborhood. Then two things changed his life in a space of 3 years…

When Tariq was 13, Shafiq was afflicted by strange sickness that Tariq could not understand and he passed away. Tariq’s mother was shattered. Everyday in that place reminded her of Shafiq and his father merchant business was also in shambles. After the grieving of one year, the family shifted to Coimbatore, with his mother getting to teach at a local school in the rural areas around the city; his father opened a small tailoring shop outside their house. Shafiq’s absence and realization that he was the only son for his parents seemed to mature Tariq more and he carried himself with an air that was far beyond his age. He had also become taller and with his proclivity for physical play, filled out nicely and was looking more like a young man… He also, on a whim joined the local Karate dojo and seemed a natural for it. The family, probably more because of Tariq’s presence, became a respected family in that street and their family was called as “Bai’s House” (Bai-veedu, in Tamil).

He clearly remembered the day, when the 2^nd event had happened. It was one of those things that Coimbatore seemed to have recently afflicted with. It was during the diwali and it was one of the topical times, when Bai’s tailoring shop did the best business of the year. Somewhere, something silly happened and the communal riots had flared up – Tariq’s father, was in his shop when the rioters stormed his shop – bruised him severely, burnt his shop and damaged the clothes, both stitched and unstitched. The rioters were lead by a small-time charge-sheeter, who was aspiring to be a local councillor. It was Bai’s neighbors pleaded with the rioters to spare Bai of his life and saved him. Tariq, who was in class 12^th then, perhaps for the first time in his life, felt what fury and anger meant. He was infuriated at the senselessness of the event and infuriated by the people who perpetrated it and at the same time thankful for the neighbours to have saved his father’s life. Bai, sensing Tariq’s mind for revenge, sat Tariq down at edge of the government hospital bed and told him how some people from the same community had saved his life and there are fanatics everywhere. Quoting Gandhiji’s eye-for-an-eye and pointing out the duality of the people who inflicted him with the damage were of the same ilk of those people who had saved him, he urged Tariq to do something about it to correct such a situation. Once again, thinking far beyond his age, Tariq came to a resolve, a resolve that he undertook that he will eliminate evil in all forms where possible; at that time, Tariq could not have known his simple idealistic resolve will in future have a far reaching consequence to the country…

Tariq, who passed his school exam with flying colors (was 1^st in the district and 8^th in the state), chose to do Bachelor of Arts in Economics and then prepared for the IPS exam with a maniacal intensity and resolve. During this time, his father who never recovered from the injury, perhaps more mental, had to close down the shop, joined as a security guard in a local factory – there were times, when Bai was abused, but Bai took that with an equanimity that Tariq had inherited. In his Civil Services exam, Tariq was placed 19^th and had no hesitation choosing IPS over IAS and other possibilities that were open to him. Within IPS, once he had heard about Intelligence wing it was obvious to him and others that he would apply for it. During the mandatory training period, Bai passed away, perhaps secure that his son would do something. Tariq did realize at that time, how much influence his father had on him; it was a reinforcement of what he has to do. At the end of the training, the top 10 of the class were asked to write an exam that tested their analytical ability, their physical ability and their flair for languages. Tariq easily topped the analytical ability; his training in Karate for the past 11 years (he was a 2^nd degree black-belt now) helped him easily finish the physical tests ahead of others. He was placed 2^nd in the language test, behind a rich small-town Malayalee (“with a tamil name”, he thought wryly) – Vel. Post-test, Tariq and Vel were introduced to Major Uday Chatterjee, who was in-charge Terrorist Intelligence Wing (TIW) in the National Intelligence Bureau and were offered a posting as field-operative-trainee. Tariq, merely thought it to be a natural destination of where he wanted to go and instantly agreed. He was now the ‘spy’ that is so glamorized by the movies – but for Tariq it was merely hard work and a path towards what he wanted to do.

Basheer Ahmed:

Basheer (called lovingly as Basha by his doting parents) was born in a lower middle-class family as the only child in bustling metropolis of Mumbai. Basheer’s father worked in a state government and they had lived in the suburbs of Mumbai in Andheri, which was closer to the airport. They lived a typical Mumbai lower middle-class life: Mother taking care of the household, looking for best prices on anything and everything, so that they can save away a little bit of money every month. His father, Mr. Waseem Ali, awoke at 4AM in the morning to travel by the suburban train and bus for more than an hour to get to his work. Consistent with every middle-class family’s dream of getting Basheer a better life, he started his schooling in a place, which was slightly upscale and over-the-pocket for their life.

Basheer’s awakening to their state-of-life came when he was about 7. One day, when he missed his school van getting back, he was dropped at his street corner by his class-mate Prakash, in a car that, to Basheer, looked as large as his living room and perhaps more comfortable than it. That was the time when Basheer wanted out, of what he began to consider life of drudgery. At the age of 11, when he found purse in the school ground with several 100 rupees notes in it, he did not even miss a beat in throwing the purse away and taking the money and living the life that would parallel Prakash’s, even it was for a day. By the time he was 13, he had less and less of scruples of what shouldn’t be done. By 15, when he finished schooling, he knew what he wanted to do, he will be a pilot – it will give him the glamorous life that he craved for and perhaps, it was symbolically getting-out too. To get the money needed for pilot training, Basheer did not really bat an eye-lid to go to lengths, even if it were outside law’s parenthesis. He also had the smartness to pick the right people for his scam and selling his scam. In 1^st year of his college, Basheer went to great lengths to secure the exam question papers, borrowing money from the lenders at exorbitant rates to pay the people who had access to them; few days later, after targetted selling of the leak to a select few ‘customers’ who can afford an high price, he made neat sum of profit in the vicinity of Rs.3 Lakhs after paying back the loan within 22 days. That profit went to his pilot-training kitty. By the time he was 25, Basheer had sponsored himself through Pilot training and was hired as the in-flight navigator by Government airlines, which was to him the first step to get the private airlines and more money. By the time he was 29, he was a pilot and had command of a plane. He still wasn’t looking to get married or settling down and he found that a nuisance to his path to utopia. In any case, the pilot and the way he looked after himself got him the girls he wanted.

Murugavel Balakrishnan:

Vel was lost in thought... His thoughts went back to his past. He was a son of a rich land-owner in Kerala, bordering Southern Tamil Nadu – his father had multiple and flourishing business, centered on a hugely successful exports business. He was the only son with 3 other elder sisters, with a gap of 7 years between himself and the third. He had heard the story, that his parents after praying for a son at a particular temple in the neighboring state, had gotten him – hence the name Murugavel which is quite alien in those parts. He had seen them shower him (to some extent, a punishment) with love and kindness. He was the prince of house. Since there was never an issue about money, he had got whatever he wanted or whatever his parents and sisters thought he may want. He had the best of everything. When most students walked to school, he was always dropped to school in a car, mostly 2-3 different cars within a week. His school mates never could jell with him, although he wanted them to. Somehow, he tried hard but never seemed to be good at it – in a small town the rich bridge wasn’t the easy one to cross for the rest. Also, as he grew up, he found two things – that he wanted to get out of his home town and live a normal life, away from all his riches; secondly, he had a flair for languages, other than that, he was good at most things that he did, but never the best in the field. By the time, he was in college, he had reconciled to the fact that he will never be the top dog, but will be in the top 5 and his strengths were in being the best supporting player. He was perfectly ok in what he was doing now – supporting Tariq who was in the field. Someone else may feel a tinge of jealousy and would want to be out as number 1; not Vel, he was extremely satisfied and happy what he was doing and enjoyed it – he had understood that not being #1 was his calling; and he was merely glad that this job had taken him away from his hometown and he could slip into an egalitarian anonymity...

Chapter 3: The Middle Game – The Bait

Dec 5^th, around 11.20AM:

It was nearly 6 months past since the plan was first discussed. He had not met his friend Tariq during these months. But progress had been made – slow but very deliberate, for there cannot be any slip-ups. It had been a tortuous inch towards the goals.

Vel thoughts were interrupted by the ring of his scrambled phone. He knew it was Tariq on the other side of the line... He picked it up, “Yes?”

“I have zeroed in on the pilot – Basheer Ahmed; he has been contacted and he is apparently very much ready to play – one down”, said Tariq on the other end of the line. “On the other two, the first meeting is being set-up in the next two days; I’ve a hunch it would happen tonight. This is where the link between the pilot and the preacher is being made”, said Tariq on the line.

Vel knew the preacher was the Maulana. He asked, “What do you need?” – Vel did not need to take notes; the conversation was getting recorded somewhere, that he can play it back, if required. He was sure Major was awake and listening in on the conversation.

Tariq pointed out what he needed. Vel responded, “It will be delivered to you in the drop box 3”.

Tariq had hung-up the phone.

Dec 5^th, 10.00PM:

Ahmed Akbari, the second-in-command of Jamiat Ul Islami, was in a pensive mood; there was a sense of elation in him – although he was second-in-command, he did not really think himself of so; he simply lived to serve the Maulana. Ahmed had listened in rapt attention few months ago, when Maulana had talked about one strike. They knew and understood that something grandiose as the Parliament attack was bound to fail. It was idiocy of Lashkar-e-Taiba and Jaish-e-Mohammed to attempt something like that – that had only served to make things tougher for pragmatist such as themselves. Ahmed believed it was stupid to under-estimate the Indian Government and politicos’ will to come together in such adversity. So choose the target right, design to align a few variables and then strike. He can still recall what the Maulana had said – ‘one strike at the heart at the appropriate time, and enemy will be weakened tremendously. We should pick one target that will get the world to sit up and notice what we are doing; then we should not have any problems in recruiting and financing”.

Ahmed knew the Maulana was right; the opportunity to do that one strike was looming right in front him; a mercenary was willing to give access to a weapon for lot of money (sometimes it amused Ahmed that he is called the mercenary!!). A loose but very committed cannon, named Nawaz Khan, had the conduit to the pilot. Maulana himself had recommended Nawaz’s name, but Ahmed had done some research on Nawaz independently before recruiting him into the project. All he needed to do was to google and re-verified his findings with someone in the government service – he smiled wondering what people would do for some money; if greed dies, terrorism would be the first casualty.

Nawaz Khan had come up from a poor family in Lal Darwaza area of Ahmedabad. Ahmed had learned that Nawaz was 4^th son (of 8 in the family) of a shop keeper in the walled city; they had lost their belongings and his father in one of the localized mini communal riots that happen all the time, but hardly gets reported. Nawaz had roamed from state to state; a great target for potential recruiters, which he eventually was in Uttar Pradesh. After recruitment, he was sent for terrorist training, most specifically in fire-arms, bomb-making and close-combat in the city terrain. Nawaz was caught in New Delhi during one of the failed attempt to blow-up a shopping complex and jailed. What caught the attention of Maulana was, in a daring move, he had killed two of his guards, blew up the vehicle, further maiming 3 other guards and had escaped. Fearing loss of face just ahead of the election, the government had hushed up the whole event. Maulana had sensed an opportunity and had sent his recruiters after Nawaz Khan.

Now there was this opportunity. From the first contact in mid-october, Ahmed had finally gotten to Nawaz through a series of intermediaries. Nawaz had also brought the golden goose to him – in form of a pilot, who was willing to do a couple of things for them, for huge amount of money. Ahmed had nothing but scorn and hatred for people such as this pilot – who have no ideological mooring and are willing to do anything for money; but he will live with this, if only it will get him to reach their goal quickly.

It was the typical shady joint in the deep innards of Bangalore. Bangalore was chosen as meeting point by Ahmed as it was easily the most cosmopolitan of all the cities. At the same time, if you tip the ‘authorities’ well enough, they seem to see the other way and would tend to ignore minor offences. A decrepit restaurant near Russell market was chosen for the meeting; Ahmed, who was clean-shaven and had a very short hair-cut had chosen a separate box, that can seat about 4. He was just reading the newspaper and was getting absorbed in new mobile phone that is being touted as the ultimate tool, he had heard a soft ‘Salaam-Alaikum’. He looked up and saw a young man, who had silently slipped into the opposite seat. The young-man was thin and wiry, spectacled with a scar running from his cheek to his chin, but most of it was masked by the stylish goatee and the thin mustache. He was aged between 28 and 30. As is wont, Ahmed looked his visitor in the eye and tried to gauge him – he thought he saw steel there…

“I’m Nawaz khan”, he had introduced him simply.

“Valaikum Salaam Nawaz”. Ahmed did not introduce himself; looking up he found the young man could pass as one of the software people that Bangalore had in abundance.

They called in the waiter and got the order out of the way and got into business. They did not certainly want to be seen together. Quickly, they got into the crux of the point – executing a 9/11 type of hijack; Nawaz talked about the pilot he had come across in Mumbai. The pilot was willing to do the transfer of fire-arm to enable the hijack.

Nawaz had added jokingly, “if only we could get a high-value target in the same flight... The infidel wanted 2M$ for the work; I think he will accept a half-a-million dollars; his other demand was the transfer of gun should have look liked a forced one. After the hijack, he will pilot the plane to one of the safe haven and will get lost in there”, said Khan.

“That will be done”, Ahmed was impatient– the talk about the high-value target peaked Ahmed’s interest, “The stars have arrayed”, he thought. “Hold on, lets talk about the target…”

Ahmed and Nawaz talked quietly for the next 20 minutes or so. At the end of it, Ahmed could sense victory and believed the plan could work; at the same time, he knew that they have to be extremely careful. If they strike well, it will also be safe passage for himself and the Maulana – the martyrdom can wait, another 9/11 can wait. Regarding Nawaz Khan, who the Maulana had highly recommended, he was ambivalent – that was Maulana’s decision.

“...need to meet up with Maulana, when the right opportunity comes up”, Nawaz khan was saying.

Ahmed Akbari gave the details necessary for planning to Nawaz and they broke up, with the food lightly touched.

Dec 5^th, 11.45PM:

Tariq was in the shadows, he had been waiting patiently in the balcony in front of the hotel where the meeting had taken place some 2hrs ago. He had expertly opened the shop with a key and with a snack watched to see if the people from the meeting will return. After an hour, he went in as a dilapidated old man, who has saved some money from days alms and was going to get food at the end of it. When he left the restaurant, he had the wire he had set-up earlier in the day, in the hollow of the wooden table leg. He would deliver it to Vel and the Major; and they could look for nuances in the conversation – he had would hear them a few times before he made the delivery.

He took his phone and punched the regular number. It was familiar voice at the other end. Tariq simply said. “The wire will be in the drop box 4 by 2AM tonight” and disconnected.

Dec 29^th 11.20PM:

The Major was quite tense and was pacing the floor; in the last few weeks, his smoking had increased and he believed he had smoked away 3 months of cigarettes in the last week, since the plan had gained speed. It seemed to have a lot of momentum now, that he can do nothing to stop it. He also had to be imaginative to create and build a scenario; since it was highly secret operation with not more than 2 other people in know (“that too not completely”), he personally had to pore through record with a fine comb to ensure there are no holes – there cannot be even an iota of doubt in anyone’s mind. He had to pull all his strings possible to get the bait set-up. He probably had used up all his quid-pro-quos of his lifetime.

He paused his pacing and returned to his desk and looked at the computer screen – in his Level-Z secure account, he stared at the draft press-release he had started writing that he’d use when the operation ended. Uday prided himself on his uncanny ability to predict outcome of an operation earlier in the inception – has been one reason that his ops ended up as successes more often than not. Here too, he had predicted this op to end in a certain way. He read through it and smiled and placed a bet on his prediction… Amidst all the tension, he grinned – he’d love to see how Tariq and Vel would react to the draft, if they read it!

That thought petered out to give way to anxiety of wait – As he lighted up another smoke he thought wryly, the smoke could kill him or this operation could kill him! Either way, he was fine! Since the time his dear wife Moushumi and Shylu were lost in senseless violence in Kashmir, he had no personal life. It suited his bureaucratic and political bosses well – he was dedicated to the cause and he had not the one looking for moving up – all he seemed to want was to ensure that his people received fair treatment and he did his best that no else loses their Moushumi and Shylu. He looked at the phone one more time willing it to ring! He ran through the checklist in his mind again. He was not sure if he should put something in writing ahead of time… As he glanced at the phone one more time, it rang – seemed eerily loud with the pall of smoke around. He picked up the phone. It was Tariq.

Major just said tersely, “All set, everything is a go”

Jan 9^th 21.45Hrs:

This time, Nawaz Khan was waiting in the booth at the same restaurant for Ahmed Akbari. They were like anyone else - appeared to have walked into dinner after a night at the movies. They had decided that this was the last time they would meet. Ahmed walked in, with a paper and they greeted each other. The tension was palpable and neither of them wanted to prolong the meeting more than it needed to be.

“Everything has been set-up Ahmed-bhai – the date is 13^th, two days from now”. Ahmed assumed the bhai was a practice from Nawaz’s upbringing in Gujarat. “We will be out of the country and with the prized possession”.

Nawaz quickly ran Ahmed with the necessary information. The tickets have been bought – they would be in the Business class of the flight for easy access; and they would board at Bhopal.

Ahmed confirmed for the last time… “..so, both of us will board the plane at Bhopal ? I will bring Maulana and will not be talking to you until we are in charge of the flight. Your pilot has been set-up?”

Nawaz Khan nodded quietly in affirmative.

Both of them arose, and in a silent mutual respect, shook hands and embraced each other thrice and left.

Jan 9^th, 02.05AM:

Tariq woke up with a start. He had waited in the shadows, on the balcony, as he had done a few days ago. The tiredness and lack of sleep should have gotten to him - inspite of the incessant buzz of the famous Bangalore mosquitos, he had dozed off. He glanced at his watch in his pocket - it was close to 2AM. He was sure Vel would be waiting, a bit concerned on the lateness. Vigilant, he hurried to the back of the restaurant, went through the worker’s quarters, to the booth, picked the wire from the hollow of the table leg and returned it to the drop box.

On reaching the drop area, he called up Vel, “It is in the drop box 8 tonight”, he knew Vel would be out on his bike to pick it up in about 15m from now – he wanted to stay back at the box and see his friend and talk to him about the plan one more time. He heard Vel say, “Good Luck, my friend and take care”. Tariq, quickly closed the flip-top on his cell and left.

