Gibberdom

How cool is that?!

2010-03-09T00:33:00.000-08:00

To buy cK underwear - how is that for an ambition??!!

Funny people

2009-05-26T02:57:00.000-07:00

You know who the funniest among the lot?
- The guy drunk silly trying to convince you, and probably himself, that his drunken state has not affected his judgement.
- The seasoned flirt casting his magic.
- The traffic conscious guy trying to cross the busy road without zebra crossing.
- Kids, in whatever they do.

They all are earnest in what they do. It is just that I have this seizure of giggle watching them.

Freaking Freezing

2009-05-12T05:26:00.000-07:00

Rain, Flood, Storm, Twister, Tornado, Hail, Snow, Bad hair day – name it and it is now in New Zealand. For the records, bad weather makes me crazier than normal. I tried this new mustache and I drew comparison with Hulk Hogan. P was laughing his head off at the comment till the dot under his lower lip that he deliberately leaves behind while shaving was described as ‘beauty spot’. Ha... Ha... Hulk Hogan was forgotten instantaneously.

Walking back from work, I thought the water level in the Viaduct Harbour has risen considerably. Is it real? May be I am just hallucinating as usual. For some reason, that reminded me that I cannot swim. I have spent all my life in the costal area and I cannot swim. I know that living in coastal area does not make swimming skills mandatory. The point is – I cannot swim. Damn.

Milord!

2009-05-04T08:18:00.000-07:00

Ages ago.
At the School.
Moral Science classes.
Was taught not to judge others.

Right now
At the work.
Performance appraisals.
Am asked to judge others.

Just wondering... Is my job immoral???

This world is weird.

Piece of brilliance found by the road

2009-05-02T22:30:00.000-07:00

"Laughter is the best medicine". Can there be a more incomplete statement? So incomplete that it is sometimes misleading. It is a relief that Cancer and AIDS patients are not prescribed laughter as cure to their disease.

Then you come across a statement that puts everything in place. Isn't it brilliant?

Some statements are so incomplete that you remember them for their sheer stupidity. Years ago I saw a poster naming some politician as the 'Leader of Tamil race'. I was like - What the heck. Where did this joker come from, who proclaims himself as my leader? By the way, when did Tamils become a race? But that is a different blog-worthy debate by itself.

Getting back to our topic, why would somebody volunteer to be my leader when I do not need one? The statement on the poster should have been more specific. It should have been more precise by naming him the leader of a bunch of idiots and losers.

Hmmm...

2009-04-30T04:33:00.000-07:00

You know what is the scariest of the scares?
It is sitting in the couch, alone in your apartment, watching some stupid sitcom, laughing so loud that you are scared by your own voice...

April Fool!

2009-04-01T02:03:00.000-07:00

Morning. Promised myself that I will finish off work and leave office on time today.

Looked at the watch while leaving office. 9 PM.

May be I April fooled myself.

It is not just April. It happens every month. Almost everyday.

This foolish life sucks. Damn.

Coincidence

2009-03-28T00:54:00.000-07:00

From apartment to Foodtown. From Foodtown back to apartment. I tailed this kid and her father. I didn't plan to, it just happened. Coincidence. That is the word. Coincidence. The kid was so chirpy and was swinging holding her dad's arm, it was kind of pleasant to watch. I was not stalking. Not them. I was stalking the TV presenter. That too only at Foodtown. Actually I was just curious to see how his funny mustache and beard looked like in real.

The other day I saw a couple of Smashproof's at Lim Chhour. It was P who recognized them. I didn't even though their Brother is the current NZ chart topper. Check out Gin in that song. Wow. What a voice she has got. When you have goose bump hearing a voice, you got to be impressed. I certainly am. These Roses is another sample.

What is fun?

2009-03-24T04:07:00.000-07:00

There was this group at the stadium. The Dhol guy was obviously its epicenter. He played his dhol, the group sung and danced to his tunes. They were visibly having a good time.

Security: Sir, you cannot play it here.

The group looked at each other. One of them volunteered to be the mouthpiece.

Mouthpiece: We are just having some fun...
Security: I appreciate that Sir. But, we should also allow others to watch the game and have a good time.

How can she be so naive? We want to have fun and we have fun. It ends there. The others better learn our style of fun. Or, they can go to hell. How can she expect us to think about others?

After an animated discussion among themselves, the group decided to move away. By that time, the whole section of the stadium was watching them. The dhol guy was convinced that he had gained a huge fan-following. He did not want to disappoint them. He played his dhol while moving away.

The group found themselves a new place. The dhol guy let his music flow. Security of that area approached them with the same set of expectations as the previous one. The group was quite agitated this time. They let loose a large amount of curses in Hindi and a few in English. The security guy presented them a saintly face. He made a great effort to show that his thoughts too were saintly.

The dhol guy realized that he should let the security know that he was not pleased. He said - "You got it? You got it? You got it?". He was repeating himself for a very long time. May be the quantity of booze he had consumed did not help him in remembering that he had already said what he was about to say.

This way, the band kept changing its location only to face a different security with the same set of demands. The group moved around all through the match in search of the right security who would see nothing wrong in their style of having fun. They were not very lucky that day.

What is fun if is fun for others too?

Green Country on the Green Day

2009-03-17T03:51:00.000-07:00

Saint Patrick's Day. Surprised to find that Green has so many shades. People were dressed in their greenest best. Green dress, green fake beard and green hat. I was reminded of the Pakistan Cricket team's stalker for obvious reasons.

May be people preferred Sprite to Coke, Dutch Heineken to Kiwi Tui, Subway to Mc Donald's on this day.

Green was everywhere. Even the showroom dummies wore green.

Garbage bins and bags were green.

On second thought, I think they were always green.

I remember my green laptop - Sheesha. There was this on-going gag that it belonged to martians. Sheesha would have felt happy on this day.

Me?

2009-03-16T04:44:00.001-07:00

Met R the other evening. He was walking with a distinct limp. Had the formal hi-how-do-you-do. Nodded at the customary “Are you still in your first job?”.
He then went on – “Hey, you know what? I did a big mistake man. You remember H? My boss received his resume and he asked for my opinion about H. I thought it was you and gave a, you know, glowing review. I said that he is among the best resources available”.
“Wow! Do you think so? Thanks man. H too is good at what he does”.
“He is. Why I am saying this is because I messed up with names and faces”.

What R said may be far from truth. It may be the greatest overstatement of the year. But, it feels wonderful to hear something like this about yourself.

R is recovering from a recent surgery. Get well soon buddy! By the way, were you on medication when we had that conversation?

On a totally unrelated note, the lime drink I got yesterday tastes like paint. I should stick to cola. I prefer antiseptic to paint.

Kiwi sense of humour

2009-03-10T04:31:00.000-07:00

Quite impressive :)

Samples:
The Crowd Goes Wild [Youtube],
Flight of the Concords [Youtube],
The Unauthorised History of New Zealand [Youtube],
Pulp Sport [Youtube].

Tale of two shoes

2009-03-09T04:05:00.000-07:00

Have you ever thought why you did certain thing the way you did it and not a certain other way? Well, I do it all the time. I got the boots alright. Why didn’t I notice that it is hard soled and it is so noisy that people turn around expecting to see a horse when I walk? I wear my headphones and pretend not hear anything.

I had in fact admired those noisy army boots when I was in NCC. That was like a million years ago during my under graduation. It was a short but horrible experience. I learnt a few things about myself before I was kicked out of NCC. I cannot shout even if it is to save my own life (I prefer to describe the situation as that of delicate vocal cord). I cannot walk straight, let alone marching.

I hope I had chosen a less-pointed pair of shoes. Scared people jumping out of my way, is all fine. But, why don’t I see many wearing pointed shoes? Is it true that they belong to the 80s fashion?

Air NewZealand

2008-11-24T03:16:00.000-08:00

Of the same theme... But, equally gripping.
Daughter
Husband
Son

Cute little songs...

2008-09-01T03:30:00.000-07:00

Some really cute albums on air… The Ting Tings. I am sure you will have a wide smile when you here their That’s Not My Name and Shut Up And Let Me Go.

And then this refreshingly naughty song by Katy Perry. I wouldn't be surprised if it is banned back at home :)

Information is everywhere...

2008-08-21T04:35:00.000-07:00

Subscribers roaming outside the country are charged extra for incoming SMS.

Damn.

We have been professing vigorously that the freaking networks of the foreign operators are sending multiple CDRs for Mobile Terminating SMS.

J: Extra charging happens only on Tariff Plan X. Charging is fine on Tariff Plan Y.

Bloody Hell. Why does God hate me so much? This may potentially mean that the problem is not with the networks but at our end. There you go. As though we don’t have enough problems already.

T: How do you say that?
J: Check this MSISDN XYZ. This guy is currently roaming in China and he is charged correctly for the SMS he receive. He has subscribed to Tariff Plan Y.

J was right. And there was no clue on why it was so. When you don’t find what you are looking for, you end up looking into what you generally are least interested in. T finds the name of subscriber... And Googles it...

Goodness gracious! It is the silver medalist at Beijing!!

So, that is how J gets his information about roaming subscribers.

Cool K

2008-08-19T06:15:00.000-07:00

K mailed the team - "I am off tomorrow. My son’s 21st. See you guys on Thursday".

Me: What does 21st mean?
K: Age.
Me: What? Is your son 21 years old??
K: No... He is 8, going 9. But he thinks that he is 21.

K is the kind of hulky guy you wouldn’t fancy in the rugby team playing against you. He had actually played professional rugby in UK and NZ. He says - “My body wouldn’t take any more toll and I switched to IT”. His biceps would easily be 2 - 3 times as mine. He then startles you by declaring - “I am the smaller one in the family”.

He coaches an under-20 rugby team in his free time. His favourite Monday morning quotes are:
“Weather was so horrible that we couldn’t practise”
“My boys lost... But my son‘s team won”

Me: Any plan for tomorrow?
K: I‘ll take my son to a movie.
Me: Decided on the movie?
K: Hmmm... Not yet. Is there any good one
Me: The Dark Knight.
K: What is that?
Me: The new Batman flick. Current top-grosser.
K: Is it certified PG?
T: It is rated M. Reviews say that it is very violent.
T is Mr. Read-all-reviews :)
Me: Then, how about Mama Mia?
The whole cubicle turned towards us and said “NO...” in unison.

K is fun. I am sure he is a cool dad.

Happy Birthday, Junior-K!!!

Getafix

2008-07-28T05:36:00.000-07:00

They are obsessed with Asterix characters. They named the project Getafix. And the testers were like - “There you go. Another defect. Get-a-fix”. The project went live and they found the mother of all defects. Probably they should have named it something like Gotafix or Alreadyfixed.

S cut his hair short. That makes me the sole hippie in the gang. Yoohoo!

My damned weekend

2008-07-27T03:27:00.000-07:00

The freaking MMS are not rated correctly. And I had to attend to that on Saturday. The whole North Island was locked inside their homes in the storm and there I was at the office trying to figure out why MMS was rated as WAP. So much for being on-call during weekends.

Dude, I am what you call the rating guy. I can try to fix problems if they are with rating. If the problem is at GGSN or MMSC, I am as helpless as you are. Get the networks guys to look into it, buddy.

Wow!!!

2008-07-07T03:46:00.000-07:00

Wow!
What a game it was!!
I was like one long roller-coaster ride. Never a dull moment.
Two top magicians casting magic at will.
At the end of the day, there is one winner, no matter how valiantly the other had fought.
Enchanting show, Rafael!
You have to return the tribute, Roger. Prepare for the next French Open.
What a game it was!!
Wow!

Fried Rice

2008-06-14T22:42:00.000-07:00

Surprise... Surprise... The waiter at the Korean restaurant did not understand what ‘Fried rice’ is. Was it the accent that he did not understand or was it ‘Fried rice’?

S got this ingenious idea. He searched through the menu. Found ’Fried Salmon with rice’. Pointed at the first and last words and said - This 'fried' and this 'rice'. The waiter nodded and left. He came back with Salmon.

Our guys were glad that S pointed at $12 ‘Fried Salmon with rice’ than any of the other more expensive dishes with ‘fried’ and ‘rice’ in their names. Guys had great fun at S's expense. Though S would desperately want to forget this 'Fried Rice' episode, I am sure our guys would never give him that option :P

Wishes!

2008-06-10T05:08:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday, Dad!

I have never wished you Happy Birthday. May be I will never. But, in this world wide wierd web, even I could pretend to be a good son and wish you Happy Birthday :)

Break

2008-06-07T21:45:00.000-07:00

I need a break. A long break. I desperately need one. If I don’t have a break soon, I will have a breakdown for sure.

Smiley :)

2008-04-10T03:05:00.000-07:00

I walk in the street...

See this...

And this...

I smile...

Smile grows wider...

Breaks into a giggle...

And the passers-by throw a doubtful look at me...

As if I am an asylum escapee...

Well, I think they are funny...

Aren't they?

Lazy me...

2008-03-06T22:02:00.001-08:00

My tenancy contract expires tomorrow and I haven’t yet found a place to move into. I didn’t even make an attempt to search for an apartment. I think I would end up on road this weekend. Damn.

My Visa label is at office, 15 minutes of walk from the client’s site. I haven’t got the Visa stuck on my Passport during the whole week. Damn. My insurance expired three weeks ago. I haven’t yet renewed it. Damn.

‘N’ says that some are good at some things while the others are good at other things and may be I am not good at getting things done. I am yet to find what I am good at. Actually, I am not sure if there is anything I am good at... But, I think I am not good at finding the thing I am good at.

If you happen to come across this guy, please keep away from him. He is the laziest, most irresponsible and most undependable person in the whole galaxy.

Damn.

DAMN.

Formal Friday

2008-03-02T22:01:00.000-08:00

February 29 - Formal Friday - The day I came to know that I do not have a decent formal wear and that I am living in Jeans and T-Shirts. I even thought of borrowing a jacket for the day from V. V is a person whom I am not able to picture in any costume other than formal suits. He wears suits day in and day out. All Sales Managers do so, don’t they? I wouldn’t be surprised if someone tells me that V goes to gym in his suits.

Rummaging through my wardrobe, I found a pair of pants about whose existence I had forgotten long back. Grey pants and black shirt. Though not exactly formal, it was not casual.

'A' and 'N' wore suit. 'A' later confessed that it was his marriage suit. 'P' wore 'T’s tie. A few even wore bowtie. 'C' was in his usual jeans and fluorescent T-Shirt.

I decided that I will lose some weight so that getting into the grey pants will not be as difficult as it was on Friday. But... I have made the same promise to myself a million times before. Damn.

Breather

2008-02-27T23:02:00.000-08:00

K: Hi Indra, How are you?
Me: I am good, thank you. How are you, K?
K: I can’t complain. Well, I can complain.. But, you can’t help me.

Smiles all around. A light moment. And then we stuck our heads back into the monitors for the rest of the day.

She is everywhere... Isn’t she?

2008-02-26T23:29:00.000-08:00

What is common between the God, Cockroach and Aishwarya Rai?
They are omnipresent.

Aishwarya at Queen Street Farmers showroom.

Car coming

2008-02-19T22:52:00.000-08:00

The ‘Car Coming’ signal starts beeping and blinking almost every time I walk along the car park of the apartment. And almost on every one of those occasions, I find no car moving around in the car park. Now, I don’t really believe that there are ghosts that are so bored that they would want to haunt a car park. A CAR PARK, of all the places. Why would any sane ghost haunt a car park? Have you ever heard about a crazy ghost? Well, I haven’t. Ghosts may haunt apartments. But never the car parks in the apartments. ‘P’ says that his apartment is haunted. I think I should blog about it sometime. But that is a different story. The point is - Ghosts in car park is out of the question.

The question on hand is - Why does the ‘Car Coming’ signal go off when I walk in the car park? May be the signal circuitry have gone gaga or I have started hallucinating again. When I am not in the car park, the signal beeps only when a car is around the corner. ‘A’ confirmed it.

What could be the reason? I guess the signal should be set to function based on some sort of sensor. The opening of the gate is not the trigger for the signal. I checked it. Is there some weight sensor on the floor that trigger the signal when cars move on them? May be. But why is it triggered when I walk over it? Am I as heavy as a car? Damn. Even the car sensor knows that I am overweight.

Jhoom Barabar Jhoom

2008-02-18T20:32:00.000-08:00

Watched this movie recently. Through the course of the movie, heard myself uttering ’What the ...’ in almost all tones known to humankind. And then, towards the end of the movie, I found it quite engaging. Did the movie actually got better in its later parts, or was it one of the quickest forms of evolution that I adapted myself to enjoy the movie?

Highlights of the movie:
- Amithab’s ridiculous costumes. Anyways, his hairstyle looked like mine :) All I have to do is stop colouring my hair and I will get his hair colour in the movie.
- Lara Dutta’s fake French accent. It was cute.
- The title song. It felt like the whole movie was constructed around that song. It kept popping up all through the movie.

I wonder how the movie fared at the box office.

Shorter Messaging Service

2007-08-23T23:25:00.000-07:00

Hae baby tz meh i knt txt u koz i gt no crdt..I wnt ta b wid u 2 baby i luv u baby i wna hld u tyt 2..Txt bk ta my fne..Buh i knt reply hw am i gnah gt hld ov u?Knt u ring my cel pwez?

Laughed at this SMS for days. Who the hell is that desperate soul?
For some reason this SMS reminded me of Kabir and Tulsidas’s dohas and Tiruvalluar’s kurals. Seems we have come a long way from the days when people used to write verses about God and goodness. I guess the current hot topic is ‘baby’.

Was that message actually from the sender to his/her ‘baby’? Or, was that a tease? I do not think somebody who grieves ‘koz i gt no crdt’ would spend 20 cents on SMSing a stranger. Looking back, I realize that I have somehow avoided on-the-face teases all my life. Well, except for the one time, long back, when those three whistling girls uncontrollably laughed at me. Other than that, I guess people prefer laughing behind my back. I think the credit should go to my just-out-of-asylum looks.

Ha haha ha haha ha haha ha haha Heart...

2007-04-20T00:04:00.000-07:00

Fidelity – by Regina Spektor
One of the cutest songs I have come across.
Why do I like this song so much?
Because it is sung in a childish, lazy, cool, laidback tone?
Because of the nice video?
Because of Regina Spektor’s cute toothy smile?
Because of the lyrics?

I hear in my mind all of these voices...
I hear in my mind all of these words...
I hear in my mind all of these music...
And it breaks my heart.

... like I hear the voices inside my head?
Well, the voices inside my head don’t break my heart. I adore them :)

This happened!

2007-04-13T00:37:00.000-07:00

It was the friend’s first overseas trip. He landed at Brussels airport. He got confused by the signs. He asked a guy about the way to taxi stand. The guy held the friend’s arm and walked him for a few minutes till they reached the taxi stand. The friend thanked the guy and guy left beaming with pride. The friend ran back to the place where they started. Reason – he had left his luggage there and he was too stunned to tell the guy that he had left his luggage behind.

P.S.: The luggage was where the friend had left it. He lived happily ever after.

The End.

Random rambles

2007-03-09T21:21:00.000-08:00

No landline extensions at workplace. Is it because the client doesn’t want to use the competitor’s service? I don’t know... Client is a big-shot mobile-operator. Competitor is also the largest landline-operator.

Most of the people here work on laptops. They come to the office, take a random seat, connect their laptop to LAN and start working. The best way to locate a person is to call him at his mobile and ask him where he is seated that day. To stand up and shout the person’s name will be a less polite but more cost-effective way. Then again, I don’t think that these people, who attire T-shirts like his, would consider it impolite.

It was last Saturday that I played tennis. But, my knees still remind me about it, particularly when I climb that 45 degree steep near the office. May be my legs are tired of carrying the overweight me all my life. May be I am getting old. I AM GETTING OLD. Damn. I should start thinking about my retirement plans.

Last week I cut the back of the middle finger of my left hand. I got injured (Well... Some may argue that it is too trivial to be called an injury. I am going to ignore them) in a way other than shaving mishaps after a very long time.
Lesson learnt: Don’t chop onions while watching TV.

A few days later I cut the inside of the index finger of my left hand. It is a cute cut. It looks very much like ‘haath ke lakeer’ (Is it ‘ke’ or ‘ka’ or ‘ki’. I still repent sleeping through my Hindi Grammar classes) when it doesn’t bleed. I find to difficult to locate the cut when I want to proudly display it to others. It stays hidden among the ridges in the finger. It is easier to locate it by dipping my finger in after-shave. I don’t carry after-shave to office. So, I have now made a mark around the cut. As it is located right on the joint of the finger, I think it would take its own time to heal.
Lesson learnt: Don’t wipe the sharp edges of the scissors with bare finger.
Trivia: Though the two cuts are in close vicinity in adjacent fingers, I am unable to touch one cut with the other.

It rained a bit yesterday. The streets of Auckland smell funny after rain. It is not the smell of soil. There is no soil within the city limits.

The lady at the bank explained me in length about on-line banking procedure. She started with explaining what user ID and password are and went on to explain how to login, click on hyperlinks to navigate through web pages, do transactions, etc. I had this strong urge to casually remind her that I have developed such pages. But then, it is a great pleasure to make others feel that they have made you understand the most complex thing the human beings have ever come across. Anyway, she said that my handwriting looks good. Those words are worth the boring lecture I listened to. I don’t remember the last person who said those words to me. May be, none have ever said that to me. When people look at my handwriting, they generally have this puzzled expression on their face. I think that I used to have the same expression on my face when I studied Statistical Mechanics. Some question me why my handwriting slants towards the wrong direction. But nobody said that my handwriting looks good. Wait a minute... She asked me to spell out what I had written (which I did, with the usual difficulty I have while reading my own handwriting). Oh my God. Was she really appreciating my handwriting? Oh my good God.

Hmmm...

2007-03-03T07:59:00.000-08:00

The day before yesterday I wished my rakhi-sister a happy birthday. She thanked me and reminded that her birthday is nowhere near. Well, memory has never been my strong point.

Yesterday we had a formal meeting with the country manager of our organization. After the meeting, I had a small chat with him. When I left the office, I had this odd feeling something was not right. Then I realized that I had addressed the NZ country manager as Stewart, and his name is Andrew. Stewart is the UK country manager. Andrew had introduced himself just an hour ago and the others had addressed him by his name during the whole meeting.

That is scary. Have I lost it all? The voice-inside-my-head has always said that I would one day end up in a mental asylum. I guess that day is not far away. Damn.

Slogging at the client’s office all day, returning late in the evening with head-ache, cooking the dinner, eating it, falling asleep watching the Late Night with David Letterman – I guess this routine is taking its toll on me.

I wanted today to be different. I woke up by noon. Cooked something with potatoes, green-peas, eggs and wheat bread. It was not repulsive. When S asked me what I cooked for lunch, I had no answer. What I cooked doesn’t have a name. As I couldn’t come up with a name, I ended up describing the recipe of what I made.

Shopped some groceries in the evening. Carried them for over a kilometer and a half. When I reached the apartment, I was glad that my hands were still in the places they are supposed to be. Then, played some tennis after over 10 years. It was horrible. I felt my legs very heavy. Most of the time I was wondering whether to move forward or backward. I realized that I have lost my decent serve and forehand. My backhand has gone worse. My tennis sucked a decade ago and it sucks big-time today. Some things never change.

Switching LAND

2007-02-19T20:27:00.000-08:00

Hong Kong to Auckland. Cathay Pacific. I should thank S of admin department for opting Indian vegetarian food for me. No Hindi movie in the onboard entertainment system. I watched the few episodes of Friends and Just for Laughs Gags repeatedly. It was nice to have a gentleman who laughs aloud, without any inhibition, at Just for Laughs Gags, seated next to me. He told me that I can find people who call themselves Kiwis all over New Zealand, but I need to visit the zoos if I want to see the actual Kiwis. He also recommended Kiwifruits.

Auckland. It is now the end of Summer here. They say that over a quarter of New Zealand’s population is in Auckland and that it is heavily populated. Heavily populated?? They must be joking. I guess they haven’t seen Madras or other Indian cities. If Auckland is heavily populated, Madras is heavierly populated.

I don’t know why, but I tend to compare the two ‘pardes’ – Netherlands and New Zealand at every possible point. Netherlands is a flat land. Auckland is bumpy, full of steeps and slopes. Auckland has new and modern looking buildings, while The Hague has a mixture of new and old buildings. Bicyclists are very rare in Auckland (Should be because of its bumpiness). Compared to Europe, fewer people smoke in Auckland (Thank God!). Public transportation service in Netherlands is much better compared to Auckland. Be it Netherlands or New Zealand, Indians are everywhere.

I couldn’t find my favourite cereals, fruit juices and hair gels here. TV channels available at the appartment are very few. No CNN and no BBC. Very few sitcoms and movies. The complete collections of Friends and Ally Mc Beal that I got from Netherlands are in Pondicherry. I didn’t even open those cute DVD boxs. I didn’t try out the functionalities of the new DVD Recorder properly. Shinoj laughs his head off whenever we stumble upon the topics of my DVD collections and DVD Recorder. And here I am, in workload that is neck-deep, in a technology I have very little knowledge about. Damn.

NetherLANDs... New ZeaLAND... AuckLAND... Too many lands, isn’t it?

Rasthe mein...

2007-02-05T16:14:00.000-08:00

Singapore. A Tamil Nadu outside Tamil Nadu!!?? Read a lot about it at Sayesha's bar. Changi Airport. As I had heard from colleagues, the airport does look great.

Voice-inside-my-head: "What on earth are you doing here in front of the computer??? Saw the free internet access spot and started blogging... Go around and see a bit of the airport before you take your connecting flight".

Next Destination - Hong Kong. There I would have just an hour and a half to board into the next flight.

Heard @ Cafeteria

2007-02-01T10:34:00.000-08:00

Cafeteria is where I get to hear all sorts of freaky tales.

Colleague1: “This happened during my early days with the organization. There was this guy, Veeru, seated next to me. We were good buddies. One morning I got a call at my extension. The caller asked for Veeru. It was well inside working hours and Veeru hadn’t turned up yet. I thought it was some manager looking for Veeru. Just to cover-up his absence, I said, “I don’t see Veeru in his seat now. He was here sometime ago. Probably he is at the restroom”. The voice said, “Abbe, how come you saw me sometime ago? I am still at home. I called you just to inform you that I would come to office a bit late today”. God! So much for trying to protect him”.

Colleague2: “Listen to this. Do you remember S, our old teammate? He once called me at my extension. I was a bit busy then. So, I told him, “I have a high fever. I have taken a day off today and am taking rest at home”. He heard me out, recommended some tablets, wished me a speedy recovery and disconnected the phone. He saw me at the Cafeteria during lunch that day. He demanded why I was in the office when I was ill and was on leave. I reminded him that it was at my extension that I told him the whole story about my leave. He went red all over his face when he realized the prank that I had played on him. I sensed that one more teasing word from me and he would happily beat me up. I always knew when to stop”.

Colleague3: Cafeteria was a lot better a few months ago. With the transparent roof and all, it was bright and brisk then. I don’t know why they blackened the roof.

Colleague2: “I know the reason. When the cafeteria was bright, our guys had this habit of finding weird stuffs in the lunch and made it a point to lodge complaints against the caterers. The caterers somehow got the roof blackened. Now they receive fewer complaints about the food they provide. It is a bloody scam”.

Colleague2 to Colleague3: “If you think that you take a lot of time to finish your lunch because you eat slowly, I am sorry to say that you are wrong. You actually take a lot of time to finish your lunch because you eat a lot”.

As I said, Cafeteria is where I get to hear all sorts of freaky tales.

Musical medicine

2007-01-16T10:09:00.000-08:00

Date: Today - 16 January, 2007
Time: 9:30PM, IST
Location: Ambattur Industrial Estate Bus Depot, Madras.
Context: I was looking at the muddy road as far as my impaired bespectacled eyes could see, wondering if I had missed the last bus to my place.

Voice-inside-my-head: “You know what, buddy? You dug a royal grave for yourself today. And you didn’t stop there. You lied in it and have started covering yourself with mud. You are as good as dead, dude”

The voice-inside-my-head has this habit of exaggerating things. One tough day, and the voice-inside-my-head forecasts Doomsday. I have been through tougher days.

I was listening to this song while traveling to my place. It is amazing how music can lighten up your mood at such an alarming pace.

Happy New Year!!!

2006-12-31T15:07:00.000-08:00

2007 just began. The sky is filled with spectacular fireworks. Most of the TV channels are telecasting music concerts. Is there a way to welcome the New Year better than welcoming it with good music and beautiful fireworks? TMF shows live pictures of a New Year party in ClubCam. Veronica shows a Robbie William concert. They showed live pictures from Amsterdam's Dam Square at mid night for a few minutes. I guess R and the guys are having a blast at Dam Square. Anouk is rocking hard in rtl5. She addresses the crowd in Dutch. Oh... She is from The Hague. I love her Tattoos. Net5 is telecasting some really wonderful concert songs. A huge crowd is counting down by the side of Thames in BBC. New Year begins an hour later there.

We wished each other Happy New Year. Chellax and Shinoj have gone for a walk. I am too tense to move around. I can see that the lane of Margarethaland is pretty alive. People from the blocks around are playing some great fireworks.

I was packing for most of the day. 'Wrestling' would be a more apt word to describe what I did. I think I would be paying money worth my ticket for the extra luggage I am carrying. That is, if I manage to check-in on time. I called up HTM and two other taxi services to book a cab by 4 AM. They all gave the same reply, "We don't take reservations for the New Year Day morning. Drivers are on vacation. Please give us a call an hour before your departure time. We will send a cab if a driver is available. But, we can't promise you anything. Sorry about that". Chauffeur Singh has given some hope. He said that he would send a 'Punjabi Ladka' to give me a ride to the airport in the early hours. I hope he keeps his word.

Wow! That was some firework they showed on BBC from the banks of the Thames. The Big Ben struck twelve and the London Eye glittered in the fantastic firework that followed. The spectacle went on for ten glorious minutes. Wow!

Happy 2007, folks!!! Let us continue to celebrate life in the new year.

Journey home!!!