Jan 12^th, Around 8.30 PM

Nawaz Khan was at his desk, he was at his last part of the plan. He was giving final touches to the pen. It would neatly go into his pocket, when he walks through the security. It would beep along with his belt and when the security man pats him down, he would take out his wallet and pen and leave it on the table. To the bored security, under cursory examination, it would be just a pen. It was one of those, that when clicked would push the nib out – and another hidden click, it actually pushed out the needle with the clicker becoming the plunger – it had the thing that would immobilize the victim… After a few minutes, he was done – Nawaz Khan looked at his work, he had no doubt it would pass – he had the best material to work with.

Chapter 4: The Event

Maj. Chatterjee was restless, with nervous energy – it seemed to be the norm since this op had started; his characteristic cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth. He was nicely very economical with truth and he knew that if things were to go south, there would be major inquisition. He knew that there was a very fine line between success and failure – between patriotism and a scoundrel; if it fails that would be the end of the career and perhaps even a court-martial. But then, looking at the whole with checks and balances, he still believed it was surplus for the country. So, he had shut that out from his mind and pursued his part of the assignment with a single minded laser focus – or else he would have failed Tariq and Vel. In front of him, he saw the itinerary of the home minister – the home minister in the coalition and the bait – Mr. Marichamy was going to Chennai en-route a brief stop-over in Bhopal with the security attaché that Maj. Chatterjee had assigned to him. “I’m fortunate to have two of the top field-operatives on it”, he thought. Although Vel seemed not comfortable to be in the limelight or the first option, he believed that Vel was almost as good as Tariq is. He stared at the ticker on the screen that he had his assistant stream to him on his monitor – it was about airline departure. He glanced at his watch, it was close to 10.45AM, and he noticed that the New Delhi ATC has given a go ahead to the plane for push-back and taxi, after a brief delay…

Jan 13^th, Around 10.15 AM

At the departure hall at Delhi, Vel had his internal strife in check. He had two assignments in parallel – help protect the minister from harm and at the same time ensure the plan is a resounding success – it would halt terrorism dead on its track and give peace an opportunity to succeed. The previous night, as he was channel surfing to get rid of his tension, something caught his eye on TV – he had looked at the TV program with interest that gave way to morbid fascination to dilemma. He had immediately gone on the net and searched for the details; rushed to the TIW archives and looked it up. His hunch was right – he had fleetingly, wrestled going to Maj. Chatterjee… Finally, he had come to that decision – He would give that possibility of ever-lasting peace a chance.

Vel was waiting in the VIP lounge of the departure hall for the minister to finish his durbar. The final announcement for boarding had been done. An airline official came to the minister and fawned on him – “Sir, all the passengers have boarded, we would be ready when you are”. The minister talking to the chamchas ignored the airline official and continued talking to his crowd – Vel had half a mind to get rid of the chamchas and drag the minister to the plane.

Finally, the minister turned to Vel and said, “ennayya, polama”? Vel who knew Tamil very well, started walking, in assent – On his ride to the plane, the minister was saying that he was going to his home town to celebrate pongal in his home-state. Vel nodded, he wanted to speak very little to the minister.

Elsewhere, Tariq was waiting comfortably – everything was going on plan and he had inserted himself into the situation and had ensured he has gotten lost in the crowd – he had disguised himself sufficiently enough that he can pass close scrutiny for a while. He looked around, there officials milling around and there was a delay in departure. Although, it was annoying, it didn’t make him desperate or edgy. He knew this would play out to the end. He had spent hours listening to the nuances in the taped conversations and other intel. The terrorists would show up on the plane. The bait was too strong for them to pass up. Like Vel and the Major), he knew this was one good chance for cleansing and to end the strife. He just needed to wait for the opportune moment to strike.

As they boarded the flight, the captain had come out from his cockpit and fawned on the minister for a while. Vel immediately knew he was the kind of person who would sell his mother to make a few bucks. Vel took his seat next to the minister on the aisle. Finally, the plane departed about 30 minutes late thanks to the minister’s aimless talk to his chamchas. Vel did not notice the stylish young man with a goatee beard about three rows behind him.

For his part, Nawaz Khan seemed immersed in working on his laptop. Nawaz sitting in the 3^rd row of the almost empty business class saw the minister climb in with his attaché, his mouth tightened a bit into a grimace. He quickly looked into his laptop and continued on his work. He had also noticed the captain, with a couple of blanket-packs in his hand come out from the corner of the eye and talking to the minister. The captain walked up to the end of the section and made small talk to the only other passenger in that section; and then to Nawaz. As he turned around, he dropped the pillow-blanket pack at Nawaz’ feet, nodded perceptibly. The signal has been given.

The plane made a landing at Bhopal – it was quite uneventful. There were passengers deplaning, including the other one in the business class and new passengers boarding. There were two new passengers in the business class; Nawaz glanced at Ahmed briefly without any trace of recognition and looked at the person accompanying him – his heart soared – he had seen the maulana – very few have!

Now to the next step – he had a practical problem – he needed to get to the minister going past the security attaché. He had seen the minister take a few drinks, right from Delhi; and he waited for his opportunity – he knew the minister would need to go to the toilet. And it happened in about 30 minutes and as soon as the seat belt signs were off. As the minister got out of the toilet, with amazing speed, Nawaz got out of his seat and in few paces had minister in a lock with the needle on the throat. He quietly told the attaché to be seated and try no heroics or the minister’s throat would sport a puncture.

Tariq’s heart soared. He had all the ducks lined up in a row. Their plan was going to be a success. His plan is going to be a success too. The terrorist were contained in the front and he knew he could take them. He had seen Vel and that assured him… like earlier, just need to await that opportune moment and he could sense it around the corner.

Nawaz Khan saw Ahmed and the Maulana get up from their seats. On the way to the front the Maulana tightened the attaché’s belt and asked him softly to get his hands behind his head and warned of no heroics. They knew the “Hijack code” was on the door to the cockpit; and told the head stewardess to knock at the door.

Inside the pilot cabin, Basheer and his co-pilots heard the knock differently; they knew there was trouble. They decided to open the safe and take out the automatic and make a reconnaissance of the situation to see if the automatic could be used since they were not quite certain if any other arms have been smuggled in and how many of the hijackers were in the plane. Basheer took automatic gun, tucked it in his waist behind his back, slipped on his coat and stepped out. As soon as he cleared the toilets, he went black.

Nawaz waited for the pilot to show; he had the minister cringe on the floor, near the door with the sharp edge of the knife on his throat. As the pilot crossed the toilet, Nawaz hit him with such a force that he fell as if he was pole-axed. Quickly, Nawaz took the gun away from the captain. By this time, Ahmed had expertly patted down the attaché and found a gun in the holster and relieved him of it; then found the knife tucked it in his shoes. He threw the knife to Nawaz, who put his pen away and had the knife in the other hand. Ahmed, now commanded the aircraft to Amritsar; and at the same time asked the co-pilot to get in touch with the ATC for a negotiator to state his litany of demands. Then Ahmed went to the economy section of the aircraft, waved his gun and herded the passengers to the aft of the aircraft.

As the plane landed in Amritsar, Nawaz and Ahmed saw lot of activity and some trucks which they had no doubt were military and police. They knew that the game has to be played and played out – they had decided to pilot the plane beyond Kabul and onto one of the new Islamic republics and had asked for fuel; and that had set the negotiations going.

After several hours of negotiations, with the assent from Maulana, they had agreed to free all the passengers, except for a few men and the minisiter for exchange of fuel. The remaining few passengers were bundled into the last few seats, the rear door firmly locked. The last act was to send the Security attaché to the rear to join rest of the passengers, before the plane was ready to take off.

Tariq looked around at the passengers left behind. He did not see any heroes there. But we never know, he thought to himself. Like the Flight-93 on that fated September 11^th, desperate situations are likely to throw up unlikely heroes. He needed to keep an eye on them to ensure there aren’t any disruptions. He had seen Vel in the rear and Vel knew that he was around and would wait for the signal.

As the aircraft was preparing to move, Vel was at the rear with rest of the passengers, waiting for the signal – a signal from Tariq. Then he heard three shots, two quick shots and one a few seconds later, ring out from the front. A thought flashed across, “Things have gone horribly wrong…”. Mortified, Vel sprinted to the business class section of the plane and he found Maulana and Ahmed Akbari dead, Maulana with the knife expertly thrown into his heart and Ahmed shot; Basheer was also shot – Vel didn’t bother much about him, but looked for the home minister; Marichamy was very much alive, but dying with a bullet shot below his the throat, severing the windpipe – it was macabre to see the gurgling blood and his life ebb out – perhaps he had his whole life replay in front of him. Seeing Vel enter, Nawaz Khan straightened up over Ahmed Akbari, who seemed to have shot Marichamy; as he turned to face Vel, Nawaz Khan’s gun was pointing at Vel, fingers on the trigger, the safety off and …

Chapter 5: End Game, Cleaning up…

As Nawaz Khan’s eyes bore through Vel…

Flashback to Jan 12^th, 10.35PM, night before the hijack

Vel was all tensed up – tomorrow was the big day. He tried to get rid of some of the tension through channel surfing – he had gone for a 10k run in the evening and that hadn’t helped much. He wished he was running with his friend Tariq now, as was their wont. As he was flipping channels, he caught a news item on the Home minister Marichamy. The news anchor was covering the meteoric rise of Marichamy from being a councilor in Coimbatore locality and slowly to the MLA and then to the minister in the regional party. Later on, in the coalition, with a bit of arm twisting to the level of home minister. Then something clicked in Vel’s head – Vel jumped onto his computer and searched on Marichamy’s life; then a short ride to TIW archives for further confirmation. He found how Marichamy was a small town crook, then rose to a status of local henchman and how he shot to prominence by rioting and arson; that was the short-step to a councilor and then onto state and national politics. That one thing caught Vel’s eye was Marichamy’s alleged role in the 1993 riots. The gang led by him had allegedly set fire to several shops, including a poor tailor’s shop; It was rumoured that Marichamy himself had personally lit fire to shops on that part of the street – It was never proven, since no one, including the tailor had come forward to speak up against him – there was a photo of the ailing tailor in the hospital, with his young son looking squarely into the camera, with piercing eyes.

Back onboard the Plane

As Vel entered the business class, Nawaz pivoted around smiling and lowering his gun – “Hello Vel, we have some collateral damage. Ahmed got to him...”. Vel recognized that cold mirth in his friend’s eyes; at that instant, he knew that his friend Tariq had achieved what he had set out at – revenge and eliminating evil. In Vel’s mind, there was very little doubt, that Tariq had shot Ahmed first and killed Maulana with the knife that was taken away from him. Using Ahmed’s gun, he had shot Marichamy and Basheer and fixed up the gun on dead Ahmed’s hand.

He went over to Tariq and looked at him. He knew that Tariq recognized that he knew. There was an unsaid Thank you in Tariq’s eyes.

Epilogue

Four days later, after all the hoopla had died down a bit, Major Chatterjee was in a room; for the past two days he had been questioned several times by his superiors. He had shielded both Tariq and Vel as much as possible, on the pretext that both were undercover and needed time to recoup. Now, it was a meeting with the Home secreatary and with the Security Advisor to the PM.

He was asked again and he again faithfully stuck the story - he glanced at the paper in front of him - it was a meesage that he had sent out to the command on hearing from Vel about the "collateral damage". His eyes caught parts of the message - “… and the honorable home minister was killed in the cross-fire between the TIW operatives and the terrorist on-board”.

The Major heard the Advisor asking, "...stick by your message and are you sure that is what really happened ?".

Major replied, "Yes Sir !".

Afterall that was the message he had prepared around a month ago. He smiled to himself and once again, he won his little bet with himself – he had the analysis spot-on and predicted the outcome accurately. Only this time, he did nothing to stop the course of the events.

Truly Funny Poem...

2008-05-09T16:09:00.000-07:00

Got this from someone. This was truly truly funny. Thus far, this blog was about what I write and publish what I (call) create ! :) But then, this was really, really, genuinely funny that I cannot pass up; I'll file this under "Opinion"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Not sure of the origin of this- it says 'Colonial poetry of the Raj', but whether genuinely written by Rangaswamy or spoofed by someone else, it definitely is super.

Deep in jungle I am went
On shooting Tiger I am bent
Bugger Tiger has eaten wife
No doubt I avenge poor darling's life

Too much quiet, snakes and leeches
But am not feared these sons of beeches
Hearing loud noise I am jump with start
But noise is coming from damn fool heart

Taking care not to be fright
I am clutching rifle with eye to sight
Should Tiger come I will fall him down
Then like hero return to native town

Then through trees I am espying one cave
I am telling self - 'Rangaswamy be brave'
I now proceed with too much care
From nonsense smell this Tiger's lair

My leg is shake, I start to pray
I think I shoot Tiger some other day
Turning round I am going to go
But Tiger giving bloody roar

He bounding from cave like shooting star
I commend my soul to Kali Ma
Through the jungle I am went
Like bullet w ith Tiger hot on scent

Mighty Tiger rave and rant
Rangaswamy shit in pant!
Must to therefore leave the jungle
Killing Tiger one big bungle!!

I am telling that never in life
I will risk again for damn fool wife

The Wonder Years !

2008-05-02T22:29:00.000-07:00

...
...

And I believed that throwing the ball against the wall and angling the bat on its return is a square cut that Vishy plays
And I believed the green, white and saffron in our flag is for fertility, peace and heritage
And I believed having an hair-style like Chandra (as seen in photos) makes me the best leggie in the world
And I believed that Zeenie was going to "bahar banke aaoo" in my duniya, with that look and the pout
And I believed that people voted for a cause and not for a caste
And I believed giving up coffee for a week would have made my dad not miss the train in a wayside station
And I believed I'll be in "good" politics by 40
And I believed smoking is the in-thing (until I tried running for more than a minute)
And I believed that I can pass on those wonder years to my progeny...
And I wonder why Pink Floyd sang "Did you ever wonder Why we had to run for shelter when the promise of a brave new world Unfurled beneath a clear blue sky...."

...
...

Shine On You, Crazy Diamond !!!

2008-04-20T21:20:00.000-07:00

After a long long time, got an opportunity to connect back with one of the passions of my earlier life… Pink Floyd. Was surfing channels on a Sunday and found a program on Syd Barrett, one of the founder members of Pink Floyd. He was the one with immense potential, talent and ability, that was completely wasted. Perfect example of Bharatiyar’s “Nalladhor Veenai Seidhae... ்”; Anyways, personally, I could not and did not, dig much of the music that he made, except for the quirky sound of Arnold Layne – even that to did not measure up to the early-mid Pink Floyd; with the trade-mark blues sound, lyrics couched in powerful poetry (as in echoes) and the haunting sounds of the “wailing” guitar later (like that of in Comfortably Numb)… However, seeing the program and see how in awe Roger, Nick, Ric and Dave talked about Syd, I believe there has to be something about Syd that was genius. Perhaps, it is in our nature to magnify the aura of an unfulfilled potential and make that much bigger than it actually is. Particularly if it has an early demise; in this case it was a figurative demise (from music), as Syd moved to seclusion and away from the sounds and lived his life in solitaire (and with his mother).

Funny enough, it is perhaps much chronicled and much repeated story about the connection between SOYCD and Syd Barrett. That’s true. However, in the interview, both Ric and Roger talk about their own complete breakdown when they see Syd at the recording and Dave talks about “Wish you were here” as the other connection to Syd – WYWH is another of enduring PF classics – an example of perfect poem set to great music… Here it is reproduced, with all copyright attributions :-)

So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell,
blue skies from pain.
Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail? A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?

And did they get you trade your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees? Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change? And did you exchange
a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?

How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl,
year after year,
running over the same old ground. What have we found?
The same old fears,
wish you were here.

Fade to Black

2008-04-11T20:49:00.000-07:00

Seeing the light around
the bud with a newfound
optimism, looked to the sun,
to bloom into colours.
Little did the young realize,
It was dusk and not dawn,
The sun had been long gone
in a fleeting transience.
No sun nor warmth lay ahead,
As this twilight would lead
to an unforgiving night instead.
A night silent, cold and stony
For the utopian to wilt and die.
Among the ideal innocents,
Yet another Chrysalis,
and no butterfly !

Ides of March...

2008-03-30T21:10:00.000-07:00

Writer's block revisits and although I've a few things to write about (I think), not putting the fingers to the keyboard. But didn't want March to go un-blogged. So, posting a photograph that I took sometime ago and in-appropriately naming the post as "Ides of March"...

Sports Greatest Upsets - My take...

2008-02-23T17:39:00.000-08:00

Watching a game recently and talking to a friend of mine, we went back and forth on some of the greatest sporting upsets of all times... This pushed me to write some of them, that I've experienced in my life time... Here they are in, in my order:

At #5, Kimi Raikonnen winning the F1-2007 Championship

This was so bizarre, I'm sure if Oliver Stone was a F1 enthusiast, he would have definitely done a movie on this - in the lines of JFK... a 3 hour marathon with a lot of twist and turns along the way, with equally intense players - an upstart Englishman, a petulant Spaniard, an enigmatic Finn, who seemed to be content as a crown prince, but never the king and the fast-speaking, fast-driving-on-a-straight-line-but-non-on-corners Brazilian.

It came down to the last race of the season. Three men battling for the title. Kimi had numerically a chance of winning, but perhaps the least probability. The other two contenders, Alonso, needed Lewis (the most favoured) to complete no earlier than the 8th finisher, and with Kimi not in first position and he finishing 3rd... or something like that.

Given all that, in the final race, Lewis made all the rookie mistakes that he didn't seem to make the whole season; everything fell apart in the final two. He seemed to be beset by anxiety, made wrong decisions, had car problems and faded away out of the title contention - his season seemed to mirror the penultimate race episode - his car stalling at the entrance to the pit-stops and could not get out of the gravel!!!