2006-12-29T07:42:00.000-08:00

Last few days have been pretty hectic. Quite a bit of running around, calling people, saying goodbye, shopping... Shopping is one of the things I hate the most. And I hate the things I am not good at.

Visited Sun at Antwerpen. Thanks to him and his wife, Say-Yes-To-Rum, for the wonderful hospitality. Thank you, guys! You rock!! Oops... I guess I have made a mess of her ‘pleasant’ name. I hope she doesn’t mind.

It is time to return home. Home, sweet home! During my last trip, I was too eager to return back. This time around, I am surprised to find that I have mixed feelings. I am very glad to return. No doubt about that. But, I think I would miss Den Haag. Now, that is surprising, isn’t it? Since when did I become emotional?? Anyway, thanks to all the people who made my stay in Den Haag a pleasant one. Without them, my stay would not have been as pleasant as it actually was.

Here is a very important message to people in Madras and Pondicherry. If you find a weird creature roaming around the streets in the New Year, please do not jump into conclusion that the Delhiwala Apeman has traveled South or that the Aliens have finally got over their shyness. It is just me. No need to panic.

Wish you all a great 2007!!!

J and K

2006-12-20T08:00:00.000-08:00

The Holiday is one of the sweetest movies I have ever seen. I had this stupid grin on my face for the whole time I watched it. Thank goodness, they screen movies with lights off. Else, the people at the movie hall would have embarrassed no end to have a hopelessly emotional person among them. Everything in this world has got a primary reason and several secondary reasons. All the while I was under the impression that the primary reason for switching off the lights at movie halls was to enhance viewing.

It is what I would brand as ‘my type of movie’ – mushy to the hilt with no trace of melancholy. It has not just one or two sweet characters, but a bunch of them. Kate Winslet, Cameron Diaz, Jude Law, Jack Black, Eli Wallach, the two kids – all at their sweetest best. When I stepped out of the movie hall, I made a mental note, “The Holiday is a must to my DVD collection”. Boy! Do I have a crush over Kate Winslet or what? Come on... I got over teenage like a million years ago.

And then I watched Pretty Woman for the first time. Yeah. For the first time. Julia Roberts! Wow! The Goddess of toothy grins. I think that her smile is worth all those 20 million dollars that she charges for her movies.

Wanna watch and hear 'my type' of mushy song? Try this.

It is a Wonderful World!

2006-12-12T06:49:00.000-08:00

It was raining in the morning. I climbed down the stairs of the apartment house. The janitor was at work in the ground floor. He is a pleasant elderly gentleman.
He: “Goed Morgan”
Me: “Good Morning”
He then uttered a very long sentence in Dutch.
I made a sincere face and mouthed my customary statement proclaiming my ignorance about Dutch.
He: “Your umbrella. Be careful at the end of the block. The wind. Woooshhh...”
Good God! He cares about me. I instantaneously grew fond of him. I chatted with him for a couple of minutes about the five umbrellas that were broken by the wind.

I saw my bus at the traffic signal and I was quite far away from the bus stop. I started to run towards the bus stop. The bus went past me and stopped at the bus stop. People who were waiting at the bus stop got into the bus. I was still some 30 – 40 meters away from the bus stop. I had no chance whatsoever to reach the bus stop in time to catch the bus. I slowed down. Then I noticed that bus was not moving. The bus was stationary for longer than it was supposed to, in spite of the vehicles waiting behind it. The door was still open. I jogged to the bus. The driver welcomed me with a bright smile and an enthusiastic “Hi”.
Me: “Hi. Thanks for waiting”
He: “No problem. I saw you running”
Good God! He didn’t want to let me wait for 15 minutes just because I was late by a few seconds. I instantaneously grew fond of him.

I was waiting at the bus stop. The bus arrived. The people who were waiting for the bus formed a queue to enter the bus. The teenaged kid dropped out of the queue and offered his place to the elderly lady standing behind him. The lady smiled and said something to the kid in Dutch. She patted him on his back and let him board the bus first. She was smiling at the kid for a long time. He kept staring at the floor of the bus self-consciously. Good God! They care about each other though they were total strangers to each other. I instantaneously grew fond of them.

...and I think to myself, What a wonderful world. I love my life. I love the world around me. I love the people in it. I love everything. After all, it is a Wonderful World!

Prophesy

2006-12-11T06:30:00.000-08:00

Mark my words, people. Video gaming is here to stay. A glorious stay it would be. Xbox and PSP are to rock the world.

Video games may become the same to movies that the movies proved to be to theaters - Terminator.

Windy... Rainy...

2006-12-08T07:40:00.000-08:00

One moment it was there doing so galantly what it was supposed to do. The very next moment it was no more. One moment it was protecting me from the rain and hail. The next moment its spokes were violently twisted and broken by the wind. In a way, I was the reason for the gruesome end of the umbrella. I should have carefully adjusted its position when I turned 90 degrees at the traffic signal. Well, I have my reasons. My left sock was soaked and my foot was freezing and numb. I was too busy wondering how water got into the my left shoe [I later found out that it is developing a crack at the bottom]. A momentary lapse of concentration and the umbrella was deformed beyond recognition. Nature has got its own vicious ways of getting back at me. Damn.

That was my fourth umbrella that had literally gone by the wind this season. Anyway, life goes on. It had served its purpose so valiantly and it was time to move on. I stuck it to the nearest wastebin. A few more broken umbrellas were already dumped in that wastebin. Mass burial, I suppose. I would rather consider that the brave umbrella found its place among the other members of its own species that met with similar destiny, than using the cruel term – mass burial.

I was drenched, cold and tired by the time I reached office. By some errie coincidence, Zinda hoon main (from 3:15 mins) was playing on Sahana during my journey. A original track and two remixed versions - It was like listening to it on a loop at different beats and pace. When I finally reached office, I was like, “Wow! Zinda hoon main”.

The other morning it was quite windy and rainy and I had some tough decisions to make. Small or big umbrella? I chose the bigger one. Where should I get down – at the bus stop closer to office from where I have to walk across a stretch of open space, or at the stop slightly farther which has buildings along the way to office? I have already experienced how difficult it is to walk along that open space with an umbrella on a windy and rainy day. I even suspect that the wind could airlift me to the office if I am not overweight the way I am. So, I got down at the bus stop farther from the office. The buildings along the path were not as helpful as I had thought. The spokes of my bigger umbrella still got bent and I was soaked when I reached the office.

I still am not able to figure out which one is better against wind – smaller or bigger umbrella. Is the smaller one less effective because it is small and week? Or, is the bigger one more vulnerable because it has larger surface area for the wind to attack at and thereby to exert more pressure? My half-baked knowledge in Physics doesn’t help me to find the correct answer.

Recently I find myself drenched in rain very often. Then I get a running nose for an hour or two. I can sense the viruses conspiring a major strike against me. Haha... They don’t know that I have been through cold very recently and am currently immune to it. Those microscopic morons underestimate Inder’s immunity system. They don’t understand that they are actually strengthening my immunity by their frequent raids and that they have to wait for around a year to make any substantial effect on me.

My favorite thing about cold days is that, on these days I will be able to blow smoke. I absolutely love it. And then the voice-inside-my-head says, “You never had the guts to smoke cigarette and will never have, you loser. No wonder you amuse yourself with this petty-pleasure”.

P.S.: Late in that evening I learnt from BBC that a tornado attacked central London. Oops! That was close. I am right across the North Sea.

Unreasonable reason

2006-12-07T07:52:00.000-08:00

“Hey, You didn’t shave today...”
“Yeah”
“Any specific reason?”
“I am unable to shave”
“Why? What happened?”
“You know? I have started working out recently”
“That is good”
“I have started developing biceps”
“So...”
“Biceps prevent me from folding my arms when I try to shave”
“???”

What the hell...

Down the memory-less lane

2006-12-06T05:57:00.000-08:00

“Inder, what is your Employee Code?”
“10... Hmmm...” *God. What are the other four digits. It remember it has 1, 3 and 4. Either 3 or 4 occurs twice. But, what is the sequence?*
It was not the first time that my mind went blank on such occasions.
“Shall I mail you my code?”
“Sure”
I use my employee code almost everyday while logging into the intranet. It is like my fingers remember the code and not my brain. What the hell.

I was on my way to Pondicherry for the weekend. It was on one of my pre-mobile phone days. The practice then was – I reach Pondicherry, call my home, Dad or Bro would pick me up. Somewhere along the journey, I realized that I couldn’t remember my home telephone number. I concentrated hard to recollect it, but with no success. Luckily, Sun was travelling with me (It was Sun, wasn’t it? Damn my memory). I still remember his dazed face when I asked him what my phone number is (How do I remember this? This is not fair).

I know people who remember by heart the date of birth of their friends, their phone numbers, the year and occasion when specific movies were released, scores and statistics of cricketers and teams. They remember hundreds of numbers. I don’t remember the PIN of my ATM cards. I have a small set of standard passwords that I use, reuse and thereby overuse for all my online accounts. Some even say that they can remember the things that happened in their previous births. Here I am, finding it difficult to remember what my last dinner was.

I sincerely hope that I don’t get up one fine morning to face myself asking – “Main kaun hoon? Main kahaan hoon?”

Dhoomy weekend

2006-12-04T07:31:00.000-08:00

Flatmates went to the nearby gym to enquire about its facilities and timings. The lady at the reception explained them about the floor exercise and aerobic sessions, various machines available muscle building. She then went on to say, “And then we also have Pole-dancing classes. May be you guys won’t be interested in it”.

I didn’t expect Dhoom2 to be an Oscar nominee. I didn’t expect the director to give a sensible movie, certainly not after watching the promos showing Hrithik doing all those Supermanisque and Spidermanisque stunts. All I expected was what the star cast did the best – Hrithik to dance like magic, Aishwarya to look good and not to try to act, Abhishek to sulk, sulk and sulk more, Uday to goof around and Bipasha to just be in the movie. I must say that I got plentiful of what I expected.

With sculptured features and long hair, Hrithik looks like a Greek God. I should start hating him. He makes me ashamed of myself when I wear my sleeveless T-shirts at home. Damn. And boy, HE CAN DANCE.

What happened to Aishwarya? Did her closet suddenly shrunk alarmingly that she decided to cut-down on her wardrobe? Or, is she getting ready for Hollywood? I guess Bipasha’s situation is graver. May be her closet disappeared all of a sudden. Poor girls. But, they look absolutely stunning in the movie.

Mindless movies like Dhoom2 should be watched after safely locking your mind at home. I don’t have such problem as I don’t think that I have much of what is called mind.

Where is my Hubby?

2006-12-01T07:19:00.000-08:00

Hi Indhira,

It gives me immense pleasure in inviting you and your hubby to my marriage with A on the 8th of December.
Your presence is of great importance to us on this memorable day!

M

This is the content of a mail that I received today.

Me: “Wow! M is getting married! And he has remembered to invite me”
Voice-Inside-My-Head: “Seems there are a few people to acknowledge you existence. That is surprising”
Me: “Yippee!!! I am not friendless as I had feared”
Voice-Inside-My-Head: “He has invited you and your hubby”
Me: “Hubby? What hubby?? M knows that I don’t have a hubby. Even if I marry, I will not get a hubby. Instead, I will become a hubby. May be it is a bulk mail”
Voice-Inside-My-Head: “He has adressed you specifically”
Me: “May be he used the same template to invite all his friends”
Voice-Inside-My-Head: “Or may be he is just pulling your leg”
Me: “Come on. Don’t be ridiculous. Why should he pull my leg”
Voice-Inside-My-Head: “Remember, you don’t need a reason to pull one’s leg. May be he indirectly advises you to get married”
Me: “Before December 8? Where would I find a spouse in such a short notice?”
Voice-Inside-My-Head: “Google for it”

I googled for “Where is my hubby?”. Got 1,540,000 search results.

Voice-Inside-My-Head: “Your hubby is somewhere among those 1,540,000 results”
Me: “Damn. It is impossible to find the hubby from those 1,540,000 links before December 8. Thank God, I wouldn’t be in India on that day. Else, M would kick me away from the marriage hall if I turn up there without my hubby” *I think M meant spouse when he said hubby*

P.S.: M said that it was a mistake and that he noticed the ‘hubby’ part only after sending the mail.

Over the weekend

2006-11-30T07:17:00.000-08:00

Sandy boy dozed off for a few minutes while watching Casino Royale. Though he blamed jet lag, he didn’t seem to be much thrilled by the latest James Bond flick. Shinoj sensed scam. He said, “This is not a James Bond movie, buddy. This is a Triple X movie. I prefer my James Bond to be the way he has always been - cool, smooth and elegant. Not macho and rugged”. But still, he accepted that Casino Royale is a good action movie. I think he had a valid point. The rest of us liked the movie unconditionally.

It didn’t rain on Saturday. Three of us decided to play some cricket. The ground was empty except for the couple of kids playing with their dog. I guess the dog, being dutch, is not aware of the existence of the great game – Cricket, that can be played with tennis balls. May be he thinks that tennis balls can be used in just two ways – to play tennis or to play burry-burry. As he didn’t find a long net erected vertically on the ground and people on its either side with funny-looking netted-sticks in their hands, he decided that our tennis ball was meant for him to play burry-burry. He pounced on the tennis ball and ran away with it. The kids ran behind him to recover the ball. He effortlessly outran them and the kids were tired soon. He then dug a hole and burried the ball. He wasn’t happy with his effort. He took the ball back, dug a deeper grave and then burried it again. One of the kids switched to plan B. He took a stick and started playing throw-and-retrieve with the dog. When the dog was busy in this game, the kid dug the ball out and returned it to us. Smart kid. We waited for the kids to take the dog away and then started playing. By then, it had started getting dark rapidly. We managed to play for about ten minutes. When I failed to make contact with the ball bowled at ultra slow pace for a whole over, we decided that it was too dark to play.

Excerpts of Shaan’s concert in The Hague were shown in a local TV. It is always a treat to watch the ever-smiling-Shaan. He ended the ‘Main hoon Don’ song as ‘Main hoon Shaan’. Cute, isn’t it? Seems he has been working out lately. He flaunted his arms a bit.

Watched Water (at last). One of the memorable scenes in the movie is when the kid sees Lisa Ray for the first time and involuntarily utters ‘Pari’. Lisa Ray, for sure, looks like an angel in the movie. This is one of those movies that I wouldn’t wish to watch for the second time. Not that it is a bad movie. Infact it is very well made. The problem is with me. I generally don’t prefer tragedies. Particularly the well made ones. I find them difficult to forget.

Found out, to my own horror, that I am now unable to lock my hands behind my back. There goes my last bit of flexibility. I lost the ability to touch the ground without bending my knees long ago. I am afraid I will very soon end up moving around like a robot. Damn.

KANK revisited

2006-11-24T08:09:00.000-08:00

Well... well... well... Seems the whole country has taken sides on KANK. You either love it or loath it, but you are not able to ignore it. I guess that is the triumph of the director. Well done, Karan.

Stumbled upon these clips of this particular episode of ‘We the people’. Thanks to NDTV and Youtube. It is a wonderful episode.

Part – 1
Part – 2
Part – 3
Part – 4
Part – 5
Part – 6
Part – 7
Part – 8
Part – 9

At 1:07 minutes of Part – 7, Shahrukh says that he doesn’t think that Dev and Maya would have lived happily ever after. That is exactly what I think. KANK is not about helpless people. Dev and Maya are not forced to go out of their marriages. They in fact opt to do so on their own. In reality, most of us would consider ourselves lucky to have a spouse like Rishi or Rhea. But Dev and Maya are exceptions. Dev is cynical and bitter to the extent of self-destruction. Maya is a dreamer. They can’t live happy with the way their lives are. They run behind illusions. They are sad people. They prefer to be sad. And they will remain sad for ever.

Like said at the conclusion of the discussion, KANK is just a point of view - a wonderfully filmed one. I believe that KANK will be considered a milestone in the future. It is a honest movie. Like most honest things, this too may look bitter. But, that doesn’t mean that the subject of the movie is unrealistic. We never like reality laughing at our face. We, as individuals or as a society, never enjoy our drawbacks being discussed.

Damn. Way am I getting serious? That too, over a movie? May be that again is Karan’s victory. I am not able to ignore KANK as 'just another movie'.

The point is – I adore KANK. I watched it twice.

Do I look funny?

2006-11-22T04:30:00.000-08:00

We reached the Amsterdam Centraal Station. Got out of the door.
“Isn’t Amsterdam supposed to be pretty crowded? Beats me...”
Outside the door was IJ.
“Damn. We took the back entrance of the station. Nice way to begin the trip”

We re-entered the railway station and started walking towards the front entrance. This dude comes to me.
Dude: “Bangladeshi?”
* Voice-inside-my-head: “I told to shave off the beard” *
Me: “No”
Dude: “Srilankan?”
* Voice-inside-my-head: “This one is for your dark skin” *
Me: “No”
Dude: “Pakistani?”
* Voice-inside-my-head: “Beard again. Are you going to hear him list all the South East Asian countries?” *
Me: “No. Indian”
The dude then said in heavily accented Hindi, “I just got released from the prison. I don’t have enough money. Give me some”.
Well, that is what I understood with my scarce Hindi vocabulary.
* Voice-inside-my-head: “Wow! How the hell do you manage to attract these sort of people? Four more people are with you and the dude comes straight to you...” *
Me: “Sorry, I don’t carry money. I use card”
Dude: “An ATM is just around the corner”
* Voice-inside-my-head: “Now, that is called perseverance” *
Me: “Hmmm... I am in a hurry. I need to go”
I walked away without looking at him. I still don’t understand whether that prison thingy was to gain some sympathy or to threaten me.

At the tram stop in front of Centraal Station, we approached a group of ticket-checkers to find out how to go to Van Gogh Museum. A TC who was eager to practise his English gave us the details about the tram that would take us to the museum. Towards the end:
TC: “Two Euros per question. That makes six Euros”
We were like “WHAT???”.
Me: “I heard that the service is free on Sundays...”
TC: “Haha... That is a good one. I was just joking”

We were watching Van Gogh’s paintings in his museum. I was trying hard to find out why Van Gogh was extremely popular. A security guy comes to me.
Security guy [with an impish smile]: “Sir, you are not allowed to take more than two pictures”
Me [confused]: “First of all, I thought that taking pictures is totally banned inside the museum. Second of all, I didn’t take any picture”
Security guy [with a broad smile]: “I know, Sir. I was just joking”

Friends tell me that I look like a thug. If it is true that “you look the way you feel”, I have every reason to believe that I look stupid. But, do I look funny? Why would everyone want to joke with me?

Friend bought a replica of Almond Blossom for Eight Euros.
Me: “I guess you are really interested in paintings”
Friend: “Well, not really. When I go back, if my wife asks for account for the 10 Euros I have spent on the Entrance Ticket, I will show this to prove that I have been to Van Gogh Museum. And by the way, I love the container box they give with the copies of paintings”
I must admit that the triangular box, of the shape of elongated prism, was really cute.

‘Jog’te Raho

2006-11-17T05:45:00.000-08:00

Growth in any area is desirable, except in waistline. I think I would very soon outgrow my bathroom mirror. So alarming is the increase in my waistline. I have never ever been thin in my life. Though I prefer saying that I look healthy with enough flesh around bones, I must confess that I have always been on the chubbier side.

Then one fine day I thought, “What if my parents fail to recognize me when I go back? What if they doubt that I am someone else who had swallowed their darling son? What if they refuse to take me back? What if I am stranded at Madras Airport with nowhere to go?”. Those thoughts were powerful enough to prompt me to find out a way to reduce my waistline.

The most famous way to reduce weight is to cut down on the diet. My diet is already pretty sleek – Cereals for breakfast, a couple of cheese sandwiches for lunch, biscuits or cake in the evening and rice or parathas for dinner. I am sure I am not into gluttony. But still I manage to gain weight consistently. I will starve if I cut down on my current diet. I don’t fancy fainting at random places due to hunger. The belief that food consumption is directly proportional to one’s weight is not true. I have a few friends who gobble at anything edible, but still remain wire-thin.

That left me with the second most famous way to reduce weight – Exercise. I am no stranger to working out. I used to frequent the gym when I was in Madras. But, I used to keep away from treadmills and cycles, citing acute pain in my knees. Then I realized that the knee pain was imaginary and that I had envisaged the knee pain from the day I somewhere read an article stating that consistently heavy jogging or cycling wear down the knee joints.

Even at The Hague, I had had a short stint at the gym at Mariahoeve Sportcentrum, where I jogged and cycled. My waistline didn’t thin down as I had dreamt. Instead, the frequency and duration of my visits to the gym thinned down rapidly. Hence I dropped out. I decided to get back to jogging. Right at that period, Chellax joined us at our flat. He jogged around the neighbourhood pretty regularly. I decided to join him in his jogging routines.

When I started jogging, I found out that it is a lot tougher to jog in open space than on treadmills under roof. Outdoors have varying wind, steeps, slopes, other people, vehicles and most importantly, dogs. One evening, while jogging, I heard a dog barking. I ignored it. You know, I don’t wear my glasses while jogging. So, I concentrate more on watching the ground in front of me, to make sure that I don’t trip over something. I felt that the barking sound was rapidly approaching me. I looked around. I was startled to see a dog running ferociously towards me. Now, I am not very fond of dogs. I strongly doubt that the dogs, all of them, carry some serious grudge towards me. I have no idea why. May be I did something really really nasty to dogs in one of my previous births and they carry the hatred towards me for generations. I don’t know. But, the feeling is mutual. I believe that dogs are the secret agents of aliens.

This particular dog looked like the Arnold Schwarzenegger of the dog world – huge, heavily muscled and menacing. Why do we start thinking about totally unrelated things when we are in tight situations, instead of trying to figure out how to get out of the situation? My mind was flooded with too many questions.
Is this why I came to this foreign land – to be attacked by some random animal?
Aren’t the Dutch dogs supposed to be well behaved?
Does my insurance package cover animal attacks?
Can I sue the owner of the dog?

Worst of all, the voice-inside-my-head woke up. It started lecturing, “The dogs have always been bullying around us humans. What are they? Big bullying brutes. They haven’t even learnt to walk with two limbs after all these millenniums of evolutions. Most of them still have tails and they shamelessly roam around wagging them all the time. They haven’t yet learnt a second word after ‘Woff’. The only thing they can do, which you cannot is to move the ears. And they have slightly better jaws and teeth than yours. If he is the Arnold of the dog world, you are no less. You are... hmmm... well, you are the Inder of your world. You have no reason to be afraid of him. You have suffered enough because of dogs. This is the limit. You can’t take any more. This is payback time. Put an end to their barbarities. Be a man. Mard ban. What you do to this dog should make the whole species of dogs to be scared of you, forever. Even if you die in that process, your name will be etched in the history as the martyr who liberated against the atrocities of dogs. He is used to scared humans running away from him. Take him by surprise. Attack that brute. Run towards him. BITE HIM”.

Then I heard, “Stop. Don’t move”. I was glad to obey. The dog slowed down and slowly stopped barking at me. I thought that my instincts had overruled the voice-inside-my-head and commanded me to stop. But later I learnt that Chellax, who was jogging ahead of me, had said those words. Whatever... All is well that ends well. I was glad to return to our flat instead of getting admitted in some hospital with serious dog bites.

The story didn't end there. On the way, another dog barked at us. This time it was a cute little doggie of the size of a rabbit. I was surprised at the amount of noise that little thing was able to generate. Luckily it was chained and an old lady held it tight. I didn’t have the urge to assault that doggie. Mysterious, isn’t it? May be, I tend to fight only with my equals. May be I don’t believe in confronting the weaker ones. I would love to believe this. Hahahah... ;-)

Let me get back to our main story. I continued jogging even after that chilling experience. I didn’t see the Arnold of the dog world after that day. Even then, I slowed down and look around in full alertness whenever I passed the spot where he tried to ambush me.

I asked Chellax, “How do I know that I have jogged enough for the day?”.
He said, “When you sense a slight pain at around the area of your kidney, you shall assume that you have reached your breaking point”.
I was too shy to ask him where the kidneys are situated. So, I came up with my own method to find out when I reach my endurance level. When I jog, after a point, I start hearing my own heartbeat. The sound of my heartbeat slowly increases. By the time it becomes a thunderous noise, I start feeling as though my lungs could hold no more air and would burst any time. Then I know that it is time to stop.

I jogged for a couple of weeks. Then the Daylight Saving Time ended. These days it gets dark by the time I start from office. Also, the temperature is too low, wind is too strong and rain is too frequent to continue jogging. As a natural result, I stopped jogging. I watch myself gradually moving towards obesity. I sincerely hope that my parents recognize me when I go back. Nowadays, the sweetest of my dreams are the ones where I find, to my own delight, that my own pants are too wide to fit me.

1 to 3 and 3 to 1

2006-11-15T06:27:00.000-08:00

Down due to cold, I got to watch quite a bit of telecast of the action from Sony Ericsson Championship.

Justine Henin-Hardenne: Wow! Now this is what I call a killer backhand. Awesome. Thank God you didn’t overdo serve-and-volley, the way you did pathetically at the US Open. Why would you want to serve-and-volley at every chance when you have such lethal groundstrokes? Well, I won’t, if I was in your place. Anyway, you deserve the Numero Uno position.

Maria Sharapova: You do hit the tennis ball really hard these days. Did you by any chance learn the art of looking your enemy’s face in the tennis ball? Where have you gone, Serena? Come back in the same way you once used to rule the tennis courts. You would find your own reflection in Sharapova. By the way, Sharapova, you were clearly not at ease with sliced returns. Patch it up, girl. I tell you, when you have a chink in your armoury, none of these other girls is going to feel sorry to poke at it. Particularly, when your ultrasonic grunts irritate your opponents like hell.

Amelie Mauresmo: Your game is amazingly similar to that of Henin, just a tinge paler. Sharapova is consistent only recently and Henin usually takes injury time out for half the seasons. You still have chances to regain the throne.

Svetlana Kuznetsova: I apologise for considering you a one-time-wonder when you won the US Open in 2004. You didn’t do yourself any good by losing to Sania. But since then, I have seen you playing some amazing matches. Great going.

Nadia Petrova: It is so nice to see you having the scalps of higher ranked players pretty frequently these days. You know what? You look amazingly similar to a old friend of mine.

Kim Clijsters: You know that the Number One spot is well within your reach. Just get clean of your injury picking habits. And, I love the way you do splits on court. Simply awesome!

Martina Hingis: You will be one of my favourites forever. You don’t have the advantage of power or height or temperament. You used to behave like a spoilt brat on court. The Williams sisters literally blew your career away. But still, you have come back. And, what a comeback it has been! You still play more with brain than brawn. You have brought the sweetness of melodic tennis back to this hip-hop era of tennis. And mind you, there still are numerous fans for the melodious R&B. Though you are still as soft as you had been in your first stint, your shots are a lot more precise now. Your serves, though week, are sharper now. And you are more expressive on court. May be you will not be able to reach the throne which used to be yours long ago. But, you will always remain the much-loved breeze amidst the hurricanes.

Elena Dementieva: Oooh! Were you, by any chance, the winner of Claudia Schiffer look-alike contest?

‘Cold’ Ka Side Effect

2006-11-10T07:56:00.000-08:00

I love my life. I really do. Well, most of the times. The voice-inside-my-head often tries to convince me that I indeed am a dharthi-ka-bhoj, but I rarely heed to it. There are very few moments in my life when I feel like a scum. Like, when I meet an old friend after years and realize, to my own terror, that I have forgotten his name. When babies start crying at the top of their voices when I go near them. Whenever I have to stand by the side of some six-foot-two-inches guy. When I concede a game by serving four straight double-faults. When I forget my own telephone number. When I have to sing ‘Happy birthday to you’. I generally get away with it by giving a classy lip-sync, when the crowd is large. I run out of luck in smaller crowd. It is on those occasions that the world knows that I know neither the lyrics nor the rhythm of the most popular song in English.

And then, I feel like trash when I fell sick. Falling sick, unable to look after yourself, depending on others... Pathetic, isn't it? I certainly am not fond of being sick.

The temperature has drastically fallen during the last few days. It often rains and sometimes even hails. The sun hides behind the clouds for days together. With the kind of shabby history that I have with cold, I should have taken more precautions. Walking in drizzles, jogging in mist, taking chilled drinks – I did everything to invite cold. And cold did accept my invitation graciously.

I was at the flat, miserable with running nose and marathon sneezes.
Shinoj: Take Lemon Tea, yaar. Good for you...
Me: I just had some chilled Lemon Tea.
Shinoj: Chilled! Good for your viruses.

Jamie: Chew some raw peppers.
Me: And I will not be able to sense any other taste for the whole day.
Jamie: It is not that bad, Inder. The taste of pepper stays only for an hour or so.
Shinoj: It is the garlic whose stink stays all day.
Jamie: Yeah. An apple a day keeps the doctor away. Garlic a day keeps everybody away.

Chellax: And you have been running away from apples and oranges...
Me: But I take apple and orange juices.
Chellax: Those juices have artificial flavours, not the real fruits.
Me: Do you think oranges prevent cold?
Jamie: Yeah. Oranges have citric acid and citric acid does a lot of things.

When you are sick, anything and everything that you have done or not done all along your life shall be sited as the reason for your sickness. Sickness also brings a complete change to your routine life. No chilled juice, no heavy food, no bath, no jogging, no workout. Sleep, more sleep and plenty more sleep.

When my dad called, I had to take extra care not to sound sick. I hope he didn’t doubt my chirpier-than-usual tone. Who would want a light cold to scare the parents back home? A harmless lie is not a sin.

I had two options – Pyar Ka Side Effect and Water. John Abraham or Rahul Bose. I don’t mind any of them. Lisa Ray or Mallika. Both are gorgeous women. A realistic weepy movie or a light comedy. I chose the comedy and I was glad that I did so.

Then I read around half of Michael Crichton’s Prey. It is a nice science fiction. The author tries to scare you about a bizarre development of the combination of Nanotechnology, Genetics and Computer Science. It is good read. Hope I will be able to finish it during the weekend.

Aesthetically handicapped??!!

2006-11-07T07:19:00.000-08:00

Friend’s face was beaming with zeal. He was trying to explain the greatness of Vincent Van Gogh.