But it was still not over between the Alonso and Kimi. Alonso was at third place and with Kimi at second behind Massa, the world title was Alonso’s to win. But we know, unlike Mclaren drivers, Ferrari drivers tend to listen to the team orders ! After Ferrari’s last pit stop, that’s exactly seem to happen. Exiting the pits, Kimi went past his teammate Felipe Massa to the disappointment of the Brazilian crowd and perhaps Massa himself.

We had a new Formula 1 Champion in the most extraordinarily freakish alignment of events.

At #4 India defeats WI - WC 83

All the facts on the table - on one side: West Indies undefeated champions of the world. Have pummeled one and all who stood in their way. If they were unbeatable in tests, they were invincible in what was then, the new format of the game - the ODs. Led by a shrewd captain, who commanded respect, with 4 fearsome fast bowlers, who could either take your wicket or head off; with one of the most destructive batman of the modern era on their side, most successful openers at that time and reasonably good middle-order. Possibly, the greatest team to have played cricket in the modern-era.

On the other side, a team captained by a young man - whose strategy for winning any match would be 'kupple of wickets before lunch, kupple of wickets before tea and kupple of wickets after tea and the boys will have the game in the bag'. I wonder how it translated into the ODs. Anyhow, a Team full of trundlers whose bowling speed was slower than speed of the West Indian bowlers run-up.

The result India won by 43 runs - the greatest upset in a WC final. So aggrieved was Clive Lloyd not to have won 3 in a row, when they toured India immediately after the WC, they whupped us 5-0 in the ODs and 3-0 in the tests.

At #3, James Buster Douglas knock-out of Mike Tyson

When Mike Tyson was at his peak (monikered as Iron Mike), he was unbeatable. Not only did he win his fights with ease, he won it with a definite brutality and quickness. He had knack of knock-outs in the first round, with his awesome power - the opponents seemed scared coming into the fight. I recall seeing a bout in televised in India on a Sunday, when all of were all prepared to watch the fight, and it got over in 90s in the first round - was that Spinks ?

On the other corner was James Buster Douglas - who at 30 was fighting a much younger, meaner and most feared opponent in Mike Tyson. Somewhere during all his knock-outs, Tyson had morphed into one-punch-knock-out boxer, rather than using his defensive skills to get closer to the opponent. Through out the fight, Douglas had an upper hand, landing jabs and closing one of Tyson's eyes. The uppercut from Tyson almost ended the fight in the 8th round, but Douglas got up ("a slow 10 count", Tyson's camp alleged) and knocked the heavily favoured (42-1 odds) champ out in the 10th round.

Douglas had pulled off one of the greatest upset in the boxing history.

At #2, we have the Superbowl XLII (that is 42, for Romanically Challenged)

This game was the trigger for me to write this blog. New England patriots were pretty much the champion side throughout the season pumelling most team during the early part of the season and bringing in a perfect 18-0 season the Superbowl. New York Giants on the other side, had all their issues - hold-out, a two-game slide early in the season, a "will live in the shadow of star brother QB and tenative" QB, coach who was second guessed, a wild-card entry into the play-offs, but gathering momentum as they went through the play-offs.

The superbowl was a defensive fight. Going the last quarter, NE was leading 7-3; although for the first time their offense seemed to be on shaky grounds, harried by the quick NY defense all the time - I bet Brady was on the ground the most during this game that would perhaps match the sum total for the season. In the last quarter, the NY drew the first blood, marching down to the field for a TD; and Brady answered back very quickly, putting Patriots up, 14-10. With just over 2 minutes to go, the game seemed to be over.

Then came the stunner. Eli Manning seemed to zone out, take control and moved the ball. But the defining moment came in what some folks call as "The Catch-2". Manning in desperate need to get to first down, hassled by the defense who get to him, eludes 3 of them and throws down; Tyree jumps up, catches the pass and pins it down between his hand and his helmet, brought down in an arch by Harrison, by some magic holds on to the ball. 1st down. And Giants eventually get a TD with 30-something second to go. 17-14 Giants upset the universally anointed favourites - Patriots and their perfection.

At #1, I have the India bt Aus - Calcutta 2001

Yet another cricket. Australia had won 16 tests in a row. It was very clear from the happenings that they were clearly rolling over the opponents ruthlessly, under their unforgiving captain, Steve Waugh. They had just comprehensively beaten India in the previous test match at Mumbai, the first of the 3-test series.

Half of the second test followed the same pattern. Australia bats first, puts up a ~450 score, India folds for 170 odd. Waugh going for the kill, asks India to followon - there was nothing to suggest its going to be different, as India lose 3 at 115 and floundering at 4 for 230, with Laxman like in the first Innings playing the lone warrior. Then came the astounding and amazing innings and partnership - one whole day of play, with Laxman scoring 164* and Dravid 148*; Laxman's innings was one for the lore (it did find a place in the top 10 innings ever played in cricket - iirc, it was at #6 and best innings to be every played by an Indian) - faultless, strokeful, great timing and amazingly amazing. When he got out at 281 and after Ganguly waffled for a while, he declared and India won the match by 171 runs. And the series.

One of the great upsets authored by one of the most artistic batsman in the world cricket. Some would say this is not an upset per se, but to me the fact that we came back so far from behind, playing such an unforgettable innings and partnership, makes it one of the greatest upsets to watch. To understand it, one should understand the collective despair of the cricket fans, when we were 4/230.

Finally... ... the greatest upset of all times; never ever seen before in the history by most of anyone - is how upset my son gets when something does not go his way ! :)

A bit of grace...

2008-01-31T21:30:00.000-08:00

All we are looking for is a bit of grace.

The story is the same: BCCI flexed its newly toned and pumped up on-steroids-financial muscle, CA made the usual noises about how it is in their DNA to play hard right from the days of the backyard and play fair (not the color, stupid) and the men and women across hemispheres took side depending on the color (the color of the flag - yet again, don't want another "thats vilification mate"),

In all these, what are the bets that we would ever see:

the Aussie cricketers give up almost-laughable, but feigned and aggrieved posturing, and do accept that they did screw-up quite a bit in the Sydney test; and for all the victimized look Mr.Symonds carry, he is as culpable as the accused is, if not more
the Indians in spite of all the bravado of Sreesanth or Harbhajan accept that they are still not as good as the Aussies; and those few Indians who are as good as Aussies, don't carry that silly bravado
the Cricket Australia stop believing in its own stories, but start hearing voices of reality
the BCCI have the gonads to ban Harbhajan for a match in spite of ICC's let-off due to rip-roaring-comedic "human" errors. BCCI does have access to those earlier offenses ! If you take refuge in the culture, why not show some ?
Finally the BCCI to have some grace and back-off; they are coming across as the gold-decked, wealth-flaunting, uneducated goonda of the 'pettai'.

On the contrary, a bet on Shoaib Aktar become a team-man may be more sensible.

Big Change !!

2008-01-10T02:32:00.000-08:00

Momentary lapse of reason, as Pink Floyd would say.

Yes, it has got to be that. Or else, knowing how I feel now, why would I have said yes 5-6 months ago? It was an opportunity that presented itself and we took it – we here is the collective family decision. I still believe we based our decision on right priorities for the family rather than me or my own career. It is just icing on the cake that I will also be working on something different and challenging and definitely something that I can spectacularly screw up and fail miserably.

We are the cusp of change. In about 4 hours we would have left our house of 2+ years, city of several years and importantly comfort zone of a lifetime. Everything in this zone was fine and good; but we needed to get the next inflection for our topmost priority. So we are taking a chance. We will be in a new city, new country and new culture in about two days time.

Its not that we have not done this before; a couple of times and at the end of it, we were back at our comfort zone. The previous sojourns always seemed easier – just packed our bags, locked our doors and left. This time, it is elaborate – not sure why – I think with age and time, comes cob-webs that anchors firmly to the ground. It seems that there are million things that needed to be taken care of before we leave. It is also a function of our own experience and our own assessment of risking something, I guess. On the other side of the (global) village, I’m not sure what lies ahead – would our decision get vindicated? Would there be that exponential improvement that we are banking on and are expecting? Would my work, the primary vehicle for what we want to do, be that bit more challenging than what I can handle? Don’t know – the air of uncertain future is apprehensive; and the thought that we are moving from a nice and cozy comfort makes it a bit tougher and raises the apprehension higher.

In any case, the deed is done and we are committed. With a transcontinental hop across the big pond and hope, we are taking that leap of faith. I believe that umbilical chord to that faith would not snap.

Perhaps its Grateful Dead that I should be quoting – “We will get by, we will survive”…

Penny for my thoughts? Thank you – please make it a small change!!

The Love story

2008-01-06T09:07:00.000-08:00

There is nothing much to write about me. I was the normal IT person (or the abnormal or sub-normal, if you ask the other 50% of the people in Bangalore), have been doing the normal IT thing for the past decade and now, am in normal cross-roads, with a host of others crowding the space and looking for signposts. So I had taken up to writing, conjuring up a few, peddling those as stories and such. Given my new hobby, I also started reading up various magazines – predominantly the tamil ones (like Vikatan), which in anyways seems to have more movie stuff covered and starlets uncovered than real stories; but they do carry a story every week, and sometimes real good ones – including the one, I wrote, if I may add, modestly!!

One such story had peaked my interest laterally – buried in one corner of it was an analogy of Mukilan-Nila; I’ve never heard of that one before – heard of Ambikapathy-Amaravathy several times over in Tamil literature, even Laila-Majnu, but Mukilan-Nila ? Not even once. I had googled for it, and came up with nothing. Then called up the Vikatan’s office, introduced myself and got the coordinates of the author. Long story short, I was pointed to a small town in Tamil Nadu near Tirunelveli; he also said that there was very little literature around it, would send whatever he had to me; but averred for its authenticity. The intrigue around this was very tempting; I had decided to give it a shot and pursue the veracity – hopeful that it would give me a story to write and to veer off my normal cross-roads !

So here I am sitting in a passenger train between Madurai to Tenkasi, aiming to go to Tenkasi where Nila’s family were purported to have lived thereabouts. The train, in all its rustic ambience and bullock-cart speed was crawling – stopping at every station; and it wasn’t crowded either. I took out the sheaf of papers that the author had sent and looked through it once more to find any nuances – It was around the Indian independence time – Mukilan and Nila had fallen in love and it was one of unrequited due to family differences; the circumstances over their separation and demise. As I was poring through it, I didn’t notice a Geriatric (of course, of uncertain age) old man who had moved into the seat in front. He should have boarded the train at the last stop.

He stuck up a conversation; “Thambi, enna padichittu irrukeenga ?”. His dialect was strange, but I told him what I was reading...

“Aaah. That story! That was a long time ago, thambi”. I sensed my pulse quicken.

I asked him, “Periyavare, Do you know something about it?” He nodded and I looked at him and he launched into the story.

***

Mukilan’s and Nila’s family were close and next door in a village near Virudhunagar. Mukilan was a few months older than Nila. As they grew up together, they had fabulous time together playing around in the fields, in and around the pond and the orchards. Fate intervened; when they were 8, some differences cropped up between the families around land and use of water. It escalated from verbal, then fisticuffs and ended up in bloodshed of Nila’s uncle and jail term for Mukilan’s cousin. To avoid further bloodshed, Nila’s family moved out.

Time fades the past in the young. Mukilan had gone on to a college to do his Intermediate in Tenkasi and had seen a quiet girl and fallen for her. He did not have the courage to go up to and talk to her, since she was in a different group. However, things turned on its head in the end of the first year – Mukilan had topped his class in the first year and as is wont in that college, all the top students in various groups were to be felicitated in a function. He saw that quiet girl in the same group. When Mukilan’s name was called out he did not notice, the girl had jerked her head up and look at him intently. When the girl name was called out, she was looking directly at Mukilan and it was Mukilan’s turn to be surprised. It was Nila; soon after the function, they met and talked about the past and the present – came to know the families had still sworn vendetta. Through that year, their proximity grew and their fear grew. Particularly, Nila’s cousin, who had lost his father, was still intent on revenge when Mukilan’s cousin gets out of the jail in a few years from then. At the same time they were doing extremely well in the college and the principal had secretly wagered a bet that both of them would top their group in the state exams and they would go on to do greater things.

The time rolled on to the year, both managed to keep their love off public; principal had won half of his wager. Nila had topped her group and Mukilan had come second. Mukilan and Nila went to colleges in Tirunelveli, Mukilan aiming to go for civil services and Nila for her science. It was towards the end of the 3^rd year that trouble reared her head. When Nila had gone home at Rajapalayam, her mother had announced that they have found a potential groom for her, who was working in Madras. Nila was mortified, but she did not have guts to talk to her parents – since the hatred still ran deep and her cousin was just out from jail. Mukilan and Nila had decided to elope to Madras and get married. Mukilan would go to Virudhunagar for the last time, take leave of his parents and would meet Nila at the Rajapalayam railway station and take the bus to Madurai on the day their exams ended.

Little did they know their story had leaked out and reached the ears of Nila’s parents, on that fateful day.

***

The old man had paused; as the darkness fell and the train was slowing down. The old man seemed rushed. He quickly said he needed to take leave as his destination had come and rushed out, when the train had stopped at Sivakasi. I was desperate – I didn’t know if I should follow him or not. It was night and there wasn’t much light and my indecision was taken care by the train, as it started. I sat back, marveled at the story the old man had just spun… At the same time I felt a need to know what had actually happened to Mukilan and Nila. I sat through rest of the journey up to Rajapalayam thinking about various combinations and permutations. It felt very strange to have known so much and not known the whole thing – it was like reading a thriller, only finding out that the last few chapters have been ripped out.

With heightened sense of curiosity and a disappointment, I got down at Rajapalayam and found my colleague’s brother waiting for me to take me to his house. I had told him the fascinating story that I had heard from the old man. He responded that he had heard about the story himself from various people with various versions, each changing based on the Goran who tells it. He said he would check around tomorrow with some to know if they can add more light to it. After dinner, I could hardly sleep and when I slept the old man was in the dreams reliving the story again.

Here I am, two days later, waiting in the Sivakasi station. It had been the most frustrating time for me. It was like chasing a mirage and false leads. Aided by my host, I had gone and met several people. Everyone had heard about it in vague terms, but nothing concrete. A lead to the descendent of Nila’s family turned out to be completely false and we got thrown out – fortunate not to have been inflicted bodily harm, since the Nila in question there was a young girl, who was just about to get married in two days time!

The whole experience was maddeningly futile; added to the misery was constant rain and power-cut. I later decided to abandon the project and take the train to Tirunelveli and go meet a relative of mine there and return to Bangalore. My host dropped me in the station. At the station, I found the train (the one I traveled into Rajapalayam) was 2 hours late, now arriving around 11PM at night. I had nothing to do – the station was deserted and I did not want to go back in pouring rain. I cursed the whole experience and sat down under a dim light with a book I had brought in – there were couple of homeless people scattered out in the station, finding their own warm and dry nooks. The book was good enough for me to not to feel the pangs of hunger immediately! It was around half-past ten, I decided to eat. As I took out my packed dinner, I found one such old person looking at it. I held out a packet of rice out to her; The old lady ambled closer to me and let the packet lie on the bench and took the other corner of the bench.

Something told me that she isn’t a common beggar for alms – I stuck up the conversation with her. She talked about the rain this season, which is something she hasn’t seen for a long time. On a hunch, I asked her if she had heard about Mukilan-Nila’s story. What the heck? Last ditch attempt is not going to hurt.

“Oh yes, those two – poor ones, thambi”… she started. She covered the same background of their early days, the days of enmity and meeting again at the college and how Nila liked the quiet and modest demeanor of Mukilan. And how she fell in love all over again for his kindness and how they were perfect for each other. And how they had decided to elope! My senses quickened, as I listened intently…

***

Prior to that day, Nila had diligently collected a few of her essentials elsewhere. The plan was she would go out on the pretext of meeting a friend, and join Mukilan onboard the train at the Rajapalayam station. She left around 11 AM for the late evening train.

Unknown to her, the news of their impending elopement had reached their parents. Nila’s cousin who had sworn revenge on Mukilan’s family found this to be an opportunity to get even. He and his friends set-out to intercept Mukilan midway, where as Nila’s father and his friends set-out in search of Nila – unable to locate her, they settled to wait in the station.

The revenge-party had boarded the train just ahead of Virudhunagar in one of the small stations and found Mukilan. Mukilan had no chance – it was brutal and it was quick. He was hacked and his body was thrown out of the train at Sivakasi. The story has it that they killers traveled in the same train until Rajapalayam and got down from the train with the blood-soaked sickles.

Nila who had just entered the station had seen her parent and knew things have gone awry. However, as soon as she saw her cousin and his friends getting down the train with red plastered on their shirts, she knew the worst has happened. She fainted and she was carried away and no one had since heard of her.

***

The old woman monologue was broken by the train which had just steamed in. I knew there was something here – I didn’t want to miss the ending and also didn’t want to miss the train. As I hauled my back-pack, I asked her what had happened to Nila later on…

As I was getting into the train, she looked at me and said, “Thambi, the legend has it that even today, Mukilan still travels on this train from Virudhunagar to get to Nila and Nila patiently waits for him at the station”…

As the visage of the old-man in the train emerged from my subconscious, I dropped the rucksack down and turned around quickly to look at her; she was already gone, an ambling silhouette framed against a distant lightning streak. A mere apparition in the darkness!

Apparition??? Realization hit me like that distant thunder!!!

Act of Kindness

2007-12-30T07:52:00.000-08:00

Interesting experience.

We stopped by a petrol bunk in the intersection of Ringroad (in Bangalore between Old Madras Road and Hebbal Road) and the road leading to the Sultanpalya. The gas station is in the southern corner of that intersection. As we stopped for filling up, I saw a A5 size photograph of "Manjunath" stuck on the glass enclosure with the bold "Employee of the Month". As usual the photo didn't match the actual individual and I asked the attendant who was filling up my car, pointing to another guy who resembled Manjunath, if that was indeed the guy in the photo. The current attendent nodded in affirmative; and immediately started to take extra care in filling up and was more courteous ! But thats the not the main point of this post...