Friend: Vincent Van Gogh is the Bob Marley of painting.
Me: Really? Who is Bob Marley?
Friend: Bob Marley is the Babe Ruth of Reggae.
Me: Oh! Who is this Babe Ruth, by the way?
Friend: Babe Ruth is the Mohammed Ali of baseball.
Me: The Jinnah?
Friend: No. This Mohammed Ali is the Sir Don Bradman of Boxing.
Me: Is it? And, Sir Don Bradman is...
Friend: Grrr...
I ran away from that place before the friend could bite me. Anyway, it was a treat to watch the friend’s radiant face slowly turning into that of a rabies infected hound. It is always fun to flirt around the verge of others’ temper. You should just know when to stop, in order to come out of it unscathed sans bruises and broken bones.

The point is, I came to know that this Van Gogh guy was some hotshot painter and that with my current salary, I will have to work for a few centuries to save enough money to buy one of his paintings. So, I was more than happy to step into the Van Gogh Museum. The museum was pretty crowded, yet very silent. I couldn’t help remembering the level of noise that the handful of my classmates were able to make. The pace at which people moved from one painting to another, snails could easily beat them all. It seemed like the crowd would stand there staring at the paintings for ever. I was told that Van Gogh was not into sculptures. Else, I would have mistaken some of the visitors for statues in fancy dresses.

At the museum, I learnt that Van Gogh cut off a part of his own left earlobe. Shaving mishap? There are only three photographs of Van Gogh. At the age of 37, he shot himself twice in the chest and died two days later. Spooky. Midlife crisis, ehhh? He made some 900 paintings during the last 10 years of his life. So, on an average, he made 90 paintings an year. That means he made a new painting every four days. Holy crap!

The museum also has paintings and photographs by other artists. I remember two photographs among them. One was that of Gandhi, shot with camera just few minutes before he was shot with a pistol. In that photograph, Gandhi was walking along a small crowd, probably to his final destination, with a pretty peaceful expression on his face, totally unaware that he will shortly be shot by a man of his own country, the country for whose freedom he had struggled for some 30 years. A violent death for a person who believed in non-violence more than anything else.

The other photograph is a scene that we can see anywhere in the world. It is that of a pretty woman walking down a street. All the others in the photographs are males of various ages and every single one of them looks at the woman while she walks along completely unaware of the attention she was receiving. Cute photograph. I am sure Roy Orbison would have loved to have that photograph on his record cover.

I learnt a very important lesson in my visit to the museum – “I am blind to paintings”. I have nothing against paintings and painters. The problem is with me. I still am not able to figure out how great Monalisa is compared to the portrait of my grand mom, or any other portrait for that matter. My domain is different. I can relish music, poetry and literature. I can recognize a good piece of code when I see one. I can enjoy a few sports. I can differentiate good video games from the mediocre ones. But, paintings... Painting is not in my domain. Not yet.

Tanha Tanha...

2006-11-02T09:13:00.000-08:00

What am I doing here? What the heck am I doing to my life??

A friend used to say, “Nobody is an island”. I used to think, “Why not?”. I believe in the principle - “You have no right to bother others”. I try to respect others’ space as much as I love my own space. I am used to and even comfortable with the bheed-mein-bhi-tanha (alone-even-in-an-assemblage) mode. Sometimes I even doubt if I am a psychotic loner.

So, when I landed this country of windmills and dikes and tulips, I thought that it is going to be easy for me. Well, a loner wouldn’t and shouldn’t mind if he lives in Madras or in Mars. But then I realized I was wrong. So very wrong. I miss people – my people. Now I don’t know if I should rejoice or sulk at the realization that I am not a psychotic loner.

Things are pretty fine during the days, when work keeps me busy. To make myself busy after work, I have got myself addicted to sitcoms. The King Of Queens, The Nanny, Dharma and Greg and Will and Grace consume two solid hours of my week days. Then I talk to my flatmates about every nonsense on earth. I have heard my flatmates’ life histories at least thrice. The toughest part of the day is the few minutes after I lie on the bed and before I fell asleep. That is when the voice-inside-my-head shouts, “What are you doing here? What the heck are you doing to your life??”. Damn.

I have got the monthly pass for Pathe and my usual weekend program is to watch almost every movie screened at Pathe. Then I try to burry myself in books. These days I have lost interest in Sidney Sheldon’s mystery novels. May be I am too old and cynical to appreciate mysteries. Nowadays I prefer Sue Townsend’s eccentric comedies. My God! Am I turning into an eccentric?

I spend my days wishing a lot of things. I wish there is somebody with me to watch all the stupid sitcoms with me and laugh at all the stupid jokes. I wish there is somebody to threaten me with dire consequences if I sing. I wish there is someone to talk to when I cook dinner. I miss my office in Madras. I miss Pondicherry beach. I miss idlies. I miss panipuri. I miss my mom shouting at me for no reason.

God! Why am I blabbering? My salary here is a digit more than what I get back in Madras. My resume is getting heavier. I get to see different people and places. Above all, I’ll be back home soon.
I should be glad.
I am glad.
Am I not?
Am I?

Crap. I should get over my addiction to BSB’s Show me the meaning of being lonely and Shaan’s Tanha Dil before they make me crazy.

She still is a Godess

2006-11-01T08:48:00.000-08:00

Shreya Goshal may have made a mess of my favourite song (its original), in the pronunciation department. But still, she is a Godess :)

Operation Ponytail

2006-10-27T09:54:00.000-07:00

I did it, atlast. Combed my hair back, held them tight and fastened them with a band. Yoohoo!!! I am living my dreams. I have a ponytail. Well, not exactly a pony’s tail... May be a pony-ka-bachcha’s tail. Or, may be a pony that has just stepped out of a saloon after a tidy haircut. Some hair in the front couldn’t reach the band. They hang loose. The tail is so small that it looks more like a pigtail than a ponytail.

My head is now in the shape of an egg. A giant egg. If someday the elephants decide to lay eggs, they will look exactly like my head. By the way, these Dutch people call Elephant as Olyfont (oly as in holy) and they are crazy about elephants. Watch out for Zoop in India. They have even tried to recreate Bollywoodwala Jadoo. Hilarious attempt! Check out the popularity of Jadoo among the dutch kids.

Let me come back to our topic. The first day I wore ponytail to office, the response was rather confused.

Colleague: You metamorphosing into a Dutch or what?

Manager 1: Ennada aachu? Ponnu madhiri irukke... (What happened? You look like a girl).
I was in the state of shock for the rest of the day. Not that I have anything against women . It is just that I am used to being a male.

Manager 2: Hey Indra, look at you. You look good.
Me (selfconsciously): Hehe… Thanks.
Manager 2 (to Manager 1): Isn’t Indra’s hairstyle good?
Manager 1: No. I hate it.
Manager 2: Hmmm... I too don’t like it.
I was in the state of shock for the rest of that day too.

I didn’t shave for some days after that.
Manager 1: Ennada? Dhaadiya vettaliya? (What happened? You didn’t shave?)
Me: Girls don’t have beard. Even if they have, they don’t roam around without shaving.
For once the voice-inside-my-head appreciated me.

I know that the ponytailed me can’t look worser than how I normally look like. These days my hairline recedes alarmingly. I even doubt that my hairline is re-drawn every single day. A bit higher everyday. People say that growing long hair triggers hair fall. I don’t believe it. If it is true, most of the girls should be bald. They grow long hair. Well, I don’t know. i am not an expert. May be they are right. May be I will end up like Larry Finkelstein of Dharma and Greg by the time I grow a proper ponytail. But, that is not going to scare me out of my Operation Ponytail. If I become bald, I can always get a wig. I will buy myself a wig with ponytail.

PS: 'Kaike Paan Banaraswala', I am going to watch Don during the weekend. Mujhe Don dekhne se rokna mushkil hi nahin... Naamumkin bhi hai. HAHAHAHAHA (Aren’t Dons supposed to have a menacing laugh?).

Nightingale born in Bombay

2006-10-26T08:05:00.000-07:00

Do you think ‘Bombay’ Jayashree sounds serenely mature? Well, I do. I think her voice is more of sensibility than sensuality. I would call hers a no-nonsense voice. She has been a force to be reckoned with in the Carnatic arena for quite long. Then she decided to step into film music. And the rest, as they say, is history.

When I first noticed her voice in Narumugaye, I mistook it for Harini’s. Check out how close Madhubala (Madhoo) resembles Vyjayanthimala Bali. By the way, it was Aishwarya Rai’s debut movie.

Then came Vaseegara (Zara Zara in Hindi). This song was the rage of its time. Can songs alone carry a moderate movie to the super-hit state? Yes. Harris Jayaraj’s tunes did it for Minnale. And Vaseegara was in the driver’s seat. ‘Bombay’ Jayashree became an instant superstar.

Suttum Vizhi Sudare is a treat to watch and hear. Watch out for Surya’s (Sanjay Ramasamy!) red pants from 1:45 minutes. Hilarious! And then his T-Shirts! Seems he has been working out a bit. And I guess he didn’t want to conceal that fact.

‘Bombay’ Jayashree’s latest in her illustrious list of hits is Partha Mudha Naale. Kamalini Mukerjee! Isn’t she cute??!!

Maine Phir Dance Kiya – Saturday night

2006-10-25T08:55:00.000-07:00

We were at this party organized by and for the (South) Indians in Holland on the Diwali day. I don’t remember going to family functions/gatherings along with my parents. The few functions that I have managed to attend are predominantly my friends’ marriages. I stick to the tested format in those gatherings - go to the function, find your friends, stick to them, spend some time and bugger off. This way I can avoid situations where I have to attempt small talks with strangers. I hate small talks because I know very well that I am totally hopeless when it comes to socializing. After attending this party, I realized that I should stick to my old ways and refrain from experiments.

The pictionary they played sucked big time. I don’t understand why they play lotto in all their festival get-togethers. In between the events, a dude started explaining his school-day experiences. What he said was extremely shocking.

He said that he was not a bright student at schools and hence he used a pack of playing cards to remember lessons.
* Yeah. I heard it correct. A deck of playing cards. *
As he was fiddling with playing cards during classes, the teachers were very upset with him.
* Well, Naturally. The credibility of the teachers would be doubted if they are not upset by card-fiddling students. *
The school demanded him an explanation for his strange behaviour.
* Show me one school that demands an explanation from a primary school student for his lunatic behaviour. *
He called for a panel of mathematics teacher, geography teacher and a priest to present his explanation.
* Priest? Why on earth a priest?? *
The school accepted.
* Now, show me one school that agrees to form a panel of maths teacher, geography teacher and above all a priest just because a potential freak asked for it *
During the meeting with the panel, he demonstrated the Mathematics teacher how he used the deck of playing cards to study multiplication tables. He demonstrated the same to us.
* That was a crappy trick. It was like taking your hand around your head in order to touch your nose and ending up touching your eye. *
He demonstrated the Geography teacher how he used the numbered cards to remember Geography. 1 – One world, 2 – Two poles of earth. 3 – Three states of matter (What? Is that geography??) and so on.
* Oh my God! *
He then demonstrated the priest how he used the same cards to remember spirituality. 1 – One God, 2 – Dualism (Good and Evil), 3 – Trinity (the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit) and so on.
* Oh my holy son God!! *
The school was happy with his explanations and allowed him to use his cards in the classes.
* What the heck. Was the school happy with such moronic explanations? I want their license to be cancelled. *

That story could have easily found its way to Amar Chitra Katha or Pogo TV. But he said that it happened in his life. He should have spent his childhood watching too many B-grade children’s movies or reading too many children’s magazines or both. Some in the gathering even said that his experience was informative. I don’t know if they really meant it or said so just for the sake of courtesy. Informative? I certainly didn’t think so. I thought that he was either a greater freak than me or an ultra intellectual out of the scope of my feeble mind.

Soon most of the males in the group got drunk. I don’t know if they had actually planned to get drunk or if listening to the great card-story compelled them to get themselves drunk silly. They then did what drunken men generally do – dance. Tragically, they compelled us and made us dance with them. The kids danced along with their drunken dads. The wives sat there wondering if they have to drive their families back home after the party.

When it became dark, we had some fireworks. Just the sparklers. Not the noisy fire-crackers. We didn’t want to visit the jails of Holland by bursting fire-crackers. The highlight of the evening was the dinner. There were plenty of south Indian dishes to gobble upon. I had good Idlies after ages.

As in other gatherings, here too I faced the downside of remaining a bachelor. The sparklers were handed over to the kids. Their parents and grand parents held the sparklers. Women held the sparklers. Their husbands held the sparklers. But, nobody seemed to realize that the bachelors too would like to hold the sparklers. Very sad. These married people can be really insensitive at times. And then there were the usual comments:
“Come on bachelors. Dance”.
“Oh the bachelors. They shall take away the remaining food. Anyway we were going to throw them away...”.

Maine Dance Kiya – Friday night

2006-10-24T08:08:00.000-07:00

Company had organized a party on the night before Diwali. Met my old buddy, Sun in the party. He scared the hell out of me when he said that I have grown shorter. Grown shorter!!?? Now, how could one grow shorter? I was wondering what to say. The voice-inside-my-head suggested a few replies.
“Yeah. I forgot to wear my heels”.
“Damn. It is the Earth’s gravity. Gravity is scheming against me. It works on me so much that I have shrunk a bit”.
“Haha… Visual illusion, buddy. As I have gained quite some breadth and width, I look a bit shorter. Wait a few more years. I’ll look spherical”.

I pretended that I didn’t hear the voice-inside-my-head and stood there with a broad sheepish smile. I am already finding it tough to digest that my average Indian height is well below the average European height and here comes Sun saying that I have grown shorter. Oh my God!

I hate parties for one reason. It is in parties that I am forced to dance inspite of admitting that I have got two left legs. I guess people have fun watching me move clumsily around the dance floor. There were people who danced as bad as I did, if not more. But, they were drunk up to their nose. They had no idea what a visual pollution they were making. The RJ played some cool songs. One of the event assistants danced to the songs. Wow! She can dance. Though she was an European, she danced amazingly to Indian music. Sandy-boy was undoubtedly the best dancer in the group and the girl preferred dancing with him. I-24 made a valiant attempt to dance with her, but she didn’t even acknowledge his existence. Poor I-24.

We teased Sandy-boy that we would show his wife the pictures of him dancing with the girl. He ended up confessing to his wife about everything that happened at the party the moment he reached home.

Festival of Lights

2006-10-20T07:12:00.000-07:00

God said, “Let there be light”, on the first day of Creation. Understandable. It is tought to work in darkness. People wanted the same when Ram killed Ravan, his ten heads and ten pair of hands (man, that would have been an extremely tiring task). From then onwards, we have had our Diwalis.

My experiences with the Diwali days is sort of bittersweet. Sweet because Diwali meant new dresses and sweets. Bitter because Diwali is also synonymous to unbearable noise and my tolerance level to noise is pathetically low. There was a time when I believed that if I ever had a nervous breakdown, it would be on a Diwali day. I no more think the same way now. Not because my tolerance of noise has improved, but because nowadays I think that I can have a nervous breakdown anytime, no matter whether the surrounding is noisy or calm. And, Himesh Reshammiya is certainly not helping things. He continues to sing in that nasal tone of his.