Just before we left the pump, I sought Manjunath out and congratulated him. He was extremely happy and profusely "tanks-saar'ed" me. Then we had moved to fill air and 5m after we left and I could still see Manjunath in smiles.

As we left I told my co-occupant that Manjunath is still smiling and he'd probably feel good for the day. Then I realized, the very fact I found that its something that I can point out to someone else and the fact that I'm thinking about a day later, that "congratulations" has made me feel good too...

So, looks like any act of kindness that we do to others, helps us to get in touch with our own decent self, I guess. Is it an act of kindness on ourselves ?
__________________________________________
ps: The intent of giving such a graphical (!) explanation of the location of the petrol bunk is, if at all, you pass thataway, you could stop by and do yourself an act of kindness ! :)

Whats it all about ? Second year on...

2007-12-29T05:21:00.000-08:00

Hmm... I missed the anniversary - not that of ours - but that of this blah'g. I completed two years of blogging on the 22nd Dec. I blissfully was asleep in Chennai on that day. So I guess, if the anniversary has been forgotten, then I suppose the marriage has gone stale :) or its moved on to the mature phase of "content" rather than the "niceties". I'd rather believe the latter !

Through the year, I changed the name of the blog to 'thegoodblahg', perhaps slowed down on posting, added cricket tag, moved to new Blogger from google and new look, started (and stopped) contributing to a "Media watch blog" with a fellow-bloggers (which is badly in need of more contributions, anyways) and opened up another private blog that is very very dear and close to us.

Anyways, on the first anniversary, I did a word-cloud (of what the blog was all about) using snapshirts.com - which crawls the site and picks out the oft used words - i'm sure they are doing this syntactically rather than semantically ! I did one again now... Here is what its picked out...

But disappointingly, still no Floyd and Asterix - I guess those live in my heart and in my quotes!!!

Resurrecting the Champ

2007-12-28T08:56:00.000-08:00

This is not about the recent movie starring Josh Hartnett and Samuel Jackson, about a boxer, washed out, living out a lie and finding a person-in-a-hurry-to-fame as a conduit to spin a yarn... Infact, I should have named this as “Crucifying a Champ – A step-by-step instruction on how to take a perfectly cooked recipe, and screw it up into a distasteful and completely messed up mish-mash”.

In case, you have not caught on, this is about Dravid.

Here is the guy who has amazing technique, a great temperament for batting, perfect gentleman, a perfectionist and consummate team-man; take him, add some second-guessers to it, create a parallel structure and slowly watch him disintegrate; He has been now turned him into a perfect specimen for a case-study on psychological experiment. Freud would be rubbing his hands in glee and would call variety of people – Greg Chappell, Sharad Pawar, Zaheer Khan, Tendulkar and Mr. D himself – Dilip Vengasarkar to get their expert opinion, for his case-study.

In my belief, Dravid is a complex man – a perfectionist seeking excellence in whatever he chooses to do and driven more by intent rather than agenda. He is someone who would look at the goal and hope the team around him will look at the goal and align themselves to achieve it without the politicking and without their own agenda. If you had seen him bat in the last few innings, it is clear that he is going through a crisis of confidence. Just cannot believe someone who played so well in the final OD innings in England could decline so fast – I believe it has got to do more with mind than the technique.

Flash back to recent events: He won a series in West Indies and then in England. In England, as a captain, he decides that he would not enforce follow-on – hue and cry were raised by people who cannot hold a candle to what he has achieved; forget the fact that Vaughn himself admitted that had he been in Dravid’s place he’d done the exact same. Then when Dravid talked about having his tiring bowlers have a rest, Zaheer Khan (who was earlier docked in the Chappell-Dravid regime) came out and says he wasn’t tired. Add to it a constant by-play with the newfound we-are-close-friends-now – Tendulkar/Ganguly combine. Then we hear stories about how Vengsarkar wanted the batting order to be changed. And you would think that Selectors select players and then shut the eff up; and the rest is upto the captain. But you know, this is Vengsarkar – the man who wrote in Hindu 15 years ago that the only time India cricket does well is when it has Mumbai players in it. No wonder, Dravid talked about shelf-life of a captain. He returns and lets Sharad Pawar know that he no longer wants to be the captain. Mr. Vengsarkar, hurt that he was not being told first, does everything in his power to get Tendulkar as the captain. Fortunately, good sense prevailed in Tendulkar. The worse is yet to come – someone who played a blinder of an innings in England is “rested” from the team after one poor series at home. If he was rested, then he should have brought back to the later part of the series; but no.

Now touring Australia, inspite of two specialist openers in the 16 – Karthik and Sehwag, Dravid has been asked to open to accommodate Yuvraj in the final 11. I wonder if someone could ask the same of Tendulkar or Ganguly – could be natural choices as both have opened for dogs years in the ODs. Dravid, I’m sure, agreed to open, although he may have had other opinions... I've actually now become a proponent of euthanasia, after hearing about Dravid's T1, innings 1 labour.

This could be pop-psychology – but Dravid I believe is a person who strives for perfection; and that too with great intensity. When you do that, then most times even a simple thing could become complicated. Not saying opening is a simple thing – but Dravid would have built a lot of what-if-scenarios around it and would have made it more complex than it ought to be. He had already talked about the change-over between innings as one of the what-if scenarios. He also comes across as a person who can get quickly get into a siege mentality and sink deeper into crisis of confidence; and the more he gets deeper into, the more he gets into point of no return. Case in point is his stagnation as a run-scoring opener in the warm-up game and in the first-innings. We see a completely different and tentative batsman – the guy who is intent on battling it out in keeping his wicket intact rather than scoring runs.

This had happened once, earlier to Dravid – when he was dropped from the OD team for his ability to rotate the strike and score briskly. At that time, two things happened – one, he reinvented himself and more importantly, he had a strong support from the leadership – Ganguly as the captain, had insisted that Dravid to be in the team in the lower order and also got him to keep wickets. That kind of unconditional support and faith was required to get Dravid into the mind-set of a champion. The rest is history – his OD confidence carrying into stupendous test forms, setting up a host of hundreds and double hundreds, leading to famous test wins for India abroad.

I believe Dravid is more needed in the test team and in the middle-order to provide the solidity that others can build around it and he has still 2-3 years in him. He certainly needs that kind of leadership support now – if not from Kumble (who is not much dissimilar to Dravid in mental make-up), from his team-mates, like Tendulkars and Gangulys. Dravid being, perhaps, the most self-less in that group, would definitely make the others look good too.

However, not very evident what would such kind of unstinted support for Dravid would come from. One place where we do NOT have to look is, for sure, from the office of Chairman of Selectors!!

Ps: On a different note, can anyone find a logic in screwing up three positions within the batting order to get Yuvraj in – The opener slot, the #3 and #6 and sacrifice an opener, Dravid and Laxman ? Why cant we just drop one of the middle-order rather than screwing up the set-order!

Same Difference !

2007-12-20T06:25:00.000-08:00

Flying to an alien land,
At 30kft, I peep down
The ice-scape,
The dry brown,
Cloud’s feathery-cape,
The Blue Sea,
The green trees,
All that I see
Look the same,
In whichever lat-long I am.

In the distant land,
I look up.
The blue skies,
The Bright sun,
The twinkling-stars,
The silent moon,
The crisp cool,
Makes me feel,
I’m at home;
Heavens the same,
Even in the land afar.

Then I look level,
into the eyes of another.
Averted, looking away,
In unspoken judgment.
Questions unasked
of each others intent.
And questions asked
of my existence,
in his land.

Ah, for the sameness
of His creation
And the differences
in ours!!!

Test of Temptations - Ramba, Menaka, Urvashi and Yana !

2007-11-27T09:09:00.000-08:00

I had written (if I may add, very proudly) about how I quit smoking elsewhere in the blog (you should read that before you read this one)… Again during this travel, I passed by that gas station and I “one number kumbidu pottaen” to that monument.

I was also talking about it to someone this travel. The funny thing was the there is a huge (well, small anyway) untold story about what followed immediately after that event… In the earlier blog, it was like the nostalgia – I had given the good details and left out the ugly ones !

Here is the account of the other side of the story – the sultry temptress that came in all forms including a fat friend of mine, (who would take umbrage in calling him fat, but anyways, he isn’t reading this blog – so I can even get away by calling him intelligent), Mr.Purported-Devarajan and host of others that came in stunning sequence out of the Mumbai airport’s concrete-work. All sent by the creator for one sole reason – go forth and screw up this guy’s penance of denying himself the pleasure of smoking !

So here is the untold story that has been told/read never before in the public forum; now open to the whole wide-world audience of nine regular readers (ok, sue me, I’m reporting higher numbers in this blog’s TRP rating)…

As I walked out of the gas station as “proud quitter”, I needed to travel from Fort Collins to another small city in the US – Roseville – its near Sacramento and more importantly (to none who reads this blog), had a site where our company operates. Me, with a great amount of confidence and faith in my own ability to stick to my decision of quitting, checked myself into the hotel and into a “smoking room”. I knew, like all my romances, this is going to be short lived. I check in, and then the sun sets on the American empire – so I go walking in search of food places to eat- I find a Denny’s, but it is very conveniently situated adjacent to the gas station. So I walk across the Gas station and… and walk straight into Denny’s, had some food and turn my head away from the gas station and walk out. Ramba has been denied.

Cool, I thought to myself and when I returned back to Ft.Collins, I proudly checked myself into a “non-smoking” room. I was quite sure that I had kicked the habit, although it was only 3 days into abstinence, not really believing that this abstinence is going to be any different from every other resolutions that occurred on 1^st of every January… The only material difference was, this wasn’t winter, but Fall, if that makes a lot of sense to the nine of you !!

Like jet-lag, sometimes the absence of nicotine in the blood-stream can hit you much later; atleast, so I theorize ! After all the phoren work, I return back to our country. Those days, there were no direct flights to Bangalore, but one has to come through one of the other cities and in the middle of the night with a 5-6 hour wait. So I wait in the airport. Second theory: Once you quit smoking, the other thing you want to avoid is to wait aimlessly (the first one you want to avoid is the fat friends that smoke). So, since I waited aimlessly, I saw the sultrier Menaka dance in front of my eyes; so those roved. Found Mr.Devarajan smoking; and I built a story in my own mind – I would go tap him on the back and say hello Deva – he could be even Thiyagarajan or Govindarajan or some other Rajan – but I decided he would be Devarajan. Ofcourse, he would be some other (what are the chances that he really could be Devarajan ?); he would naturally, look at me puzzled but its an opportunity to strike up a conversation – what you up to, are you also waiting for the Bangalore flight blah, blah and finally let go, “can I bum a fag ?” (yep, for all the smoker fag does mean just that) and lo behold, I’d have my smoke. I made my move; unfortunately, he also made his move – he walked away… Shoot, I sat back down. I thought, was it a message from the providence… As I wrestled bumming when he returned, it was 4.30AM and the PA called for the check-ins and Deva had moved with extreme speed… Menaka faded into black !

Ok, got through the 2^ndcelestial dancer, by the quirk of bad-timing of the PA system. The ultimate test was waiting to happen… As I checked in and was wandering around – guess who turns up – the fat smart guy who I begun to smoke with in college. Great!! And he offers me a fag – I’ve to hold my ground, I proudly tell him, I quit (without telling it has been only 3 days). He respects that, and doesn’t offer me any more. Are we done? No – the ultimate Urvasi is lurking around the corner – ignoring Prabhu Deva, she isn’t taking it easy! Another guy turns up from the same college – but this is the weird twist – he was not a smoker in the college, but had started after he had gotten a job in a remote and culturally strange-to-him town – the ennui had gotten to him and he had started smoking! So he says, hey G, you used to be smoker, here’s one!! Ok, Oorvasi, I’m on the penance thing – although it was very tempting watching her do the Helen dance (or Yana Gupta of these days, which is more sexier, I’m told – I wouldn’t know, anyways) and although I slyly open one eye to catch a part of it, I shut it out ! I say a firm NO… Oorvasi has been ignored too…

…and have stayed unscathed since! Although Koshy’s still offers temptations, but I think now I’m through all these dances, even if its Yana (doing Baboojeee... :)); maybe it’s the middle age catching up… We are still talking about “Quit-smoking”, by the way !!

Oh, it is perfectly possible; all of the above could be wild delusions of a nicotine-denied brain!!

Land of the Brave!

2007-11-15T18:07:00.000-08:00

Nana was living in fear – not fear of death or fear of something major; there was a stretch of train travel in the (infamous) Mumbai suburban train that he loathed – he loathed himself for being afraid. Nana (alias Narayan Iyer s/o Shri. Sivasankaran Iyer, the late priest at the Guruvayoor temple) had been a sheltered son of a very orthodox family down south. He had finished his B.Sc. and after trying for work in and around his native town without much success he landed in the big bad world of Mumbai in search of job – that was in January, nearly 6 months ago. He got one, as a technician in one of the Pharma factories at the suburbs, that paid for his living in a one-room shanty with shared toilet and bath room – more importantly, it helped him to save some money and send it back home to his widowed mother and younger sister.

Nana was scared about Mumbai – he had heard stories about how cold the city could be and how mirthless it is – where people go about doing what they do without bothering about someone’s plight. Coming from a villagish-town it was a huge culture shock for Nana. However, around after the 3^rd month he had learned to cope with Mumbai. It certainly did not win him over, but he found ways to co-exist with it – it was symbiotic, he thought remembering his 12^th standard biology – he needed Mumbai for the survival of his family and Mumbai needed people like him to remain aloof, cold and ruthless. He was insignificant; but by end of first month it had stopped bothering him to an extent and he knew he was becoming one among them. Even in the local train that took him to and from his job, he found people doing their own thing or on the opposite end of the spectrum sticking to the same group. He tried smiling at someone who seemed regular but couldn’t strike up a conversation due to his limited knowledge of Hindi. He then decided it was better to shut-up and not let people know that he was an outsider without the knowledge of Hindi or Marathi.

But then disaster struck. Someone seemed to take attention of him – in a way that Nana did not foresee or ever want. There was this tough looking man wearing a pyjama-kurta and his two cronies who seemed to find Nana’s nervous quietness funny. Initially, indirectly and then directly – they had started bullying him in one way or the other; more so after they found he was an outsider. Nana tried to switch compartments and avoid them. It worked for a week, but then they found him; the same about missing the train – did work for a while, but then it always came back to the same thing. Once they found him waiting for the train to go, got down and told him in no uncertain terms that he needs to take the train that they are in…

Since then, Nana lived in fear. He talked to someone at work, but didn’t help. He thought of changing his residence so that he doesn’t have to take that suburban train, but just couldn’t afford a place anywhere in the city. He was ashamed of his cowardice and lack of courage to stand up to those bullies; He also hoped that someone would come in his aid and help him out. But none did – its Mumbai and more importantly, it was not a movie.

Today he was returning from work – the July weather, matched his mood – seemed morose and threatened the evening with rain. He did not see the goons yet. He chose a place to sit that had his back turned towards the door with a hope that he would escape notice. The train had stopped in Borivli – out of the corner of his eye he saw the main-goon with his usual smirk and unlit beedi climb on to the train. Nana’s heart sank…

Nana further shrunk in his seat and waited for the inevitable tap on the head and the wicked grin. He didn’t get any – maybe the train was crowded enough for the goon to wade his way back to him, maybe goon had a change of heart, Nana hoped. As Nana waited, he felt a blow to his body, much more than what he had expected – he was stunned for a moment; then he lost his consciousness. When he regained it, he was completely disoriented, there was thick smoke and the compartment was in ruins. They were body lying all around; he heard screaming all around and people scrambling out. He quickly understood that a bomb had gone off and ripped through the compartment; along with the crowd and in the chaos he rushed out. Now outside, Nana’s instinct told him to run for safety, since there were screams that there could be more bombs inside. He found himself unhurt, by God’s grace and he thanked God (“Guruvayoorappa”) quickly and started to walk away – he wanted to be as much far away as possible when the next bomb went off.

For some reason, he turned back one more time – he saw the goon down on the floor, very much bleeding, very much conscious and very much in pain, with a piece of twisted metal over him. For the first time, in the Nana saw there was no bravado in Goon’s eyes, but a pleading and panic. Nana hesitated for a minute, flash of thought around God’s ways ran through his mind; “God’s ways”, it struck him – he climbed back in. He quickly inspected the goon’s condition – he seemed ok – there has been big injury to his arm and it was ripped away, but his legs seemed in good condition; and there was bleeding from the stomach, with a big ugly open wound. Nana told the goon to lie still (not sure if he was heard), tried to wrench the twisted metal away – he couldn’t and muttered aloud about being a vegetarian! He, also assessed that he cannot carry the weight of the goon; he decided to drag the goon under the metal to the door-way by his legs. He told the goon what he was going to do in broken Hindi; At the door-way, he let the goon’s legs dangled out, he pulled the goon to sit-up tilted him on his back and carried him out 20 meters away and dropped him on the ground, as yet another tiny blast went off inside.

Nana looked down at the goon. There was gratitude in those eyes; Not sure if those eyes saw fear in Nana’s eyes. Not today, as Nana turned to see if there was someone else he could help with…

Empowerment Vs Delegation Vs...

2007-10-28T08:19:00.000-07:00

A lot of times at work, we get told and tell our colleagues that we need to “empower” our folks. I was explaining to someone as to what is the difference between empowerment, delegation and abdication…

…and decided to state that thus:

	The employee has		Then its,	heading for	Long term, manager does	Short term, manager does
	Capability	Potential	Then its,	heading for	Long term, manager does	Short term, manager does
When the work gets pushed to one level below	Yes	Yes	Empowerment	success at a “raised bar” level	New objectives, higher bar, mentoring outside of hierarchy	Allow to set objectives, make decisions, "promote" to next level (of hierarchy, complexity etc)
	No	Yes	Delegation	Success	Reviews, coaching, hints on what-if scenarios, asking questions (but no answers)	set context, "gate" decisions with y/n
	No	No	Abdication	Failure	Change the employee out of current role	Operate at "activity/task" level

Makes sense ?

Toilet Humor

2007-09-13T08:59:00.000-07:00

Heard in the toilet at our work place...

Middle Aged Guy: So , since it was raining so heavily yesterday, how did you get from the bus stop to your house ?

Young guy: My wife had come to the bus-stand with the umbrella

MAG: Oh... so you have been married only for 3 months right ?

YG: Yep...

MAG: My wife just told me to wait in some shelter until the rain stops

Thats just not it.

A bunch of folks in the toilet nodded in sympathetic been-there-experience-that kind of nod.

A good good Movie

2007-09-02T09:10:00.000-07:00

Over the past weekend had watched a Tamil movie - Mozhi. It was a great great surprise - although I had read the review in the Vikatan, didn't really expect the movie to be great shakes. But was pleasantly, pleasantly surprised. During the movie and after the movie, I could clearly feel myself enjoying the story-telling - the movie was extremely well directed and well acted. The visuals were simple and good (with the whole family watching, identifying some of the locales in the foreign land :) ), pleasing, the backgrounds and the other supporting cast blending in nicely.

Essentially I saw the title "Mozhi" (Language) indicating that the two main protoganists relate to two different languages - one the music that he plays and the other the silence, she always hears. The hero, Karthik is a musician by craft and Archana is deaf-mute. Karthik who sees Archana and falls for her show of guts even before he knows of her disablity. When his resolve becomes stronger once he discovers her disability, one doesn't feel, its 'that tamil movie thing'. For, in essence, Karthik comes across a very decent human being, who is sensitive to people who really need that touch. The interactions between the professor (who is stuck in the 1984 due to his son's accidental death) and Karthik have been very sensitively woven into the story. The sorrow that laces the interaction is poignantly poetic. At one scene, when Karthik tries to reason with angry Archana, the professor intrudes with a 1984 non-sequitor. Karthik, for a fleeting nanosecond shows his annoyance as Archana walks away, but then stays with the professor to hear his story. Very beautifully done by the director, Radhamohan.

There are several such moments in the movie. Even Prakash Raj's comedy is not out of line. His comic inter-play with the association secreatary and off-the-cuff-oh-btw one-liners are very enjoyable and do not jar the story line like the regular comedy-track we see in other movies. PR should do more of this - comedy and production ;). Swarnamalya's role as Sheela is underplayed; inspite of my bias, I did believe she too did a decent job, particularly when she talks about her life to Karthik.

Karthik played by Prithviraj is aptly done. If you can pardon his accent, he has beautifully played his role to the T. No overt and overacted emotions, no wasted motions in his actions - very nicely done. Jyotika is very good in most places depicting the character that believes 'what one does not know will hurt you'; and just when Karthik draws her out, she retreats back behind the iron-curtain. She could have used her eyes better, given that she had no dialogue to fall back on.

Although the story ends predictably, you don't begrudge the ending as cinematic. At the end of it, you'd actually think it would be injustice if they don't get together.

The music, by Vidyasagar melts into the story. The editing is sharp with no extraneous scenes and keeping the storyline going. Even the bulb/bell thing that can appear quirky, gives you a touch of humor. In all, a great viewing that touched me in a way that I didn't expect. The taste still lingers on.

Infact, last week I was telling one of my friends that one way to get his young teen-age kids understand "values" is to get them to relate to a cause that is greater then themselves. That way they would realize how fortunate are we. I've told him that he should see this movie as a first step!

Sound bites

2007-08-14T23:33:00.000-07:00

The state Governor who had earlier in the evening, when elicited for his views on four young children of the K.R.Halli slums being badly mauled by stray dogs, retorted pointing to the need that we Human Beings, as a more evolved species need to be compassionate to animals, now slept soundly in his fifteen acre mansion far away from and completely immune and oblivious to the cacophonous din created by those pack of dogs in the slums of K.R.Halli in the middle of the night...

It is a singular sentence inhabitants of K.R.Halli go through all their lives.

Humour at its Subtlest best !

2007-08-07T08:10:00.000-07:00

Although this blog is for original (!) creations (!?!), there is this recent joke that I heard that deserves a mention; of course, attributing it to the oft quoted author - A.N.Onymous:

Q: What do you get if you roll an atheist, dyslexic insomniac into one ?
A: You get a person who stays awake all night wondering if there is dog !

:)

The Reel justice !

2007-08-01T09:53:00.000-07:00

I’m sure most of you would have followed either in great or peripheral interest regarding Sanjay Dutt story on the papers; if you were in the periphery, then you would have been brought into the maelstrom by yesterday’s and today’s coverage. Thankfully, I had meetings uptil late last night (31^st) and hence was fortunate not to turn on the TV. But then, one can run, but cant escape – the news was on the first page – "Sanjay Dutt gets 6 year-prison-term"

My sympathies do not lie with Sanjay Dutt – He may not be a terrorist; but he is guilty on several counts – he broke the law, and he tried to un-make by trying to diabolically conceal the first breach. And he should have been incredibly stupid to do it. Or even incredibly drunk with celebrity psychology of “I can do anything and get away with it”.

However, what is laughable is the content story in the Hindu, on Sanjay Dutt’s arrest.

Since Sanjay Dutt is from the stable of the above - it is not surprising he was obtuse; looks like the whole film industry seem to believe that one could break the law and s/he can get away with it on perfectly legitimate grounds stupidity ! What does the film industry think? Or want ? That they could script a perfect court-room scene, where Munnabhai after the crime, would ask for leniency on grounds of "Jaadu ki pappi" and one last call to his beloved and the judge would break down, pound the gravel and let him go, with one year suspended prison term; then the hero, hand in hand with his dear wife and lovely kids, would walk out and break into a song as the credits roll?!

Look at the roll-of-honour in the news item – Each one of them is Nani Palkhiwala in their own right and understand the law better than the care-takers of Indian Justice and legal system. Victim of Conspiracy ? Hello ???!! Anyone home? What next, Monica Bedi would start expounding as to why faking passports is a perfect normal thing to do in this country?

I wish the Justice Kode hauls all their collective asses wholesale into couple of days into the prison on the charges of contempt of court, off their wonderland and get them into the real world !!!!

Fractured !

2007-07-15T02:43:00.000-07:00

I had some interesting discussions in the past 2-3 weeks. I’ll classify those as:

Lack of Dignity of Labour:
In reacting to a comment on the blog about Apathy, I had talked about the “dignity of labour” or general lack of, in a booming city like Bangalore. Everywhere you go, we get to see a predominance of this mentality, where we believe what we are doing is somehow much bigger or important than what others do. This is manifest so starkly in the swank offices and how the generation of IT folks treat non-IT people, even in their own company. I’ve seen many a times, that people swish past the security at the reception, looking elsewhere but showing their badge with so much “nonchalance” at the security. Its very hard to understand this – I don’t believe it takes much for us to look at the security, smile at hir and then show the badge. The minimum respect that we could give the security for the job s/he is doing is to look into hir eyes before flashing the badge. The same happens to other “helpers” – the coffee boys, the helpers etc. It may make no difference to us if we know their name; but simple thanks with their names would go a big way for them to feel proud about their work. They are part of the eco-system that we have created.

Fashionably dissing the Doing Urge:
Few days ago, we had an interesting discussion at Lunch. Apparently someone was run-over in the Hosur road. This had enraged the people of that area and they had blocked the traffic for 2hrs and delayed the office goers for 2-3 hours. The "blockers" were dissed by one and all and to me it was a bit disturbing. My point to them was this: “Who is better - those guys who were incensed and wanted to do something about it and did (although that was inappropriate) or us folks, who just sit in our car for the traffic to clear"? From a societal level, I'd pick the former; Atleast they try to be the agents of change in a convoluted way... Convoluted, since its most likely their means is more a manifestation of anger rather than a thought out need to change. Of course, like someone said, there is option not to pick both, but the ones who actually took the people to the hospital. Yes. thats the best option. But at an unemotional level, for the injured, it makes a difference, but to that locality none; since accidents will continue to happen at that spot.

So there are three kind of people

1) One who seeks to change the system (the protestors)

2) One who seeks to help the victims of the system (the medical helpers)

3) The ones who do nothing (in the car waiting for protestors to go away)

#1 above may not have thought out well to initiate the change - but its disturbing to me that people who do nothing tend insult and to pick holes at people who are trying to do something.

I wonder if a combination of both above - i.e., disrespecting people for what they do, specifically by the prosperous few and those prosperous few doing nothing for removing the ills that ails us in this city, resulted in the chaotic scenes when Rajkumar passed away. The divide seems to be getting bigger and deeper. A little less of back to basics in politeness and respect and most importantly some introspection, would help this city, I would guess.

The Great Indian Apathy !

2007-06-23T09:33:00.000-07:00

Of all the writing that Soliloquist does, so eloquently, I may add, this one stood out for me. The article was about the Indian apathy, and how it was tough to get someone in a crowd, that too a crowd claiming some commonality of purpose (like belonging to the same company), to come out helping out in a tight situation. The blog had concluded this is endemic and named it as a Great Indian Apathy.

I do believe there is apathy that prevails in our society and there is also an implicit acceptance of “fate” and “destiny” for even simpler failures; or attributing somebody else’s discomfort or misfortune to it; and hence no pointing in to getting into the situation or helping out. In spite of all that, I do think people have in them the innate need to help someone else out, when someone is in trouble. Yes, most of them would not put themselves in a situation when it threatens themselves or their loved ones security. Otherwise, I believe they tend to.

As there is an example in that article, here is another – an apt illustration of both ends of the spectrum. For passengers transiting between the international airport to the domestic airport, a bus facility is available to take them, with an hourly frequency or so. Prior to the departure, the passengers wait in a hall, with minimal facilities – but, of all the incongruities, a facility to charge their mobile phones – mirroring the explosive growth of that specific industry. A month ago, I was in one such bus. As the bus was leaving, one old gentleman hurried out asking the driver to wait. As we were waiting, we were treated to two gentlemen (gentlemen is really anomaly), who were loud, irritating and really irreverent to both the situation (middle of the night) and to the people around. The kind of topics they chose to talk to went on the lines of how they could make money of their jobs, how to outwit their management and how things in Mumbai were so bad etc, but safely taking refuge in speaking in their local language. As one of my relatives had said, they were the outstanding example of how IT industry in India has encouraged and nurtured mediocrity. Then the old man returned a bit harried – a person next to him queried as to what happened – apparently the old man had left his phone to charge and forgot about it – by the time he had gone back in for it, that was gone. His neighbour, immediately offered his mobile phone for the old man to call in his number – the old man was a bit tentative, since it was a long distance call, since his phone number was that of Bangalore’s. As this was going, the two idiots went on their view of how futile the whole exercise was. That did not deter the neighbour – he did get the number, called it himself; and gave it again to the old man to keep trying his number, with a hope that someone would answer the call. Unfortunately, nothing came of it.

Somehow I believe, the good neighbour’s name could be Avinash. Or Avinash Pathy. I’d have loved to say “Sol, Meet Avinash or the normal Indian, A. Pathy :-) ”.

The Game

2007-06-13T08:39:00.000-07:00

Elsewhere

Vish looked forward to those few times in a week, where he would match his wits with his close friend Shanky. When both have time off from their worldly worries, they would typically get together with their better halves at one of their places – chat for a while on the general 'state of the universe', do a community-dinner after which Vish and Shanky would retire to play their favourite game – “Battle of wits”. In the game, they would pick a situation, a setting and each start with a set of pawns and start maneuvering them in a way that one of them would win by reaching the goal.Vish is usually the one that creates opportunities and dons the role of a skilful attacker, where as Shanky would either staunchly defend or counter-attack. Today was one such day – they had good food, the kids had retired and their wives had gone out to another room to watch an absorbing 24x7 reality show unveil. The game had started. Vish had planned his moves a few days ago and was well prepared. But he knew Shanky was a formidable opponent. He watching Shanky intently – Shanky seemed to activate an unconnected pawn… Hmmm…Absorbing…thought Vish.

Right Here

Hari was a typical bachelor living in the IT city working on one of those typical and huge companies that had just moved out of city onto the typical outskirts location. Usually, he rode to work on his bike; but for the past couple of days his bike had given up on him and both his friends Vishwa and Shankar were out of town on an holiday – so hitching a ride was ruled out. He was left with no option but to take the company bus for just this day, after getting permission from the transport-coordinator in the company. He was waiting in the bus-stand – he saw several of his colleagues that he couldn’t even recognize. The bus was arriving and Hari just went along with the human flow and got into the bus – as he got in, he looked for empty seats and found one in the center of the bus. As he sat down near the window, he saw someone, three rows ahead, looking at him – it was Shilpa!!!! The very same Shilpa that he met through a common friend nearly two years ago, the very same Shilpa that he went out with, the very same lovely girl that he had built his dreams of his life around; and unfortunately the very same girl that he broke up with and they drifted apart. And later, which made him look back with what might-have-beens and although in denial, a tinge of regret, sometimes. Shilpa had turned around and smiled at him. He smiled back, tentatively as she turned away. He could not figure out if she was glad to see him… As he sat there wrestling with his thoughts, his mind went into shades of sepia flash-back.

He found a great amount mental fulfillment and a sense of completion, in Shilpa’s company – that was very much true in their discovery phase. After, the initial meeting a friend’s place, he soon they found that they liked to be in each others company; that started into meetings without the friends. Then slowly, it became a standard practice of going out regularly. The thing that Hari liked about Shilpa is her simplicity and a certain refreshing openness. But, as they say, familiarity breeds, well, familiarity. In that, Hari also found that, on the other end of the spectrum, she was quite fixed on a few things – like some of her interests and goals for life and Hari’s had no common ground. At that time, neither of them wanted to make the compromise and gradually they came to see the differences to be far greater than what they enjoyed together. And without citing the standard irreconcilable differences, they broke up. Shilpa had also moved out of the town on an assignment for about 6 months and that made the break a bit easier. But there were times that Hari always wondered of what could have been. As he grew up in his job, he now believed that those perceived differences between them weren’t that great and there could have been compromises and meeting mid-way. He often wondered if Shilpa felt the same way, but never did take the initiative to call her; as there was another inner voice that told him otherwise and it will be headed towards another heartbreak.

He was broken from his reverie, as the bus slowed down to the next stop. He looked at her direction and she was looking at him. She signaled to him, imperceptibly, to come join her in the space next to her. As Hari was getting up, few more of the employees had gotten onto the bus. He found that a fat person, occupying the space next to him, blocking his path out and at the same time, another guy, who seemed to know Shilpa well occupy the seat next to Shilpa. Hari was disappointed; he imagined he saw some appear in Shilpa’s eyes, but quickly she turned and started talking to the person next to her, as the aisle got crowded, with a few folks standing and line of sight to Shilpa was blocked. Something told Harish that would be the last time he would see Shilpa for a long time; and what-might-have-been would remain intact!!

Again, Elsewhere

Vish looked at Shanky – Shanky had skillfully used all his pawns to thwart Vish. Vish gave up for this day and conceded to Shanky – but his time would come. Looking up from the large board game, they found that their wives had also joined them in the game room watching the scene unfold. One of them sighed, “You two should really stop playing with people’s lives – that was a near-miss. Poor those-two !!!”.

Lord Vishnu and Lord Shiva smiled at their consorts benignly.

Never Ending Story

2007-06-01T04:57:00.000-07:00

Aabid:

Aabid Aleem was day-dreaming. Infact, it was dusk and the night was falling softly after another dreary, cold, dull day. In the gloaming, there was an eeriness that looked very un-natural. Aabid wished he was with his wife – ah she was something - and the smiling infant he was looking at. Instead, he is here in a cold outpost, supposedly guarding an army station. As an army sepoy, he has never seen the real enemy from across the border, but he has come face to face with militants who always seemed to find ways to start something when it seemed the situation is turning to normal. There has been a lull for a while, and he hoped this time it was permanent. In about 3 hours he’d have some one to relieve him – he would go, have the army rations and hear the crude banter from his bunk-mates. There had been no enemy activity of late and Aabid was happy that his valley is again turning towards peace. Perhaps, it would be like old times, when he grew up in his small village

Aabid let his mind wander, the twilight making him a bit tired and he thought about his village.

Aabid grew up in a very small village, nestled in the valley. He was the last of the 5 children. His father was also in army, but retired by the time Aabid had grown up. He had a small orchard that he was looking after. As far as Aabid could recall he had lot of fun growing up. Fahad, his neighbour, had become his inseparable friend. There were times when he used to live and sleep at Fahad’s house and always found Fahad's family, especially his father, who he called Chachoo, very kind to him and very indulgent. Looking back, at certain times he felt that Chachoo made no distinction between Fahad and himself – treated him as his own son and fondly called him Abu. As they grew up, he found the character of the valley was changing slowly, but definitely. There were more news about fights, deaths, people coming from across the border with weapons and to counter that more and more army coming in – Aabid always watched the army with fascination, since long ago he had decided that he would follow the footsteps of his father and brother there. In this transformation, he found that Chachoo and his own father had very differing views; and increasingly, their debates were heated. Chachoo seemed to think that root cause of the problem was the government and they ought to have their own way of choice of freedom. Fahad imbibed similar views from Chachoo; except that he was more militant and was in trouble several times and was questioned by the army. Slowly, as the philosophies diverged, so did the chasm in their relationship. Chachoo moved out; He also heard that Fahad was taken by the army for one last time for questioning and he never returned. Aabid looked back it with a certain poignant nostalgia and wish it would have been different. But life moves on and has a way to blur the past and getting us to live in the present, he thought wryly. An year ago, he had gone home for leave, his parents had found a perfect girl for him – Afraa – she was the most beautiful girl Aabid had laid his eyes on and he instantly agreed to the nikah. After the marriage, he spent the 17 most wonderful days of his life, taking Afraa out to see the sights of the valley – everything seemed more beautiful, fresher and alive. Afraa, initially shy, turned out to be the one with the lovely smile and mischievous glint in her eyes. Aabid rued that he had to report to the camp so soon, as the militants had stepped up activity. He had returned home for a brief leave 4 months ago and Afraa was pregnant at that time. A week ago, he had received a letter from Afraa, stating that he would have to contend with another man in her life – their son and had sent the picture of a tiny bundle ! He immediately started dreaming about his son’s life – maybe his son will have a “Fahad” as a friend, maybe he would name him Fahad. Aabid also knew that like his father before him and like himself, his son would grow up and join the army – perhaps not as Sepoy, but as an officer. Aabid would to see to that that his son will have all the education that he did not have. He dreamed about going back to his village. He had re-read that letter several times. He turned toward the light and took out the letter one more time...with no knowledge of what was laying in wait for him...