I preferred the fire-works like flower-pots, chakkars, and its kind to the noisy crackers. And yeah, I loved my pistols with roll-crackers. After a certain age, my dad stopped adding pistols to our Diwali purchase lists. He never bothered to know if I wanted them or not. Very sad...

I generally gain a few kilos during Diwalis. Too much of delicious stuffs to gobble and too many stupid special programs to watch on TV. This is the second Diwali at a stretch, that I am away from home. Do I miss Diwali? Mmm... May be at bit. I may miss the festive atmosphere, but certainly not the noise.

This is something I wrote a few years ago to greet my friends on Diwali. Ha.. ha.. Not much improvement in my writing style. It had been amaturish and it still is.

Diwali comes just once in a year!!!

Burn crackers, tear a few eardrums,
Take your neighbors on a free trip to the hell.
‘cos, Diwali comes just once in a year,
and you have the rest of the year to express your goodwill.

Let the Calorie-meter scream at your fodder,
Add on a few more kgs.
‘cos, Diwali comes just once in a year,
and you have the rest of the year to lose the extra baggage.

Burn your paycheck along with the cracker,
Knock a few thousands off your wallet.
‘cos, Diwali comes just once in a year,
and you have the rest of the year to earn them back.

Don’t allow grief to come near,
Wear the mask of glee.
‘cos, Diwali comes just once in a year,
and you have the rest of the year to be dreary.

Happy Diwali!!!

Munbe Vaa

2006-10-19T08:36:00.000-07:00

I think Shreya Ghoshal is a Godess. Why am I still not able to get over her Munbe Vaa? The hangover this song gave me is pretty long and it still continues. I don’t know what makes the song so very soulful – Rahman’s composition or Shreya’s rendition. Anyway, I am sure they are not complaining about the outcome. Neither am I, for having such an extended hangover.

The song has a touch of Kerala flavour and is incredibly beautiful. I felt Naresh Iyer started his part of the song a bit shaky. But he catched up pretty well. I love listnening to the song in Sahana much more than watching it.

The same album of Sillunu Oru Kadal also has NewYork Nagarm. Woh! Rahman is evolving pretty well as a singer too.

Did I tell you that I think that Shreya is a Godess?

It’s raining water...

2006-10-16T08:06:00.000-07:00

It was a pleasant evening outside the office - chill, breezy, murky and drizzling. It was the perfect set up to test my latest brilliant theory – “You can walk through the rain, in between the rain drops, without getting wet, if you walk at the right pace”. I walked at different speeds to find the correct speed to win over the rain. But the drizzle seemed to get heavier when I made faster strides and lighter when I paced down. I stepped up and down my pace a few times. Everytime the drizzle seemed to respond accordingly by getting heavier and lighter. Was the nature playing some spooky game with me? Nature must be too jealous to let my brilliant theory to be successful. Damn.

I reached the bus stop just in time to see my bus leaving. Waiting time in between the buses was a quarter of an hour, the drizzle was at the brink of becoming rain and it was one of the few roofless bus stops in The Hague. That was enough to drag me into my favourite thought-topic – Is my life a consolidated version of all the Murphy’s laws? I was not able to conclude which one would make me less wet - Standing in the open which would allow more rain drops to fall on me, or standing under the tree which would mean that I become the target of lesser but larger water drops. I ended up doing what I always do when I am unable to pick a choice – grab a bit of all the options available. I walked back and forth between open and under the tree till my bus arrived five minutes late. The guy-at-the-bus-stop (who was aptly dressed for the occasion with long coat and cap) was staring at me all the time with a quizzical look.

Inside the bus, when I checked if the stuffs inside my bag had got wet, I found out that I had an umbrella. Damn. Do I have anything called memory? I hastily hid the umbrella so that the guy-at-the-bus-stop (who had boarded the bus with me) wouldn’t see it. I don’t fancy random guys jumping into conclusion that I am a freak. But, I couldn’t prevent the voice-inside-my-head from mocking at me, “What a loser”.

I got down at my stop and waited for the bus (and the guy-at-the-bus-stop, who was in the bus) to move away. After the bus went out of sight, I opened my umbrella and started walking towards the tram stop. The wind was so heavy that i found it tough to hold on to the umbrella. I was getting wet in spite of the umbrella. Walking towards the tram stop, I saw a tram halting at the stop. A man and a woman ran from opposite directions towards the tram stop. They were at the wrong side of the tram. The woman reached the tram stop first and waited for the man. When the man joined her, they both ran around the tram towards its entrances by crossing the tram line at points where they are not supposed to. Moments before they could reach the entrance, the doors closed and the tram left. I couldn’t help chuckling at the thought that if the woman had gone around the tram by the time she was waiting for the man and had kept the doors open, they could have taken that tram. Hahaha... Poor choice always yeilds poor result.

And then suddenly the truth dawned upon me. The tram that had just left was the one I was supposed to take. I was so engrossed by the man and the woman that I didn’t realize that it was my tram that they and eventually I missed. If I hadn’t bothered to open the umbrella, I wouldn’t have been struggling to keep my umbrella from flying away, and I could have easily reached the tram stop by the time the tram was there. Hmmm… Poor choice always yeilds poor result.

I reached the tram stop. The voice-inside-my-head was laughing at me so loudly that I was afraid that the others would hear it. The man and the woman who had missed the tram were in a giggling fit. They then went on a smooching spree. Damn. Why do people always get hyper romantic when they are around me? I stood there next to the smooching couple, embarrassed and shy, staring at my shoes. I thought that if that scene had been in an Indian movie, it would have been invariably followed by a song. My thought chain was broken by the peroxide blonde who was busy blowing rings of cigarette smoke at my direction. I couldn’t move away as it was raining. I sent a brief threat to the God that I would denounce Him if He dares to bless me with a Smokin’ Joe as my wife.

The next tram arrived after twenty minutes and I reached my flat tired, hungry, cold and drenched. Rainy days are back.

Faceless voices

2006-10-05T08:25:00.000-07:00

I grew up listening to the booming voice of Saroj Narayan Swamy via Aakash-Vaani. She used to tell the innocent me about what happens in the world. One moment she would scare the crap out of me by telling me that the world is a hell full of devils and scumbags. The next moment she would make me smile by saying that the world also has shades of the heaven and is populated by a few angels. I grew up amused, bemused and confused by listening to the things she said. Her’s is an amazing voice. It is a voice of awesome clarity. When she said something, you believed her every word. Such was the conviction in her voice. Hers is a genderless voice. Play her voice to anybody without revealing her name and the listener would be left wondering if the voice belongs to a male or female.

Another RJ I adore is Mirchi Suchi. At the stroke of 7 AM she starts with her trade mark ‘Helllllo Chennai’ and goes on to talk about anything and everything in the universe and beyond till 11 AM. Almost half the male population of Chennai has a crush on her and religiously listens to her every word. Unlike Saroj Narayan Swamy, Suchi’s face is pretty popular. Credit should go to her multi-talented personality. She is an award winning writer. And, she can sing. When she sung the peerless ‘Omahazeeyavaahiyaala vaahiyaala zeeyamehazaya’ in ‘Uyirin Uyire’, the whole Tamil Nadu went about its daily routines chanting those divine words. Aliens would have been happy to see humans talking their language. And then Tamil Nadu went on to sway to the tune of Suchi’s May Masam 98'il.

I wonder what the lady looks like, who tells me
1. to bugger off as all telephone lines in the route are busy,
2. that I have correctly dialed the wrong number,
3. that my friend has duped me by giving some random non-existing number,
4. about how late the train would reach the railway station.

I wonder what the people look like, who take the pain to call me to say
1. that his bank is hell-bent to give me a personal loan and I should happily accept it,
2. that I have made a grave mistake while choosing the telephone service provider and hence I should switch to his telecom service provider,
3. that they can help me to make calls to India at the rate of 9 cents per minute and I should avail their service even though I already call India at 5 cents per minute,
4. that there is an excellent opening in a multi-national company’s Bangalore office, which would make me richer,
5. that I should not think twice about getting the credit card that his bank offers me, even if it means that I have to buy a handbag just to carry my credit cards, as my purse could burst anytime.

I wonder what the girls look like, who dub for actresses like Simran, Asin, Jyothika, etc. The voices seem prettier than the pretty actresses.

There was this actor Mohan in Kollywood (I guess he is still around). He was fondly known as ‘Mike Mohan’ (not the Mac ‘Arre O Samba’ Mohan of Bollywood). Mohan became Mike Mohan because he held a mike and sung to it in every single movie of his. There are numerous beautiful memorable tamil movie songs filmed on him. I buy albums of A. R. Rahman and Harris Jayaray even without listening to the songs because of my confidence over those composers. Similarly, people used to buy albums of Mohan starrers. Call it destiny or mere coincidence, Ilaiyaraaja saved his best compositions for Mohan’s movies. Mohan’s voice in movies is equally popular. But, the irony is that nobody knows what Mohan’s real voice sounds like. What people heard as Mohan’s voice in movies was dubbed by a singer called Surender. If Ilaiyaraaja was the backbone of Mohan’s career, Surender was his vocal cord.

I would also like to give a face to the voice that often shouts in my head declaring that I am a total loser and I have no hope whatsoever. Though logic would support giving my face to the voice in my head, I would rather prefer to give it the face of Mogambo or Gabbar Singh.

Mission Triceps

2006-10-02T05:52:00.000-07:00

It had been there for many months. It is one of the many things in my room, which I have no idea why I have with me. I stumble upon it during my weekend vacuuming sessions, I dust it, put it back in its place and forget about it. I had comfortably restrained myself from looking at what is in it. But, last weekend I finally looked into its content.

It is a workout guide. It had illustrations of workouts to tone different parts of body. A particular workout caught my attention. It is the exercise to build triceps. I had always been fascinated by the words – biceps and triceps. They sound too cool to be body parts. They sound more like some tool like ‘forceps’ than a body part. I made a thorough search behind my upper arm only find that I have no triceps. That was a great disappointment. Sometimes disappointment can become a huge motivating factor. I said to myself, “If I don’t have them, no problem, I will develop them”. I thought that triceps would do a lot to enhance my gangster looks. I named my resolution as ‘Mission Triceps’.

With Mission Triceps in mind, I frantically worked-out as illustrated in the guide. Result – my arms are now 60% - 70% dysfunctional. Now I do even the simplest of actions like scratching my forehead with utmost difficulty. I feel like carrying heavy logs instead of hands. My arms remind me of their presence all the time with extreme pain. I say ‘Hi’ and ‘Bye’ with no arm movement. I try to avoid handshakes as much as possible. Despite all my precautions, I had to shakehands with this hyper enthusiastic guy. Boy, that was painful. I was really glad to see that my right hand was still in its place after that handshake. The tragic part was that I had to smile after that torturous handshake as I didn’t want to scare the crap out of that guy. Woah! I can act bigtime. I think I should nominate myself for Oscar in the Best Actor category.

I prefer fully functional arms to prominent triceps. That was more than enough to terminate my Mission Triceps.

Weekend in the kitchen

2006-09-25T08:08:00.000-07:00

The weekend was pretty fine. It was one of the rare weekends when I didn’t visit Pathe. We spent the Saturday in cooking a lot of stuffs and eating them all. We had invited V and his family to our place. R had promised to drop at our place to help us out in cooking. He had said that he could not cook even to save his own life. So, he had offered us the service of chopping vegetables.

By the time R arrived, we had finished cooking. But, he insisted that he had to do something. He proclaimed that he is an ace dish-washer and went on to wash the utensils used for cooking. He did it so well that we even thought of getting every utensil in our house washed by him. We changed our minds when he broke a glass. He offered to super-glue the glass pieces back to place. Super-glue the glass? What if the glass breaks again while we drink something out of it?? What if we end up swallowing the glass pieces??? We dropped the super-glue idea at that rather scary thought.

We got wonderful feedback about the food. V’s wife even asked for the recipe of our chicken-curry. She predicted that if we reveal our cooking prowess when we get married, our wives may make us cook meals for the rest of our lives. Though flattered, we were equally frightened.

We grilled fishes on Sunday. It was a stinky process. I was tempted to sing “Smelly fish, smelly fish”, in Phoebe’s style. I abandoned that thought for the sake of my flatmates’ well being. The fishes came out superb. Grilled fishs, potato chips and apple juice – they made a heavenly dinner.

True colors

2006-09-22T07:13:00.000-07:00

There are things that bring involuntary smile in your face. Dove’s ad for its real beauty campaign is one such. A real cute thing.

They have used Cyndi Lauper’s song True Colors [Music Video and Lyrics]. Very apt.

Cyndi is also known for her another highly popular song - Girls just wanna have fun [Music Video and Lyrics].

Company a.k.a Corporate

2006-09-21T06:24:00.000-07:00

September the 17th, 2001. What could be special about that day except that it was half a dozen days after a few crazy people tried to park planes over buildings? Well, it was very special to me. It was the day I finally stepped into my professional life after 7 years of college life. Yeah, 7 long years. My parents would have let me study for the rest of my life. Fortunately, that didn't happen. It was the day when I moved from dependent-on-parents to independent status.

It was the day when I joined my first (and the only, till date) company as a campus recruit. I was offered a job by the company in the mid 2000. Things were pretty fine then. But, 2001 witnessed an IT slowdown. A few of my classmates, who were recruited by various companies, got their offers deferred. Some even got them cancelled. And then 9/11 happened. The situation was pretty uncertain. But my company decided to stick on to the original offer.

I still remember the day well. My roommate gave me a lift for half the distance. I took an auto-rickshaw for the remaining distance and reached the office late. I was the last to report. I spent that day filling in numerous forms, signing furiously on dozens of agreements, listening to terms like Provident Fund, Medical Claim, Reimbursement, etc.

55 of us joined the company on that day. We decided to call ourselves “Freshfinders”. Today the Freshfinders are scattered across the globe. A lot of them have quit the company. September 17th this year was the fifth anniversary for the Freshfinders. For me and the few others who decided to stick to the company, it was the fifth anniversary of our association with the company.

The Freshfinders in Madras organized a get-together. The Freshfinder who organized it sent an invitation to all the other Freshfinders and copied the mail to some of the managers and directors of the company. One of the directors, along with congratulating us on the anniversary, replied that he would not be able to attend the gathering as he had another appointment. Coincidentally, there is a Freshfinder of the same name as this Director. One of the Freshfinders who is still with the company and currently located in UK went on to reply all with something like – “Don’t howl, buddy. And, don’t show-off as if you are too busy. By the way, regrets... I mean, congratulations to all those who are still stuck to the company”.

Hahah... Luckily that UK based Freshfinder was at his modest self and his choice of words was very mild to his standards. If he had been his normal self and had replied in his usual vocabulary, I am sure the Director would have had a heart-attack. The Freshfinder soon called-back the mail and requested the recipients to ignore his mail. :P

Coincidentally, the public transportation of The Hague decided to run for free on Sunday, September 17. A move to promote tourism, I guess. Buses, Trams, cycle-rickshaws, bicycles, boats were all free on that day. My flatmate (who himself is a Freshfinder) and I decided to celebrate the anniversary by watching Miami Vice. It was just another action movie. The best part of the movie was Colin Farrell’s mustache. It was really awesome. Am seriously contemplating about sporting it. ;)

Messy mornings

2006-09-15T08:27:00.000-07:00

Why is waking up in the morning so awful? I go through this painful experience five days a week. On week ends I wake up after noon. The sound that I hate the most is that of the alarm. Well, my own voice couldn’t receive this honour because my feeling towards it is beyond hatred and mankind is yet to give a name to that feeling.