Faaris:

Faaris Umar lay in wait. He was immovable and had become part of the fauna around. Faaris believed in destiny and in fact did not have any compunction on what he had done in the past and what he would do in the future. At some point in time, he had self-doubts about his path, but he always shook them off. Although he believed that his starting point was right, sometimes in the moment of doubt, he wondered if it was belief or revenge. Belief in what and revenge for what? However, he knew he was too far into this and there was no way out. He no longer yearned for his family or his friends; long ago, he was like anyone else, with close friends and sons and daughters. Some of it was taken away from him and some he gave up in pursuit of his path. When what was dear to him was taken away, he turned to arms with all his heart and mind. He, with his kills, had swiftly grown in the organization and had even gone across the border for special training and strategic planning. Because of his importance, of late he had hardly taken part in a mission, but today was different. The situation seemed to turn to normal and it was being talked about that there could be lasting peace in the valley; and people were also getting tired of war all the time – being pushed to live in fear of both the army and the militants. Faaris was disappointed that the very same people, for whose rights he was fighting for and laid his life and his dear one’s life on the line, had turned weak. He was going to show them for one more time; that it is possible to defeat the army.

He lay in wait silently and motioned quietly to his troops of nearly hundred, who were waiting in the woods, a stone-throw away from the perimeter. The first obstacle was that soldier who was sitting beyond the electrified perimeter in a narrow gap in the wall with the intruder-alarm switch at his reach. Faaris knew every detail and they had effectively dug below the electrified fence. All he needed to do now is to get to the guard and get rid of him and signal to his troops to tunnel through the perimeter. He waited patiently and knew soon an opportunity will come by and it did. That idiot who had been dreaming for the past hour and had turned his back now to get closer to the lamp. Stealthily. Faaris slithered towards the soldier, with the unsheathed knife between his teeth, as the soldier started reading a piece of paper.

Another Story Begins:

Aabid took out the letter from the tunic, glanced at his watch – another hour to go and started reading it. He did not see the sly shadow of a figure coming close to him, until the time he saw the gleam of the blade. He turned around with his hand going toward the alarm and the other at his gun. As he turned, his eyes softened in recognition…

Faaris was very close to the idiot, he silently took his army-issue knife out from between his teeth, and as he had done several times…

Aabid could not feel any pain as the knife slashed his throat and the sound gurgled out, ebbing out with the blood; as he hung on to Faaris’ shirt as he was gently laid down, in dying pain, he mouthed the word “Abba”, smiled at Chachoo and died in his arms…

As Faaris slashed his knife, he recognized the soldier – it was Abu, the kid he had loved like his own son and yearned to see after his own son’s disappearance. Momentarily devastated, he caught the falling Abu and cradled him in his arms. As he gently lowered the dying soldier down to the ground, he had heard Abu mouth “Abba”; the letter and the photo had slipped from his arms and smudged by the blood. Faaris, laid Aabid down gently, let out an anguished, silent cry and shed tears for his dead Abu; he picked the photo up, looking at smiling infant, who could have been his grandson; and who probably would be pitched against him in a few years time, if both of them make it through... He pocketed the image, stood up and steadied himself a bit. He seem to pause for a moment in thought - then wiped his eyes and signaled to his soldiers. Faaris would have his victory tonight, but looking at Abu, he knew it would be an exercise in futility. Yet, he will not be the one to end this cycle of madness.
_________________________________________________________________

Note: The picture above is a movie poster of Oliver Stone's Platoon. That imagery kind of stayed in my mind and it seemed pretty apt for the story.

Behind the block !

2007-05-20T09:39:00.000-07:00

Funny, you think you make time and you actually get very very busy. I've been away from the blogging part of the world for a while, although have been reasonably up-to-date in checking out what my "regulars" have blogged of late. Even after choosing to work "reduced" (really ? does that work ?) hours this summer, I'm not finding time to write. So, I guess that does mean that I'm actually achieving the goal which I had started out to, when I decided to work reduced hours... (However, what would my BH say ?!!!). In any case, with the reduced hours, I find at work, I'm completely focussed at all times and getting to complete most things that I ought to; and have no time to do anything else other than work !! Although the work follows me home during off-hours, its at least at my beck and choice.

Going back to the reduced work hours and the goals for it, I've been reading a bit - also started another blog, about something thats very close to my heart.

Anyways, just back from a good vacation in the middle of nowhere (for about 6d), where no access to computer and net. When I touched the computer it was to transfer the photographs ! The time off was really good. I've a few things to write about:

About 5-8 stories that I have the plot for
On my thoughts on getting a puppy at home
The Great Indian Apathy - a Contra view to Soliloquist's
The novel that I promised to complete by end of this year, I've the total outline (any ideas on how to publish it on the blog - doing the whole novel would be tedious to read)
About several other things

Will post something by end of this month. In the meantime, do not lose your finger nails and move back from the edge of your seat ! ;)

Prize Erosion

2007-04-24T06:52:00.000-07:00

Everybody feels a warmth, when a 14 year old comes on to the scene, with a certain earnestness that binds you in a thrall, in spite of his prodigious talent, a certain humility that is endearing and that touches you and a certain sincerity that awes you. You adopt him virtually, watch him grow, watch him succeed, watch his intensity to say the right things and do the right things. He inspired generations - people of his time and people before him. You egg him on to be more successful, gloss over his errors, explain away his failings and glorify his successes. As the cliche goes, every mother would want him as her son-in-law and every father, as his son...

... then sh*t happens. He grows old - life's entitlement and insecurities catch up; leading to demands that is in the vicinity of presumptuous impudence. He starts thinking - "although I make tons of money, its sacrilege to have asked me pay for my (Ferrari) toy as per law of the land". Or "How low would these men stoop to question my commitment to my craft" (although what he's crafting these days are turning out to be quite crappy) and so on.

But then, like I said, age happened. The sheen is wearing down; the rust is showing on the humility and sincerity. With age, not only innocence erodes; with it goes a litany of other things too.

Oh btw, Happy Birthday Boy ...or whatever !

Quo Vadis Tu !

2007-04-15T08:18:00.000-07:00

Having hit a block on writing, I took the easier path – write on what I’m up to… An update to the September’06 Quo Vadis…

I am reading:

My experiments with Truth – M K Gandhi
Smart moves - Carla Hannaford

I am listening to:

My wife, as always… (this does not change)
Mish mash of Tamil mp3, ranging from oldies to newies.
FM 100.10 on my car radio – the Carnatic channel, a perfect antidote to the late evening traffic

I am amused by:

This jpeg that someone sent me – brings a smile,
without having to roll on the floor laughing!
(On the lines of Devon Malcom’s or Courtney Walsh’s art of batting,) Rahul Gandhi’s attempt at politics (or realpolitik, if I may add). It, my friends, is worth ROFLing!
Sachin Tendulkar’s outrage on being questioned. We, the lesser mortals, forget – God is next only to him.

I am looking forward to:

Cautiously, restart of Karate classes; about a month into it and I’m feeling good, good, good!! (except for the closing 15m of the class, when I'm ready to drop dead and Sensei pushes for that last effort !)
Hopefully, running the Bangalore mini-Marathon (at least 10Km) – not sure if I’m training enough.
My “magnum-opus” – its just seems around the corner, just behind the (writer’s) block and clouded by the lack of motivation (to write, to complete)

I am frustrated by:

Sometimes, Parenting – it’s a two-step-one-step thing – with forward and backward thrown in somewhere there. Wish could lay my hands on that book...
Our tendency to admire the problem and not get into the details to actually solve it, methodically; but continue to talk of how the situation needs to change

I am impressed by:

The Sri Lankan team – who have proven that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.
Even with two losses to Canas recently, Federer’s dismantling of Roddick in Australian Open and this shot by him (sorry, cant post the clip - but trust me, that return of Roddick's smash is just out of the world) !! Awesome!!!

Sanity

2007-03-27T08:09:00.000-07:00

Bore beyond
my eyes
Into my head -
See wires crossed
Neurons lost.
An inchoate mass
of ocean of thoughts
Rise in noisy waves
fall to a still-born end.
Strident voices
In a cacophonous cadence,
Shutdown my senses.
I arch tense;
Body spins -
masking the din.
Past, tense twirls,
quiet unfurls.
Senses rebound
coherent and sound.
Spy deep into my brain -
Beyond turmoil and storm,
In that lucid calm,
I'm all heart...and pain.

The True Blue !

2007-03-11T00:18:00.000-08:00

World cup is upon us, one more time. For someone who has followed all the world-cup closely since 1979, here are few of my predictions:

The media, afflicted by slightly altered mad-cow disease (aka foot-in-the-mouth disease), would whip up the mob hysteria (#2 below) and portray as if the Indian team is made up of 11 Daniel Craigs, draped in blue. They would gently goad every other expert they could lay their microphone on to say that India is the favourite to win. And every one of gullible us would fall for that.

Collectively, as a nation we will go into ecstasy when India wins a match, even if it is against Bangladesh and frenzy when it loses to far superior side like South Africa. After every win, the reporters from every news channel and otherwise, will interview a horde of supporters on the street, who will chant mindlessly, “jeetega, bhai jeetaga, India World cup jeetega”. Likewise, after every loss, the horde would want everybody’s head from the team, including the head of Kiran More, even though it does not matter if More has less to do with the team.

Shah Rukh Khan will appear for Pepsi, Videocon, Vicks, Dog Biscuits, Brooms and whatever brand he could make money on and urge India to win with a fake emotions and urge Indians to support the team with faker tears. Last heard, marketing gurus from those companies are getting together to create a pot-pourri of blue motif – that has SRK, in blue colors, gulping all those down and making a clean sweep of the opposition (with that broom, of course).

Every regional channel will ardently try to imbibe the fever; and do a poor copy of the original copy. You would the likes of Sadagopan Ramesh, Tinu Yohannan and Narasimha Rao (the cricketer) giving completely c(l)ued-in responses to completely inane questions from the completely clueless anchors. Yet, that would still be bearable compared to the motor-mouths!! (refer #6 below).

The morning absenteeism at conferences in cafeteria of already highly productive IT companies will rise; resulting in cricket ball-talks shifted to the post-lunch work session. At the same companies, due to better connectivity to the net and better TVs, a lot more people will stay overnight and work; and claim late-work dinner and tea. The midnight-oil will be burnt to make the net-work.

Motor-mouth Charu Sharma and his side-kick Mandira Bedi will be on again. They will, of course, ensure that they have their informed opinions heard ahead of experts, who have only played a bit more cricket than them. Thankfully, Set Max did not win the ICC telecast bid for the next umpteen years. But, yet again, the next set of motor-mouths would be as bad as the above two.

MMs would interview slightly-drunk and slurring Indian movie stars at the ground ahead of the game. The IMS would go, “Yes, India will win, blah, blah” – goes to fit the tag line perfectly – you can take an Indian out of the streets, but you cannot take the streets out of Indian (refer #2 above).

There will be horde of product-launches – all with a cricketer acting abysmally and endorsing them. And each one of the cricketer would be eulogized and their houses stoned. Some gullible (ref #1 above) would even believe that a cricketer did not turn up for a match, since he was shooting a commercial.

Dravid, Pawar, Vengsarkar, Sehwag and Chappel will all maintain that Sehwag is one big game away from huge score. Unfortunately, that is (but hopefully isn’t) the game, India does not get to play. Last heard, Kapil was to be recalled to the team, since he is also a “proven” performer in the past. Gavaskar wont be; in any case, he'd be busy criticizing the Aussies for their ethos and their work ethics.

Countless companies would seek viewers to SMS their opinion on Sehwag’s inclusion, as he’d play every match to reach that huge score in the next match. Everyone would make money off it, the business, the advertisers, the channel, the telcos and Sehwag. The billion blue folks would sit smugly, knowing that they have made a difference in Sehwag’s selection (team, not shot), through their SMS.

Regardless of all the brouhaha, the Television sales would go up. Stupidity would become the currency and people would fall for any marketing campaign and go in for better TVs , in a hope to see all of the above with much greater and crystal clarity. I did.

Home Alone

2007-03-01T09:47:00.000-08:00

Peter was tired – he could not clearly make if he was tired, sleepy or jet lagged. He was tossing and turning in his bed for a while. He had drifted in and out of sleep several times. But now, he was very much awake, wide awake. He had just returned from his business travel far east, where all his firm's manufacturing has been relocated to. Peter managed the supply-chain for his company and he was quite good at it; and very successful. Although he has been typically traveling at least once in a quarter, recently, they have been becoming more and more of an ordeal. The enchantment and the mystique of the Far East no longer held magic for him. On travel, he yearned to be back home and he had started missing his family more – it looked to him that travel made him realize how little time he spent at home with his lovely wife, Simone and their kids – (just) teen-age daughter Jess and their son Jamie. On the flight home, he had played his long-forgotten favourite band, Pink Floyd’s music on his iPod. The lyrics,

Home, home again
I like to be here when I can
When I come home cold and tired
It's good to warm my bones beside the fire
Far away across the field
The tolling of the iron bell
Calls the faithful to their knees
To hear the softly spoken magic spells

stuck and he replayed it over and over in his head ("Hmmm...I should get back to listening to them more often", he told himself). Come tomorrow, Sunday, he would be at Church hearing those soft spoken sermons, sitting close to his family. "Damn", he muttered, "if only I could sleep tonight".

He twisted around and looked on the other side – his 3 yr old son Jamie was sleeping against Simone. Jamie was special; literally he was a special child needing a different kind of attention and upbringing. Peter worried about Jamie a lot – mostly because, he had no idea what the future held for Jamie and if he would be independent, after they were gone. One saving grace for them seemed that he was the second child behind Jess; and hopefully Jess would be there for Jamie after them. But, Jess – Jess, Jess, Jess, he sighed aloud. He had stopped by her room, before getting to bed – she was asleep, but his lips seemed to be screwed in anger and brow arched in sleep – perhaps going through a bad dream. As he had stood by the door-way, watching her, he did sense some of the struggle Jess is going through – he had no time for her; and Simone was overwhelmed handling and taking care of Jamie. Even if Jess was going through some problem, neither of her parents would know; worse not only they did not have time, but were perhaps telling Jess on what she should be doing, without even understanding what she is going through. Deciding that he would spend some quality time with her this weekend, he had gone to closer her bed, bent down, looked at her closely – his heart swelled; he had softly kissed her forehead, adjusted the blanket – Jess seemed to cuddle up and relax in her sleep, lips uncurling and brows straightening out.

He sighed aloud again and swore – perhaps too loud, that Simone stirred in her sleep – she opened her eyes and smiled weakly at him. He already felt guilty to have woken her up, when he let himself in the first time. Now his tossing and turning had woken her up again. Peter was sure that Simone’s day would have been swamped working with Jamie, keeping up with him and various programs. As Simone drifted back to sleep, Peter continued looking at her – he ran his fingers through her hair; he loved her a lot and was constantly amazed at her dedication to the cause; although he could not recall the last time he told her that - that of his love and his appreciation. He resolved again – to create and spend some time with her. And with Jamie and with both of them. And with Jess. Simple, he realized, he just needs to spend more time at home.

This line of thought distressed him further and anguished him. Peter realized that he is not only going sleepless, but he was creating possibilities of waking up the family. He got up softly, paddled out – swallowed a sleeping pill and went and lay down in the guest room. As he slowly drifted back to sleep in the guest room, he thought tomorrow could be a different day. Atleast he was not in the foreign country amidst of a different culture and language. At least, he was home. In that knowledge, Peter slept… alone.

50 ways to Peeve/Grieve/Cleave your caller !

2007-02-22T23:03:00.000-08:00

Excerpted from the yet to be published book of “50 ways Peeve, Grieve and Cleave your caller – how to handle the Tele-marketeers, who call you and solicit to sell something that you told them that you didn’t need yesterday morning, evening, today morning and 5 minutes ago”. Randomly picked a few of the methods, the same way my phone number gets randomly picked by the Soliciting Sally (aka Sai Lakshmi). The more and more these methods are adopted my more and more folks, we will hopefully see a drop in calls and these tele-marketeers truly forming "do not call registry" amongst themselves.

#5: Seek every bit of info
Ask Sally for all the information about the product – each and every bit…every bit. AND the bit, OR the bit and XOR it, then ask again. If it’s a credit card, ask her to read out the rules and instruction at the back of the form and explain each and everything of what it means. Ask her for comparisons between various credit cards. If you feel like, ask her about the origin of credit card – if possible quickly google for it and set out to educate her. Here Sally may insist someone could meet you, politely decline, saying unless you understand of what it mean you could not waste time meeting anyone. But ensure that Sally understands that you are interested in the product. At some point in time in this analytical detail conversation with a scientific bent, Sally is bound to give up.

#15 Sell back to them
Pick a favourite product of yours or the product of the company that you work for. Pick a product that she is very unlikely to have – like a parallel processing computer – Ask here if Sally has one. If not, launch into a monologue as to how that would change her life and make her look good in front of her husband or boyfriend or both. Get to every detail. Ask her name, age and her address, so that you can send a sample. Sometimes these details can help transition into method #21, particularly if you are jobless on that day.