The first thing I do when I wake up is - shut the alarm and sleep again. This is the period of the day when I get the strong doubt that I actually have two brains. One advises me to be good and get out of the bed. The other brain tells that the first brain is a moron and that a few more minutes of sleep would not bring the universe to come to a stand-still. Then the two brains start shouting at each other. I would blink in confusion for a few moments and then run away from the bed, unable to stand the noisy brains.

Almost every morning I realize that I lead a life filled with blunders. Take for instance this morning. Hair gel suffecient for a week long usage was in the container. But, my fingers wouldn’t reach the bottom of the container to get some. I may end up waiting for a lifetime if I turn the container upside down for the gel to come out. Why did I get that 500 ml jar of hair gel? I am sane enough to be realize that my fingers are no more going to get thinner and longer. Then, why didn’t I buy a smaller container with a wider mouth? By the way, why do they sell hair gel in milli-litres and not in milli-grams or grams? They sell tooth-paste in grams. And, both are gooey...

And then I tripped on the bump in front of my appartment. I trip on it almost every day. I don’t know when I am going to fall flat on my face. It is concrete floor and if I fall on it, the chances of me getting up fully intact are very thin. I think I do live dangerously. That makes mine a dangerous life full of blunders. Sigh.

Kill-Pimple

2006-09-13T05:48:00.000-07:00

I got a pimple on my lower lip. Well, not exactly on the lip, but so close that it looks like the pimple is on the lip. I had had a serious pimple problem during my teens. I had so many pimples on my face that I even came close to claiming the title ‘spotty’. For a few years, when I looked at the mirror, I was able to look at only pimples and not my face. I was almost about to forget how my face looks like and then slowly the pimple density reduced. From then onwards, I have occasional pimples on my face and not my face hidden behind pimples.

This particular pimple announced its arrival yesterday at the edge of my lower lip. As the pimple came after a very long gap, I sort of grew fond of it and even started adoring it. It was like meeting a close friend after a long time. An interesting fact is that an odd pimple even looks good on your face. But that is strictly till the white head shows up on the pimple. The moment the white head emerges, the pimple stops being cute and starts being disgusting.

The first thing I noticed when I looked at the mirror this morning was the white head on the pimple. So I went on to do the first thing I do when I see a white headed pimple – kill it by squeezing its white head out. Now this is one of the most painful things that you would do to yourself. Painful yet essential. It is an eye-watering job. Every time I come out of the bathroom after squeezing the white head off the pimple, people think that I had been weeping in the bathroom. Sigh.

I used to be a pro in killing the pimples during my ‘pimple’ful days. I used to kill pimples with single clinical squeezes. Today I found that I have lost touch. I ended up squeezing a wide area around the pimple before I finally managed to kill it. Result – a puffed lower lip.

If I had photographed my lower lip then and shown it to you, you would have identified it as Angelina Jolie’s or Boomika Chawla’s. Puffed lips could be emtremely embarrassing. People could easily mistake it for pouting. I covered my puffed lip while I travelled to the office. I didn’t want some random girl to think that I was making obscene gesture at her and slap me across my face.

If I say that random girls have never slapped me or even threatened to do so, my friends would take it as a confirmation of their doubt that I am a totally hopeless creature. But I am proud of this record of mine and I intend to keep it intact.

KANK again

2006-09-11T08:17:00.000-07:00

I asked the girl at the ticket counter of Pathe, “Two tickets to the Bollywood movie, please”.

There was no communication problem with the people at the ticket counter when I got the ticket for ‘Krrish’. May be it was because the movie name was pretty simple. It was not the case with KANK. The girl at the ticket counter looked at me as though I had said something in Martian lingo, when I uttered ‘Kabhi Alvidha Na Kehna’. To make clear that I was not making fun of her, I hurried to point at the poster of KANK. By the time my flatmates went to get the tickets, the girl had picked up the name of the movie a bit. She said, “Oh… Kabi…” and nodded in recognition. The people at Pathe identify Hindi movies much better by the name ‘Bollywood films’.

So, last Saturday, when we went to Pathe to watch ‘Lage Raho Munnabhai’, I asked the girl at the ticket counter of Pather, “Two tickets to the Bollywood movie, please”. She gave us the tickets with a bright smile. The smiles in our faces drained the moment we saw the tickets. They were for KANK. Lage Raho Munnabhai was not yet released in Pathe Scheveningen.

My flatmate found spending three and a half hours on a movie for the second time as too much and went back. I had actually planned to watch KANK again. I was pretty happy with the way things had turned out. I was surprised to see over half the hall filled even after around a month. My surprise was doubled when I saw that quite a few dutch people were prepared to watch the three-and-a-half-hours-long-movie-with-no-interval.

Needless to say, I loved watching KANK, for the second time.

‘I’ this… ‘I’ that…

2006-08-24T10:09:00.000-07:00

This is something that I do not prefer to – talking about myself. Reasons: I don’t think anybody would want to know about me in the first place. Secondly, I find nothing to tell about myself.

I literally go mute when someone asks me, “Tell about yourself”. The campus interviews invariably started on this note. I have seen people who would wear a mile long smile on their faces when they hear these words. They would start from their grand parents, cover all their friends, family members, relatives, pets, neighbours, enemies, favourite movie stars, sportspersons, crushes, subjects and lecturers they hate the most, what they had for breakfast, why they scolded the beggar kid who followed them for half a mile and end with what they were doing just before they entered the interview hall. Now, that is what I would call eloquence. When the interviewer uttered those all-important-words, I mumbled some random thing for less than a minute. The interviewer flashed a dejected is-that-all-you-have-done-in-your-life look at me. Luckily, I underwent that horrible experience just once.

Now I am to do what I am bad at. Chitra tagged me!!! I can’t believe someone would think about tagging me. Me! Of all those in the blogosphere, me! This also makes me do another thing I am not good at – writing about specified topics. Writing about random things is different. But, when I get topics to write about, I remember the nightmarish experiences that I went through in exams, struggling to answer the questions. Never mind. Let me try this.

I am thinking about: Nothing. Actually, I try to avoid thinking as much as possible. Thinking is sooooo tiring. One of my great asset is to stay quiet with blank mind for hours (ofcourse awake).

I said: “Don’t throw stones at the dog. It looks crazy”. As always, my friend didn’t listen to me. We were chased by the crazy dog till an anonymous braveheart took pity on us and drove it away.

I want to: win a Olympic gold. Watched by the whole world, acknowledging the cheer from the stadium, going on a victory lap, singing along the National Anthem with teary eyes – that is some dream. As the olympic committee doesn’t consider AOE, I should invent a new sport to make my dream come true.

I wish: everybody a good day.

I regret: giving 10 rupees to that begger. He went straight to the TASMAC store. He wasn’t a teeny weeny bit bothered about me standing there traumatized.

I hear: well. The problem is only with my eyes. My auditory system is pretty fine.

I am: I. Hahahah... Inder.

I dance: with 20 right legs. Hail Dharam paaji. To all those who think that they are Hrithik Roshans and Prabhu Devas: “Kutte, kameene, chunn-chunn ke maroonga”.

I sing: and that would be the end of the world.

I cry: when I chop onions and chillies and when my friend makes me listen to every single thing that happened to him that day.

I am not: an alien. At least, I believe I am not.

I am with my hands: a legspinner who can turn the ball consistently by 3 dergees, one who can type at the rate of 15 characters per minute provided I am allowed to look at the keyboard.

I write: crap, more crap, lot more crap and only crap.

I confuse: everyone who talks to me.

I need: help. And that too from a specialist shrink. That is what my mom thinks.

I tag: whoever don't mind to be tagged.

I eagerly searched for this. As I couldn’t find it, I add it to the list.

I see: not the dead, but who will be dead one day. Kya dialogue maara... Hahahah :P

60th day of its kind

2006-08-15T09:13:00.000-07:00

Along the pond near the bus stop, a mom was running behind her year old kid. The kid was amazingly swift for his/her age. I guess the kid keeps her on her toes all the time. That would explain the supreme fitness of the mom. Their dog was acting weird. He was busy barking and slapping at the pond water. May be, he was trying to fight his own reflection in the water.

We walked to the Indian Embassy. The embassy was pretty crowded. Around 150 people from all parts of India had assembled at there. They in a variety of Indian and western attires – Three piece suit, Business Formals, Business Casuals, Jeans and T-Shirt, Saree, Salwar Kameez, heavy winter-wear, Sherwaani, Kurta-Pazama. The weather was pleasant – damp and cloudy but no rain. The crowd was engaged in a chirpy murmur. Most of them were greeting familiar and unfamiliar people with wide smiles. An irritated kid was questioning his dad “What am I supposed to do?”. A bored lady was expressing her doubt to her friend “Am I wasting my time?”. Few kids were merrily running around crashing on the knees of those around them. I almost missed Mahendra Kapoor soulfully rendering his classic ‘Mere Desh Ki Dharti’ in the air. A couple of smartly dressed cops were watching the crowd with a lot of amazement.

Everybody assembled at the open space adjacent to the Embassy building. The Indian National Flag was hoisted. We sung ‘Jana Gana Mana’. There was a momentary competition on who would lead the gathering to chant ‘Barath Mata Ki Jay’ and ‘Vande Mataram’. The loudest won. The President of India’s address to the nation was read out. I got a hardcopy of it. I was surprised and proud to see the reference to the Thirukkural couplet – ‘Enniya enniyangu eithuvar, enniyar thinniyar agapperin’ (A person, who is wedded with the virtue of determination to accomplish a deed, would be able to execute the same and earn glory and fame) in Mr. Kalaam’s address to the nation.

At the end of his address, the President suggests a seven-point oath to the youth of India.

I realize I have to set a goal in my life. To achieve the goal, I will acquire the knowledge, I will work hard, and when the problem occurs, I have to defeat the problem and succeed.
As a youth of my nation, I will work and work with courage to achieve success in all my tasks and enjoy the success of others.
I shall always keep myself, my home, my surroundings, neighbourhood and environment clean and tidy.
I realize righteousness in the heart leads to beauty in the character, beauty in the character brings harmony in the home, harmony in the home leads to order in the nation and order in the nation leads to peace in the world.
I will lead an honest life free from all corruption and will set an example for others to adopt a righteous way of life.
I will light the lamp of knowledge in the nation and ensure that it remains lit forever.
I realize, whatever work I do if I do the best, I am contributing towards realizing the vision of developed India 2020.

They are the simple things that every citizen of the country should consider as his/her duty. Some of us may already be practicing them. But the effect would be visible only when every one of us follow them. Did I say that dreamer in Mr. Kalaam is one of those I respect the most? There is no reason why we shouldn’t do our parts to make his dreams to come true. Not for the sake of Mr. Kalaam, but for our own sake. Else, may very well end up like the dog that fights with its own reflection.

JAI HIND.

Kabhi Alvidha Na Kehna

2006-08-14T09:36:00.000-07:00

I loved it. It is three and a half hours long. So what? Three and a half hours long intense, gripping, dark, funny, flashy, emotional, bittersweet, potentially trend setting movie. Why should I complain when I get extra good minutes at the normal ticket price?

The movie has six wonderfully etched characters.

Dev Saran (Shahrukh Khan)
Dev Saran is neither the chocolate hero (Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge and many more) nor the evil villain (Baazigar, Darr, Anjaam) Shahrukh has performed earlier. Dev is a normal human. Well, not exactly normal. He is an eternally frustrated person. He becomes scornful when his flourishing career is crushed by his leg injury. His wife, Rhea, takes over the responsibility of the breadwinner of the family and she does extremely well in that role. We all know what a demon ones ego can be. He finds a fellow frustrated soul in Maya and ends up having an affair with her. Rhea throws him out of her life and house.

Rhea (Priety Zinta)
She supports her family after Dev’s accident. She puts up with Dev’s annoying sense of humour. She finds her marriage at the verge of failure and tries her best to save it. She feels letdown when she knows about Dev’s affair with Maya. She decides to part from him and raise their son all by herself. But, at last, she helps Dev and Maya to join in life. She is the rare bold woman who would do all within her reach to save her marriage but wouldn’t forgive her husband for his mistake.

Maya (Rani Mukerji)
I know a few characters like Maya. They are too idealistic for practical life. They could never be happy with their lives. Maya is the darkest character in the movie. She falls for Dev in spite of being aware that her husband, Rishi, adores her and Dev is self-destructive.

Rishi Talwar (Abhishek Bachchan)
He is undoubtedly the best character of the movie. He is the ideal husband any girl would dream about. Still he finds himself rejected by Maya. But, he accepts it graciously and moves forward in his life.

‘Sexy’ Sam (Amitabh Bachchan)
The flamboyant dad of Rishi. Amitabh gets a variety of roles to play nowadays and boy, HE ROCKS. His devil-may-care attitude fails to take him through his dear son’s crisis. When succumbs when he sees his son suffering for no fault of him.

Kamaljit Saran (Kiron Kher)
Dev’s mom. She accepts that her daughter-in-law did the right thing by splitting from her son.

Karan Johar is at his sensitive best. This is a story about four protagonists who are basically good at heart. They find themselves in what they fell as wrong marriages. They split and go for what they think as perfect match for them. Brilliant performance by his whole crew. Music is wonderful. ‘Mitwa’ and the theme song ‘Kabhi Alvidha Na Kehna’ are awesome.

I think that the solution suggested by Karan is the best when it comes to failure of marriages. The key is – ‘Go for what you want. If you try to sacrifice for the sake of others you would end up in spoiling everyone’s life’.

Should Rishi and Rhea have forgiven their spouses?
No. Dev and Maya do not want to live with their respective spouses wholeheartedly. They try to do it because they feel guilty of leaving them.

Should Rishi have gone back to Maya?
No. Rishi understands that Maya would never be his. He leaves Maya on her own. And he goes on to find someone for himself.

Would Dev and Maya live happily ever after?
I doubt. Dev is too egotistic. Maya is too idealistic. They may find that they can never be happy no matter who they are with.

What about Rhea?
She has just started enjoying being the mom to her son. She may one day decide to marry someone.

KANK runs full house in The Hague. I had to sit in the fourth row to watch it. My neck still hurts. It is different experience to watch an Indian movie with the crowd that does not shout/clap/whistle but laughs heartily at jokes and gasps noisily at sweet moments and groans noisily at bitter moments of the movie. The crowd let a collective gasp when Kajol appeared in a song. John Abraham received a louder gasp when he appeared in another song.

In short, I think that KANK is a wonderful movie.

Amoeba the Almighty

2006-08-11T08:24:00.000-07:00

It was love at first sight. The moment my biology master displayed the chart of Amoeba to the class, I saw cupid appearing from behind the chart and fire a few arrows at me. I never understood why we had biology sessions right after lunch. We all used to support our faces with our hands and look at the biology master through half open eyes. And the master used to call our names when he saw our eyes fully closed. Some of my classmates boasted that they could sleep with their eyes fully open. Damn, I never managed to learn that art.