#21 Ask her out
Very effectively used by someone I knew. Patiently hear out all the details of the product and then finally tell her that you would buy the product only if she were to come and meet you personally and sell it. Feign innocence – tell her, you were interested in buying the product, since she was so interested in selling it. Insist that it is something called an “unique buyer-seller relationship”, that Peter Mucker talks about; and that is something pious that cannot be broken. Quote from some holy and quotable quotes of how such relationships are pure and blah

#28 Can you hold Please ?
Tell Sally that you are very interested with the product. Exclaim excitedly, “wow, that’s exactly what I was looking for… great, great, great”; sound a bit distracted and ask if she could “hold please”? Then leave the receiver on the desk for a while and go on with your work; after couple of minutes, repeat the “can you hold, please”. Repeat until Sally gives up; or alternately, you could be cruel and after the 3^rd hold, you could tell Sally that you just realized that you already have the same credit card. If you really want to have more fun, quickly glance at your mobile, note the number where Sally is calling from (most likely a board number) and give it back to her as a friend’s number who would be interested in the card.

#33 Indulge in Babble
Hear Sally out for 30s and ask her if she could answer a question – then pick up the nearest newspaper and continue to read a news item unhindered and without a break. Just go for it. Somewhere, you would see that Sally had disconnected

#42 Run a Survey
As soon as you figure out that Sally is a tele-marketeer, profusely thank her for calling you and tell her that you are doing a research on Tele-marketeers for your PhD and you just need to get a few details – ask Sally about whatever you want to from then on – her education, her location, what shampoo she uses, why she uses it, what other product she considered before making a decision – go on for a while, then profusely thank her and disconnect.

#48 The old and Trusted Method
Get angry that you were called in the middle of something that you were doing, shout at Sally, increase a blood pressure and stress level. The author apparently does not recommend this at all.

#50 Register your number in the upcoming TRAI’s “Do not call Registry”
You could do this and hence publish your number to every other telemarketer, who due to some quirk of fate or stroke of luck, haven’t laid hands on your numbers.

Strains of Silence!

2007-02-12T00:10:00.000-08:00

I woke up this morning at around 7.30AM – there was something disturbing (for the lack of better word) that my morning sub-n-half-conscious-mind was not used to – I guess, that woke me up. I heard a myriad of voices - fortunately, those weren't in my head :) ; they were various calls of variety of birds. As I lay listening to those, those that seemed to morph into a rhythmic symphony, I could pick out the streak of various birds calling out. There was this long and plaintive call of the mynah; the hoarse caw of the crow – some unidentifiable voices of the birds – it would have been the perfect setting for an ornithologist. The best was yet to come; I walked out to the balcony and the air was s-t-i-l-l and fresh. There was this indescribable crispness to it – a cool whiff that touches you softly and washes over you. In the cusp of summer, the morning sun was gentle and trying to break through a light fog.

I stood enjoying, this musical in such a wonderful setting; then as wakefulness set in, it dawned on me. The usual cacophonies were conspicuous by their absence – no acrid smell of the exhaust smoke, no horns blaring, no sound of a macho-biker revving up, no bedlam of huge buses, and most importantly, no jangling of the nerves. The strains of the perfect morning had taken away any signs of stress.

As I enjoyed the moment, I realized this was how the world was before the industrialization took over; perhaps this was how my forefathers woke-up every morning in their villages when they took off to till the lands. It occurs to me now, that it is really not a very bad idea for us to have bandh, at least once a month, that closes down our city and opens up the world, instead.

The Rebel's End.

2007-02-04T02:20:00.000-08:00

My soul has always been
A lush lawn of green
Tended and watered by
My perennial dreams -
Dreams of promises and freedom,
For all, plenty and then some.
Then came the summer
Of hard truths
The drums of gunner’s
beating to shattered myths.
Incarcerated, cruel reality
Stared back hard at me -
The facts, pinning me down,
With a cruel frown,
Buried the faith in me
deep into the barren brown.
Broken, regret swells up to choke
down my fears
My Utopia dissolve up in smoke
In Triumphant's boos and jeers.
The hope, after a wait in vain,
trickles out of my heart;
Only the silt of sorrow remain
(with a noose) To rend me apart.

Elevators!

2007-01-27T08:33:00.000-08:00

Usually Sport is looked up as an entertainment and that helps us to break away from the ennui and routine. However there are few times, when sport elevates itself above the usual and provides a true inspiration and glimpse of the power of spirit; and brings out an innate strength, what human being is capable of achieving, when one sets ones mind on it. At that point in time, the sport uplifts itself and provides something more than an ordinary and true entertainment. It inspires.

The Perspiration

Case Study #1: Excellence
Just before this semi-final there is lot of talk about how the gap has been narrowed - either he has improved or Federer did not develop any further to increase the gap. Thus thought the contender, Roddick. He had just beaten Fedex in an invitational off-the-record-book tournament. Roddick was meeting Fedex in the semi-finals of Australian open and coming into the match assuming he had a legitimate chance at beating him. The first set did not seem otherwise - Federx broke Roddick first, Roddick broke back Fedex; that seemed to spur Fedex on; he just elevated himself to a zone and then won 11 games in a row, including a second-set 6-0 demolition, destruction and devastation of Roddick. It was so obvious, when a point that was seemingly lost by Fedex turned around. A Roddick fore-hand drive at the net had pulled Fedex beyond the forehand tramlines; Then, Roddick seemed to have put-away Fedex’s return into the open court; Fedex scrambling back, improvised (rather innovated) a back-hand passing shot. Crowd erupts; and the man, permits himself a smile and an acknowledgement with his raised-racquet. In mid-game, quite rare. The match clearly showed that Federer comes into every match truly believing, without an iota of doubt, that he can beat anyone. To me, that itself gives him a "set" advantage. Pushes his opponent to win 3 out of 4 sets – that is almost impossible at this level; Secondly, Fedex seemed to have this great ability to evolve and dynamically change game-plans during the game.

At a young 25, his confidence, toughness and importantly, his tennis-intellect is extraordinary. I’m sure behind all these, there are tons and tons and hours and hours of practice and hard work; coupled with a steely mental determination. Sometimes I can’t make out if he is perfecting excellence or excelling in perfection. Maybe that’s an upwardly moving bar for him.

Case Study #2: Reinvention
There is one other young man, I am very impressed with. Dinesh Karthik. He was the wicket keeper of the Indian team, and then he had lost his slot to Dhoni. Seeing Dhoni perform, Karthik decided that it will be tough for him to come into the team as a keeper. So he decided to reinvent himself – he started concentrating on his batting and opened batting for his state and zonal team and made good enough scores to come into the team as reserve keeper. When he got a chance as a keeper in a tour match, he performed well with the bat; well enough for him to get into team in a 20/20 match and score runs that won him the man of the match. Then into the test team against RSA when Dhoni was injured – took his chances and into the Indian team as a pure batsman; there made a winning score to get the Man of the match one more time. The point I would like to highlight is this – there are many examples of how players have reinvented themselves as batsman. But in Karthik’s case there is another aspect that stands out, deserving italics :); Keepers, throughout their lives have stood behind and close to the stumps – hence they do not develop a strong throwing arm and cannot field in the deep. Karthik seems to have worked that one through and he is now acknowledged as an outstanding fielder either at close or in the deep; his fielding ability is talked about in the same breath as that of Yuvraj and Raina.

For a young man of 22, this is truly exceptional. He could have been a victim of circumstance. Instead, he chose to be a player – in his mind, there was no option, but to get back, even if he were to redo things completely. Including having the courage to relearn new skills. In that, he has made himself more versatile and hence increased his sustainability. I believe this has started with his mental outlook of refusing to be a victim and seeing possibilities, truly believing in his mind he can get there. And he has. Even if he never plays for India again, he has shown what the potential of a human mind is and how high it can scale and soar.

The Inspiration

As I was on my morning run, a streak occurred to me. I usually do stretches, walk a while and then jog 3 laps on the track. As I was on the first lap, thinking about the above two gentlemen, I wonder if I could push myself. I decided that tiredness would not be an option today; and I ended-up finishing 9 laps. At the end of it, I realized that I have a legitimate shot at, what I assumed to be an impossible physical activity for me – running the mini-marathon (7km) - I will run this year at the Bangalore event. I realize it is not just physical, its mental. I have been inspired. Thank you, Raja Federer and Dinesh Karthik.

Hers and Hiss !!

2007-01-25T09:18:00.000-08:00

Her View:

I have dreamed about this my life time – perhaps all women do. In another few minutes I will be marrying someone of my dreams; well, not exactly, but will do and importantly, I am glad that I’m marrying him. I had met him in a function at our workplace, about two years ago. He and I belonged to the group that had volunteered to organize the event for the company. This is where I had met him. Initially he seemed to be quite a nice guy; eventually, he just turned out to be nicer!! We are doing fairly well at job and his family seemed nice, with him being the lone-son. There was also some kind of excitement as I look forward to my life with him. In spite of all this, I still have butterflies in my stomach. I suppose, there is a certain amount of apprehension when one commits to something as big and as lifelong as marriage :-) … The past few days were hectic, with all the running around, invitations, shopping, fixing up stuff and so on. At the same time, the emotions over the past day were on a roller-coaster and sometimes were very confusing. There a just a few moment left; in a minute or two, I would be Mrs. Somebody... I wish I could walk to the groom’s room and talk to him one more time; and how I wish, I could peep into his room and see if he is going through a similar predicament…

His View:

I was going through a predicament. Just two minutes or so to go. Two years seems as if I’ve waited for this for a life time. I’m quite apprehensive and anxious. I look at the TV in the room. It was a CCTV showing the marriage pandal. I absent-mindedly look for the remote; perhaps I can switch channels and get rid of this tension. There is just so much anticipation here and I can hardly sit; there was excitement and lot of nervous energy; I pace around the room, look at my clock; perhaps very little time is left now! I wonder what the future would hold… as I pace around, I hear the beep of my mobile. and there is this text message from my friend: “2 passes with 19 & 14 yards. 1^st down at Mid-field and 22 seconds to go… AND Brady is intercepted!! Game over!!! Your Indianapolis Colts are in the Super Bowl”! Yessssss!!!!…. As my mother enters to call me into pandal, I stumble along there in a daze and in excitement. It is done, after 9 years in the league, Peyton Manning is finally in the Super Bowl !!!

Ps: Part of the story is true, since I was the one who sending the periodic text message; However, the groom and bride’s thoughts are a result of my imagination...

B-Road Rules!! (Ok, just guidelines)

2007-01-19T08:32:00.000-08:00

I had the opportunity to drive a car on Bangalore roads after a long break. Here are some advices, I doled out to all and sundry, in that surreal, half-hour experience:

Dear Mr.Hep Hariharan – That painted line on the road is not something meant to bisect your car in two halves, with amazing precision and stillness, with your wheels straddling on either side. That one divides the road into lanes.
Dear Mrs. Crouching Kamakshi (no Hidden Dragons) – Clutching the wheels, with an intense wo-maniacal look fixed at the bonnet and going at pace that has cycles overtaking you, is NOT the concept of safe-driving.
Dear Mr. Made-IT Madhavan – Glad you are going places in your job, do you have to do that on the roads too ? Remember, you have graduated to a car ? It is NOT a four-wheeled bike...
Dear Shri. Cleaner Kannan – If you insist that the truck would be on the right lane, why do you still flap your hands out of the left window? If you want to fly, should you not have clearance above your head?
Dear PYTty Pamela – Do you really have to be mobile and mobile stuck between your ears and your shoulder? “தலை சாaithu பார்த்தாயே, தடுமாறி போnaene” and had to screech to a halt...to AVOID the drifting you.
Dear Shri Auto Anna, are you fine saar? You are on the wrong side of the road and wrong direction on an one-way… But, please go ahead saar, I'll wait. Ella ok, rules yaake?
Dear 20-something Horny Harry – That 17-something on the pillion, that you are wearing as the shirt, may be the engine that’s spurs you greater heights and faster speeds; May I suggest that you perhaps ride, taking your eyes off the (adjusted) rear-view mirror? Its scary!!!
Dear Shri. Nervous Narayanan – Thank you for your presence – we are honoured!!! Can you please stop honking? NOW ??
Dear Shri Bus Basavaraju – I agree… Neevae Doddavaru. Please, swalpa down nodutheera? That speck that you look down on is a car. Swalpa brake saar... SAAAAR !!
Dear Edgy Engeetham – Like your niece says, Chill. Simply, drive maadi, stress yaake?

I reach my work in one piece, navigating 10km ride in about 45m, really relaxed and mentally refreshed, all set to take on work and on the world. Well, another ride, another chaos, another jam, another cacophony, struggling policeman, another pothole ... All's normal. Perfect driving conditions in Bengalooru.

The Red Planet

2007-01-13T00:22:00.000-08:00

(This was published in 3rd June 2007 Sunday edition of Deccan Herald. Online version is at:
http://www.deccanherald.com/Content/Jun32007/artic200706025321.asp
)

Reclined lazily on her side,
gazing at the verdant around,
Feeling the warmth seeping inside.
Suddenly, out of the blue,
come the armies slicing through
the silent calm, rushing to claim,
Her land, dark gold and gains.
Before she could shout, ‘Look out…”
trampling feet finds her mouth,
cutting her cry short.
That cry drowned in mindless and fury,
Instead, wells up in her eyes.
With their spoils, they have left in hurry,
The green in them and around in atrophy.
She tastes the blood salty,
From that deep wound,
and the scarring all around
that will take a long time to heal.
The blood and tears stifle,
The warm embers; The hope in her fades.
The ugly red spots in the crushed glades,
Mirrors mutilation, she has over eons seen.
She forgets yet another wracking pain,
gathers herself, tending to bloody liens
wonders, “Will I ever be green again?”

The First-Indians !

2007-01-07T02:27:00.000-08:00

Few days ago, a news-story on one of the premier English news channel caught my eye. The fact that I’m writing about it, does imply that there was something that I do not agree on ! :) - not that they care, but it has kind of become my favourite whipping horse.

Maybe I should start that Media-Watch blog !

Coming to the point here. The news item that got about 5 minutes of air-time in the news and several re-runs was about an Indian born, US emigrated Gujarati girl getting into the US Army. The news-story was title, the “first Indian Girl in the US army”. This is what gets my goat. I do think there is nothing Indian about that girl. She was with Indian origins – it was very very obvious and extremely crystal clear, that she has severed her links with anything India and Indian and has chosen to become a citizen of some other country. So where is the first “Indian” coming from? I find such links quite irritating. There seems to be awe with anything American that the news-channels seek with their eyes wide-open in some kind of childish wonder. That is really not Candy, folks!

I found the same with both Kalpana Chawla and Sunita Williams. They are not Indian citizens. They have nothing to do with India now – God bless them, they have made a different choice and that is clearly not India. I have no grief regarding their personal choices; the grief I have is how we continue to be proud of the Indian-ness that they have, in a way, rejected. So why do we hang on to that tenuous link and be proud? I recall the days, when there was a joke on the #cricket on the internet-relay-chat (IRC). If one could prove mother of one’s twice removed cousin of one’s father’s sister-in-law is English, then one could become an automatic eligibility to play cricket for England – this was during Hick’s time. These channels claim to such links also seem as absurd as those.

There are lots more of India in a few others who are in India who toil for India living in India. Can we highlight those, please? Can we be proud of such people, please? For example, there is one Mr.K.R.Datye, who has done pioneering work on Solar/Thermal units that is capable of producing heat up to a point, where it would extremely useful in our rural areas; how about the one on composites out of Bamboo, that has near-steel strength and that can bring down the cost of construction and thus an affordable housing?

Those are the real “First-Indians”, literally and figuratively speaking.

The Dreamers Clause

2006-12-30T01:51:00.000-08:00

Having just moved into Coimbatore from the hustle and bustle of Mumbai, I found the city and the newness reinvigorating. I was an associate professor at the Mechanics department of a well-known and reputed technology college at Mumbai. Having lived in Mumbai for the past 25 years and seeing our two boys grow and leave home to tend to their own dreams, quests and lives, my wife and I had sensed a restlessness that comes with the feeling of empty-nest syndrome. When I had got an opportunity to come back to my roots at Coimbatore to head the department at one of the new colleges, I gladly took it. I had moved in April, found the cosmopolitan nature of the city quite to my liking and the pace was much different compared to Mumbai. Also, the fact that we were in the new city, was refreshing and there was some unlearning and relearning involved in that; more than anything it kept us mentally engaged in the discovery process.

We had found a nice apartment that was in the quieter part of the town and settled down. As we settled down, we got to know people around. Over the past six months, there was one family that endeared itself to my wife and I. It was a family of a mother, her son and the daughter. The son was in the final year of the engineering, but in a different college from the one I taught in and the daughter was still in the 12^th. The lady of the house had lost her husband quite early and worked in a government position and had brought up her kids with a sense of decency and responsibility. We had liked the kids immediately; gradually, the kids – Dilip and Deepa started frequenting our home. There were lot of times when I came home and found Deepa helping out my wife. Dilip too had gotten familiar with me and called me “professor-uncle” and discussed with me on various topics. For us it was nice to have kids at home and we actually welcomed them into our house and kind of gave them unfettered access to our house. I found Dilip to be an extremely nice kid with simple tastes, wanting to keep his mother happy and wanting to do well. He was also a dreamer, who constantly dreamed and aspired to greater things. The only problem being, I found his efforts really did not commensurate his dreams; and he seemed to have set his boundaries around what he actually knew or what his circle of friends told him; to me there seemed to be a big gap between that and the reality out in the world. As Dilip came to me for advice, I came to know him better and deeper. It was not uncommon that Dilip would say that he had done his exams very well and end up getting around 60%, that too in a state where 80% and above was normal - I found out that he actually had done well for the questions he had attempted. For the rest, he always dismissed it with a wave of his hands and explain why the other portions weren’t important and how his seniors had told him that people who come in for in-campus interviews did not ask any questions around that and why it was important to know the portions he knew very well as they were key to a job! As a teacher and as someone who was well-versed with on-campus hiring, I found his point of view bordering absurdity; The fact that getting higher scores will get him above the baseline cut-off required for meeting the job-eligibility completely missed him. I tried to get this into him, but he had this disarming smile of a simpleton that was just impossible to get angry at him.

About 2-3 weeks ago, he had come home seeking some clarifications, just ahead of his semester exams. We got talking and he told me that he had been quite unlucky. After a bit more back and forth, I had found that he missed on an on-campus job interview. He just missed the eligibility by about a 2%. The cut-off was 65% and his aggregate was just below it. He continued that his friend who had gotten much lesser than him in the past two semesters had made it, while he missed out.

“I find it strange, how come?” I had asked him.
Dilip explained, “No, professor uncle, he had actually scored more than me in the earlier semesters; his aggregate is just over 65%. Now, he has gotten through the first two rounds and most likely will have a job by end of tomorrow”
After a pause, he added, “I am just plain unlucky”.
I had felt exasperation slowly build up in me. “Dilip, so what in your view is Luck?”
He was surprised at the question. Finally, after some thought he had said, “Uncle, it is about finding something by chance that one wasn’t expecting”
I helped him out, “So, it is about being in the right place at the right time and unexpectedly finding the opportunity”
He agreed, “Yes, yes”.
I continued, “Dilip, this is where you are wrong – it is not just about that – it is about being in the right place at the right time with right preparation”. I stressed on the “right-preparation” part one more time. “If you aren’t prepared well enough, there would be times when you would not see the opportunity, even if you are around at the right place and at the right time”.
I added lightly, “For all you know, the opportunity can come, stare at your face, tap you on your shoulder and then knock you over; and without the preparation, you will just get up, dust yourself and walk-on and let the opportunity slip-by. So, essentially, lucky people are those who had worked hard putting in the right preparation”

Dilip became thoughtful and slowly nodded his head. I had hoped that I had gotten to him.

That was several days ago. Today, I had no lectures and settled down at home to work on the research paper I was helping a PhD student with. Earlier in the morning, Dilip had come home to say bye to me and told me that he had his 7^th semester exam start today. I had wished him all the best and had hoped within me that he has prepared well. As I was immersed in the thesis, I heard Dilip’s voice – it was early evening and Dilip walked into my home-office.

I looked up at him enquiringly.
“Uncle I did my exams quite well – There were about 4 questions that I really knew well and I’m sure I would have max’ed it. I am quite contended about what I did”
I was glad, “I’m happy for you Dilip, so what do you expect?”
“I should get around 70%, uncle”.
I was surprised – I’d peg his score at 60% then. “But I thought you did very well…”, I trailed off, enquiringly.
“Yes uncle, I did very well on the 4 questions that I had answered. There were 3 other questions that I answered so-so. Those questions were from the syllabus I had not really prepared on – I heard those topics are un-important”
I was aghast.
Dilip concluded, “Just did not expect this; I was really unlucky, uncle”

Whats it all about ?

2006-12-21T10:42:00.000-08:00

Started on a whim, inspired by a colleague and a fellow blogger (I was no blogger then, just a simple fellow; in an other sense, I still am :) ), it has been an year. A year of writing, publicly. At anniversaries, its mandatory to look back with nostalgia and look ahead with great wisdom. So, there I vent. I wonder what defines my blog. 59 blogs later, is it about Stories ? Musings ? Pottery (Sue me, I cant spell ! And yes, I cant write - so sue me twice) ? Fillosofy ? Looking back at one year of scrawl, Sweetheart, sweetheart, whats it all about ?*

Thanks to the wordcloud from snapshirts.com, I don't have to crack my head over it. Here it is - this is what it has come up with after content-crawling..
Hmmmm.... In 19 years from now, where would I be ?**
---
Ps: The wordcloud, amazingly, did not come up with these two of fav topics - Hence my own mention of those explicitly as annotatory footnotes. I'm amazed that I've not writted about them as much as I thought I would have. Have I grown up ? Or have I grown older and Wiser ?
*: With allusions to Floyd and finding nothing to whine and mope about.
**: Quoting that Roman sentry in the Asterix adventure, in his second year of service in the army, looking forward to retiring after the mandatory 20 years.

Do Unto Others...

2006-12-02T08:17:00.000-08:00

Kannapiran was furious with his son. That was few months ago.

Kannapiran a.k.a “Kanal Pori” Kannan, was a mid-rung leader in the party and a MLA of the MSK ("Makkal Sevai Kazhagam") Government. At the time of the incident, he was away on southern districts tour, where he was tasked by his leader, Periaswamy, to use his oratorial skills to recruit members and rejuvenate the party at the grass-root level; which indicated that his star was rising within the party. His wife had called and informed him that his 16 year old son had gotten into trouble, where he and his friends had gotten drunk and ransacked a bar; the owner had filed a complaint with the police. Kannan had to rush back, say the normal “conspiracy of my political opponents” speech, worked the back-room, changed the FIR and got his son released and implicated some other harmless stand-by youngster. In equal measures, he had to use his power, waste away one of the quid-pro-quo’s and strong-arm a bit to get his son out. Kannan believed that he had gone down a couple of notch in the political game with his intra-party rival with whom he was jostling for eminence within the party. Which is why even after several weeks after the incident, Kannan still simmered thinking about the incident.

Kannan had come home earlier tonight, after a meeting with his leader who had praised his effort in the southern districts. He had gone to bed, happy. He heard some commotion that woke him up; and he saw the bedside clock show 2AM and his wife was not in the bed; he got out of the bed as he discerned someone crying loudly; he went downstairs to see that his daughter, disheveled and sprawled out on the sofa and his wife crying loudly over her. Soon he found out that his daughter had gone to a party with her friends, had something to drink and had couple of her classmates and seniors had tried to molest her; but they fled the scene as few men in the bar had challenged those boys. One of them was caught and was handed over to the police.

Kannan was enraged. He called a few people and found out which police station the boy was handed over to. He called his man-Friday (who doubled up as a body-guard and a few other roles) and drove down to the police station. As he charged into the Police Station, he countered the night-duty policeman literally sound asleep. He woke him up and demanded to see the youngster who was locked up – he had every intent to teach that boy a lesson through a sound thrashing.

The policeman stood up, saluted not-so-smartly and said,

“Saar, a few people came in earlier and took him home. We were told not to talk about it, since he was the son of the home minister in the central government”.

When its no longer a walking stick !

2006-11-19T03:03:00.000-08:00

As I was reading the news paper today, this picture and the caption "RISING TO THE OCCASION: India's Premlal Sharma won the pole vault gold in the 75+ category. — Photo: G.P. Sampath Kumar" caught my attention.

This was something humbling, intriguing and made me think. As one grows older, it is very plausible that one starts worrying and getting a bit paranoid about the small pains and such, imagining things that in hindsight borders between ignorance to stupidity. But for a few, it does not seem to matter at all. They just go about their lives doing what they love to do or like to do. For them, it seems it is not just important to “live” but to be also “alive”. They just seem to use the tools that are available to all, albeit a bit differently.

However, these very same tools have different perspectives in the eyes of holder – For most its a crutch, a walking stick that supports or a stick that deters; but only for a select few, it is a catalyst, a pole that vaults them to greater heights.

(Incidentally, Mr. Premlal Sharma cleared 2meters in pole-vault to win the Gold; and the URL is at:
http://www.hindu.com/2006/11/19/stories/2006111909081600.htm)

Law of Diminishing Returns

2006-11-11T22:23:00.000-08:00

Sometime ago, one of my colleagues explained the “Law of Diminishing Returns”. Nothing exemplifies that better than what is happening right now, on our electronic media, right in front of the bean-bags in my living room.

Few months ago, a Delhi court acquitted Manu Sharma, the alleged (got to be alleged, since he has been acquitted then) killer of Jessica Lall. The court, while passing the acquittal apparently had passed strictures on how the investigations were conducted – shabbily. The News channels picked up the stories and created more stories around it. As a normal, every-day person with every-day problems and in spite of those, I was appalled. I was shocked to an extent that I wanted to do something about it; including printing bumper-stickers. At some point in time, I believed that the TV channels merely reflected the thinking and sense of injustice that seemed to have prevailed amongst the people. A few people I had talked to had a sense of hurt (Sometimes I wonder, if the TV news is a reflection and outing what the common man feels, rather than being other way around as they seem to think – ie opinion makers with the common man).

Now with the Priyadarshini Mattoo’s case closed, and the fast-track cases being flavor of the day, Jessica Lall’s case is being reopened. From my perspective, great - finally someone is waking up. And then the madness has started – perpetuated by the TV channels, which seem to whip up some kind of popular opinion. Somehow, the news channels – both NDTV and CNN-IBN seem to have believe that the judgment should be obvious, signed, sealed and deliver Manu to the hangman. Then, ofcourse, follow up with one-hour program of whether Capital Punishment should go or stay; and bask in Two-minute-packaged-noodle-type problem-solution within “We the people” and “the Verdict”.

But suddenly things did not seem to go per their script. They did not seem to foresee the "problem" of Ram Jethmalini jumping into the fray to defend the accused. This is where their behaviour bordered on stupidity to complete prejudice. The way Ms.Sagarika Ghosh was questioning (a belligerent) Ram Jethmalini, insulted the average man’s intelligence of judicial system. I still cannot understand what her problem was – was it that Manu Sharma should be pronounced guilty without a trial? Was it that a lawyer-of-repute was defending the accused? Were they scared about RJ's reputation as a lawyer that they did not want to see him the court and the possibility that he could actually win the case for his client? By badgering RJ, did SG believe that they want to obviate the need for trial – was she implying that the judicial trials were immaterial and irrelevant ?

As I was watching the program, I was thinking – hello!!! What is your issue here? As you ask everyone to have trust in the media, do also propagate the value of trust in the judiciary too. If Manu is indeed guilty and there is unimpeachable evidence around that, the courts would definitely do their jobs. The belief here is, as media is important, so is the judicial system. Believing that their (Media's) integrity is few notches above that of Judiciary is megalomaniacal and egoistical. If the evidence is flimsy and the investigation was botched up, focus on that; so that, it could be corrected.

Trying to circumvent the system is not on. I trust the system to be strong and solid enough to withstand the intelligence of Jethmalini, eventually. Assuming anything else or assuming oneself to be the sole upholder of justice is going back to the vigilante system of justice and at best, benevolent dictatorship. At some point in time, these channels' value to this case will cease to a point of zero utility. In my own mind, I believe the media is losing out on a supporter. Hearing about the acquittal in February, I wrote the following:

http://hey-rambam-ling.blogspot.com/2006/02/gods-own-country.html

Now I'm writing about the law of diminishing returns. Soon, the Media would be doing more damage to the case than help. It would be that of vanished returns.

Ghosts !

2006-11-05T07:09:00.000-08:00

“Hahahaha” – his close friend had bellowed in laughter – all of the others in the group had joined in.

He had told his friend that he had seen a ghost. The word had gotten around and he was the object of derision amongst his friends and butt of jokes.

“What were you smoking?”
“Were you drunk?”
“That is why you should not fall asleep in middle of your work”
“Does he haunt you while you sleep?”
“I’m sure", sarcastically said another, "its legs were ... …”

So went all the ridicule and laughter. That was several moons ago. Today he had seen “IT” again. He had immediately called out his friends, who silently climbed up far-away trees to look for the demon that he had sworn to have seen. In spite of the disbelief, they just wanted to be sure that they were away from the demon, just in case. Sure, they were scared of the demons that they had heard about only in the stories.

He and his close friend hid behind a tree and set their sights on the solid oak tree that stood at the entrance to their gated community.

He suddenly was aware of rustle of leaves as his friends from atop the trees were fleeing. He heard his friend gasp ! His friend had held on to his hand and was pointing towards their object of attention, that seemed to have a bottle in its hand and weaving in towards them. That’s the last thing he could bear to see. In abject fear, he and his friend fled.

“Look !!! Just like in the stories – look at its feet. Its much unlike us – they are actually touching the ground…”,

he heard his friend say, as they flew back under the stones, where the skeletons lay.

One short!

2006-10-27T10:02:00.000-07:00

before random thoughts run out, here i go - slip in a slog and sweeping points:

Who else thinks that this champion trophy is more absorbing than any other set of ODi(ou)s before ? For a change, the batsmen are struggling to make runs. The chasing team has less than 200 to make and we aren't sure if they would. Makes me watch the match on the tube, even if 11 out of the billion blue isn't on the field.
If the pitches of this champion trophy is a pre-cursor to what is to come in the WC, good. I hear the pitches in Windies are slow and will aid the bowlers - good, very good.
Who else is shedding copious, patriotic tears when SRK (for a fat fee, ofcourse) yearns for India and Blah !! Seems he has carried his histrionic hangover from the "K*!^@%#" series right into this. With Mandira and SRK, sharing adjacent frames, I wonder if KaranJ has an idea for the next blackbuster. I'm going, wth - This isn't even "Indian" team, its the team from "BCCI"
One learning for me. Never go for a health-check just before Deepavali. The numbers from the check-up just dont add up to the tempatations of the taste-bud that emerges around this time. Now I've a resolution that I'll start behaving after all the sweets get over! A combination of cricket matches, sitting in front of TV, with a knowledge that there is a cache of loaded triglycerides at your hand's reach is not good. Not good at all. Writing these, I resolve harder - about getting by tongue to behave.
Heard Chappel's dressing down of the team; reminded of what I heard from my dad, when I was in the 8th standard. The team's performance dramatically improved against WI after that. India actually managed to cross 200.
Dravid ran himself out yet again. Whats with him - someone with such a cool thinking head, with sound brain and temperament, cant judge a run ?! Btw, did anyone else see Dravid's face while Agarkar bowled his standard a-wide-per-over overs at the death?
Chappel seems to have uncorked a genie that he is now finding it difficult to get it to go back in the bottle ("Symmo, no not you"). Seems to have compounded by loss of form by the Indian batsmen - all at once. Its bit painful to see at the same time, they have been hit by bereft-of-ideas disease; and sticking to 'we are one game away in rediscovering form'
I wish the motor-mouth Charu Sharma (a poor poor Harsha Bogle wannabe) and Mandira Bedi actually shut up and let Ian Chappel, Geoff Boycott and other experts speak. The comical and farcical aspect of the show get exacerbated with Sidhu's comments. Actually, in a morbid way, I listen to Sidhu with resigned fascination - you never know what he will come up with; its like I cannot make an omelette without breaking an egg.
Finally, not sure if any one's noticed - the ad breaks are much bearable. We dont go to an adbreak as soon as the batsman plays the last ball of an over and comeback, when we see the batsman follow-through after playing the first ball of the next over, with 7 ads packed in between - That technique is patented by DD, I guess

Whats with a list of 10 points to talk about - why is it top 10? Who is the one who talked about human beings, mediocrity and top-10?

Life - Could be short, could be fun !

2006-10-17T09:57:00.000-07:00

I got a rude rude shock this weekend. Shock of magnitude, as its said metaphorically, as if one is hit with several bolts of lightning. Around 6AM Saturday morning; I was asleep, but slowly waking up and in the kind of not very conscious mode. I got a call from someone I know – it was my friend’s (lets call him X) mom – I also know his mom fairly well. I knew that his dad was not keeping well and he has had severe problems. As soon as I heard X’s mom talking to me, I thought it was about X’s dad. As his mom was talking to me, I almost missed it the first time; nn the 2nd parse, I heard it correctly - it was not X’s dad, but it was X itself.

This X, a friend of mine for nearly 15years, who barely crossed 40, had a heart attack.

Apparently, the previous night at 7PM he had suffered a major heart attack; fortunately, his (doctor) mom told me that he had suffered it in the right ventricular part of the heart, where his artery was 90% blocked. His mother said if the attack was on the left side, it would have been much much serious, almost a goner. Fortunately, he was taken to the hospital on time, got the right medical attention and had an angioplasty done, sticking in a stent through him and removed the block. He is well.

A bit of background about him. He is a guy who is quite funny – he is a repository of jokes, funny stories about himself and people around him, anecdotes and past incidents. I suspect that some of the stories are imaginary. Since I’ve known him for many years, I’ve heard him repeat stories, with a different (real) personalities involved with different locales and settings – replete with inconsistencies with his previous version. When, I once pointed this out to him, he countered – whether I want to laugh or want to dwell in detail. I got the point. In a party or a crowd, one can easily locate him; just look for a largest group, where the most noise comes from and where the loudest laughter comes from – he probably would be in the center of the group, telling one of his story (albeit with a different person, I bet); due to this prowess, he once was named the "Goran" (the jungle story teller in the Phantom comics).

Such is this guy. This morning when I talked to his mom, she told me that he is fine and will be out of CCU and into general ward. Doctors have given him a schedule that he needs to maintain – it includes exercise (which he does not do), diet (which he does not care) and quit smoking (that he does not even try). His mom also told me that its better that we do not call him or visit him, since she wanted him to take rest and not talk much (which is kind of tough for him). I had heeded to her and refrained from either seeing him or talking to him.

Today, as I was returning from work, I had heard a familiar ring tone – from the movie Pulp Fiction, Misirlou - it was X. I had assumed that it was his brother using his phone; as I picked up the phone, I heard his booming voice on the other side… With that typical laughter, he set out to explain what happened between 7PM and 10Pm that day; including the masala’esque details and how he found the whole thing funny – ‘at 7PM, I was this close to death, but fully conscious, with a weight of 5000 kilos on my chest and by 10PM, I’m done – back to normal… My heart had stopped, they used the iron thing ... … Since I knew the Cardiologist, I asked him where did they pull you out from?...”

The Goran is back - with a great new plot for his future stories, all woven around his heart-attack and heart-arrest; I'm sure retold a several times over; and I'm very sure with a discerning but very interesting differences.

Back to normal, all is well. Life could be fun!!!

Dark Sides of the Moon

2006-10-03T04:31:00.000-07:00

Dark Side

I had many a simple dream…
...to feel the grass beneath my feet,
And for my dad to lead me across the street
I'd have taken root, me in his finger-hold
Root enough, someday I'd climb a hill
I was looking for warmth in mothers fold
Clinging to her, time I bide,
To end up as a count++ in female foeticide.

The Other side

I too, had many a dream…
But now, to live my life, I walk an uphill mile
I brave upstream to get to a smile
Living on with the half that makes hell mild,
I’m not as fortunate as you were, my child.
I live on, and on and on -
A count++ of suffering woman.
_____________________________________________________

ps: http://www.indiafemalefoeticide.org/
pps: saw an advert that triggered this