My eyes opened wide looking at the picture of Amoeba. The master went on to describe its features. The first thing that struck me was its simplicity. It is unicellular. Can anyone be simpler than being unicellular? I fell in love head over heels with that miraculous organism.

Biology practical classes were nightmarish to me. We had to draw various plants and animals in our record note. My master and I had totally different views on what I drew in my record note. When I drew garden lizard, he said that he didn’t remember asking the class to draw dinosaur. He said that my hydra looked more like a banana tree. But, when I showed him my amoeba, he could say nothing against it. For the first time, he agreed that I had drawn what I was supposed to. Yippee. My love towards Amoeba grew manifold.

Amoeba doesn’t have any particular shape and they can take any form. Now, isn’t that cool? If they have no definite shape, there cannot be Amoebae with potbelly or large–nose or skinny leg or bulging biceps. In other words, the same Amoeba can have potbelly or large–nose or skinny leg or bulging biceps, if it wishes so. Amoeba is neither pretty nor ugly. Or, it can become pretty or ugly, as it wishes. Wow!

Amoeba is not a villain figure like bacteria or virus. In fact, Amoeba eats bacteria. Isn’t the one who kills villains considered a hero? Amoeba is certainly heroic.

Amoeba multiplies by binary fission. So, there is no concept of parenthood in the world of Amoebae. An Amoeba splits to produce a brother/sister Amoeba. So, all Amoebae are brothers or sisters. Aren’t these dudes amazing? Also, the first ever Amoeba should be still alive. Or, the first ever Amoeba is still in every existing Amoeba. Wow! I love Amoebae.

Rakhi hai!!!

2006-08-08T09:15:00.000-07:00

Raksha Bandhan is not as popular in South India as it is in the North. I don’t know why. May be, the south Indian men didn’t like being reminded by their sisters about their duties. May be, they were not too pleased about the idea of buying gifts for their sisters every year. Or, may be, the south Indian women thought that they don’t need their brothers to protect them. I really don’t know.

I too have a Rakhi sister. Only one. When she tied me Rakhi for the first time, I was like, “Wow. At least somebody thinks that I am worthy enough to be considered her brother. I have accomplished my duty in this world and I am blessed”. My mom was like, “Oh my God. Have I given birth to a skirt chaser?” I guess it is natural for any mom to doubt her son’s dignity if his classmate drops in one fine day to tie him Rakhi. My mom has got her own set of rules. She wouldn’t even allow me to refer girls younger than me as ‘Aval’ (Tamil word for ‘she’ with less respect. Elders are allowed to refer younger girls as ‘Aval’). If I say, “Come on, mom. She is my classmate and she is younger than me”, she would coolly reply, “There are certain etiquette to be followed while talking to or about women, Indu. Never use words like ‘Aval’ or ‘Adhu’ (it) while referring to a girl, even if she is younger than you are. Refer her by her name”. I can understand the ban on the word ‘Adhu’. But, why not use ‘Aval’? I never understand my mom’s etiquettes.

My Rakhi sister has a normal name with abnormal spelling. Well, it is common in Pondicherry. If you were not alert, the French literate registrars would record your newly born child’s name with bizarre spelling. Take for example, the name Gangadharan. It is spelt Keingadarane in Pondicherry. Lord Shiva would be terrorized if he comes to know about this mess made to one of his names. He may even contemplate about releasing Ganga from his head.

My Rakhi sister is the coolest. We went through campus selection program during our last year in college. For this particular company, we got through the preliminary test on aptitude. Being one of the top scorers in the preliminary test, she faced the technical and HR interview earlier than the rest of us. She then got bored of the slow proceedings and went home. The rest of us faced the interview and the results were announced late in the night. She was selected. We woke her up from deep sleep. Too much of adrenaline due to anxiety kept us awake and she was sleeping peacefully. She came back to the college sleepy eyed to sign her offer letter. We both joined that company and are still with that company.

Much later I found out that she is the cousin of one of my schoolmate. A small world this indeed is. She was among the tallest in our class. She stands a good inch taller than me. The shorter guys of our class found her height a bit intimidating. Her parents found her a really tall guy to marry. She has got a wonderful sense of humor. She is always with loads of stories to tell.

Needless to say, I am proud of my Rakhi sister. My Rakhi sister rocks!

Not just another day

2006-08-04T08:44:00.000-07:00

“It was just another day” I would always tell myself. Just because I was born on that particular date, doesn’t make it special. Indian government is not going to declare it a holiday. Archies is not going to print and circulate greeting cards in the market for that day. Half the population is not going to go crazy on that day like they do on Valentine’s Day. And the rest of the population is not going to cry foul saying that celebrating that day squashes Indian culture. It was just another day.

Parents called me and wished me happy birthday. I said, “Ha ha… It is just another day”.

Little brother messaged me happy birthday. I replied, “Ha ha… It is just another day”.

My flat mates didn’t wish me happy birthday. Well, they didn’t know that it was my birthday. I cannot run around shouting that it is my birthday. I told myself, “It is just another day”.

My colleagues didn’t wish me happy birthday. Well, they didn’t know that it was my birthday. I cannot run around shouting that it is my birthday. I told myself, “It is just another day”.

My inbox had only the usual official mails. There was no mail with the subject ‘Happy Birthday’. My friends hadn’t wished me happy birthday. Hmmm… Aren’t they supposed to greet me on my birthday? I told myself, “Even then, it is just another day”.

The day passed. Why did it pass slower than the other days? I screamed at myself, “IT IS JUST ANOTHER FREAKING DAY”.

Why did I refresh my inbox more often than usual? Why did I have that empty feeling when I found that there were no mails from friends? Why did I repeatedly check if my mobile was charged and received signals? I asked myself, “Is it not just another day?”

Somebody in the Gmail group triggered a contentious topic. We all took sides and ferociously defended our sides. I was very much in the debate. Most importantly, I was almost singled out to defend my side and I was WINNING. I built an impenetrable castle around my side of debate and successfully shattered every one else’s defense. It was like I was standing right amongst my friends and yet those idiots didn’t remember that it was my birthday. What the hell. Isn’t it your duty to remember your friends’ birthdays? I told myself, “It doesn’t seem to be just another day”.

I felt like slightly modifying the ‘Mere khwabon ka’ song from Jism and sing as:
Mere pahachaan ka anek shakhs
Isi duniya mein hai.
Main bhi zinda hoon
Zara unko batha dein koii

It was almost the end of the day. A friend at US sent a mail saying “Happy Birthday, Indu”. Aah… Finally.

Then the mails flowed. Some blamed their own poor memory. Some said they had remembered about my birthday a few days ago but somehow forgot it on the all-important day. Some even complained that I should have reminded them of my birthday. Come on, buddy. I don’t run around singing “Happy birthday to me”. Whatever, It certainly was not just another day.

Real men don’t...

2006-08-03T08:20:00.000-07:00

Bavaria campaigned for its beer based on the concept ‘real men’. It said that the real men, apart from doing and not doing certain things, drank Bavaria beer. Bavaria’s promotional clip was quite good.

During promotional campaigns, the promoters target the cinema hall goers. We too got few gifts at Pathe. A flat mate got an Axe click (the Ben Affleckwala mechanical counter). We got a couple of packs of Ice Age 2 playing cards. And, for this particular Bavaria campaign, we got some T-shirts with cool captions. The captions are:

Real men don’t wear tie
I wear tie for my monthly application status meetings. It is fine on cooler days. But, wearing tie is a pain in summer. My flat mates wear tie to office everyday. Poor guys.

Real men don’t shave
I guess Abhishek Bachchan religiously follows this motto. Haha… Shaving is something I hate the most. I hate it because I am scared of it. I end up cutting my face while shaving.

Real men don’t dance
I too think so. Hail Dharam paaji and Sunny paaji. I believe that legs are meant to be used to run away from mad street dogs, to open doors when your hands are full with grocery bags and to kick hmmm… football. But, dancing… Ewww.

Main sportsman banna chahta hoon !!!

2006-08-01T07:59:00.000-07:00

Confession time. I am no athlete anymore. I have long ago evolved into the state where I prefer watching my favourite sports on TV to playing them in person. I am no gymnast. It has been years since I touched the floor without bending my knees. Stamina has gone extinct in me. If I run, by the beginning of third minute I could feel that my heartbeat makes a deafening noise and I start suspecting that froth would come out of my mouth and my heart would slip out via my mouth. I love my cola, chips and ice creams.

Even at schools and colleges, I was not much into sports. I used to play cricket. Predominantly tennis ball cricket. I realized that three stumps made too large a target to cover with the thin cricket bat. So I decided to make use of my discovery - to become a bowler and evade the thin defense to hit the large target. Then I found that I couldn’t generate much pace with the ball. I called myself a spinner. I decided to become a leg spinner when I found that bowling off-spin is quite painful for fingers. When I bowled my leg-spinners, the batsmen were sometimes surprised when the ball actually spun. They were surprised like hell when the ball spun like an off-break on a few occasions. Well, I too was equally surprised. I then started calling myself a leg-spinner with a lot of varieties. If you ask my friends, they would tell you that I was a bloody chucker. Please ignore them.

I hated fielding. Well, I was no Jonty Rhodes. I have this strong suspicion that I have invisible holes in my hands. Somehow I kept dropping the catches that came my way. My captain even started placing another fielder right next to me. The batsmen would look at me with a lot of hope and my team would look at me with distrust when the ball was hit in my direction. My team used to go on wild celebration on the few occasions when I somehow managed to hold on to the catches.

I played tennis for a brief period. I used to lose to everybody in the club. I never showed partiality in that matter. Be it a kid half my height and a third of my age or be it a senior citizen who was seriously thinking about getting a wheel chair for himself. I made them all winners.

Recently I got back to sports. Well, I should keep the alarming increase in my weight under control, shouldn’t I? In this process, I tried out some sports for the first time in my life.

I don’t trust the skating board. I am not ready to break my bones or scratch my skin. I said to myself that I am into losing some weight and skating would not serve that purpose. I am not into adventures.

Then there is volleyball. I think I need to practice a bit to get my fingering correct to get the overhand pass without slapping the ball and making a hell lot of noise in that process. Also the underarm pass is a bit painful.

I think football would serve my purpose just perfect. I get to run miles and kick the hell out of that damned ball. It is fun along with good workout. I found that my left leg isn’t very keen to obey my commands. Ha ha. I will teach my left leg a lesson or two. I should practice kicking with my left foot.

I love badminton. I think I have a flair for this sport. I see that a lot of others couldn’t play backhanded. Yippee! I can pretty well play backhand shots. May be it is because of my tennis experience. My flatmate said that he once dislocated his arm while playing badminton. What the hell. Badminton should be played like badminton, buddy. Not like boxing. Did I say I love badminton?

Subah Shaam Sahana

2006-07-26T09:52:00.000-07:00

These days, Sahana has become one of my better companions. She is not a companion who would annoy me no end by babbling things about which I don’t give a damn. She is also not the one who would doze off the moment she boards a tram or bus. She sings for me any song I wish to listen to. May be, she would make me deaf in due course. May be one day she would lead me straight into an approaching vehicle while I am totally absorbed in her music. But, that is not going to discourage me from considering her a great companion.

If you haven’t yet guessed who Sahana is, she is my mp3 player. Today I named her Sahana :)

Here are songs (in no particular order) I listen to frequently these days.

Pal pal hai bhaari from Swades
Another gem from A. R. Rahman. Javed Akhtar sparkles at “Mann se Ravan jo nikaale, Ram uske mann mein hai”. This sentence never fails to gives me goose bumps even now, when I hear it for the hundredth time. Beautifully sung by Madhushree. It is a Ram-leela kind of song. I was a bit taken aback when I heard the song for the first time. It is a heavily classical song with nowtanki-style interludes. Odd combination. But, like most of Rahman’s songs, it grew in me and I started loving it.

Ek nazar mein bhi from Taxi no. 9211
A groovy track from Vishal-Shekar. Kay Kay and Sunidhi Chauhan at their best. This is one such song that would automatically make your body move to its beat.

Tere liye from Shaadi se pehle
Not a great one. Himesh Reshammiya, Udit Narayan, Alka Yagnik – they all have done a decent job. It is a feel good song that would make you smile. It is a proof to the fact that the early 90s style music still remain catchy.

Satyam Shivam Sundaram from Satyam Shivam Sundaram
When I read William Wordsworth’s ‘The Solitary Reaper’ at school, I used to wonder what on earth could a melancholy be. I knew the answer when I heard this song (I realized how powerful a melancholy could be for the second time when Swarnalatha shed buckets full of tears, and thereby making the listeners to join her, in ‘Porale ponnuthayi’ from Karuthamma). Lata Mangeshkar has sung her heart out. I didn’t get to watch the song for very long. I was like – “This song could very well qualify as one of the best devotional songs ever composed. Why wouldn’t TV channels show it?” Haha… When I saw it, I understood why it neither qualified as a song to be shown on prime time nor as a song to be telecasted late night. Naughty Raj Kapoor :P

Beedi from Omkara
Now this is a song with loads of attitude. Sunidhi Chauhan and Sukhwinder Singh have spelt magic. It is a choreographer’s dream. A la “Babuji zara dheere chalo”. Let us wait and watch what Ganesh Acharya has come up with. For some unknown reasons I am glad to know that this song is filmed on Bipasha and not on Kareena.

Bheegi bheegi si from Gangster
Pritam has done one hell of a job in Gangster. All the songs of this album are beautifully composed. James succeeds in making this haunting song to reach your heart.

Ya Ali from Gangster
Another masterpiece. A killer tune. Zubeen does full justice to it. Whether they give quality movies or not, you can always trust the Bhatt clan for good music.

The album Dhaani by Strings
An exquisite album. All the songs are treat to listen to. On any day, I would prefer the old fashioned originals from Strings to the remixes and bhangra pop that flood the market. It is so refreshing to know that there still exists a band that believes that magic can be created by vocals without heavy ear-jarring noise. Strings seem to know what to do with guitar. They are rightly named ‘Strings’.

Yeh hai meri kahani from Zinda
Another jadoo by Strings.

Bang bang (My baby shot me down) by Nancy Sinatra
Heard this song in Kill Bill Vol. 1. An intriguing song with minimal music and eerie lyrics. A spooky one.

A whole new world from Aladdin
A fancy feel-good song. Takes you on a pleasant magic-carpet ride to a whole new dreamy world.

Lucky day!?

2006-07-24T07:19:00.000-07:00

Had to buy a fresh strip card. Went to the HTM counter at the Central Station. Couldn’t find any card reader at the counter. So, decided to buy the strip card at HTM’s counter in Grote Markt. Had seen a card reader there.

Went to Grote Markt. Found a coin on the road. Yipee!!!

A passer by smiled, “Seems to be your lucky day!”
“Seems so. I got ONE EURO :)”
“Yeah… can’t do much with it. Get a spray and paint a wall”.
“Ha.. ha.. Sure.”

Found that there were 20 more minutes for the counter to be opened. The HTM employees were already behind the counters. But, they would start working only as per schedule. They had reported for work and ready at their counters a good 20 minutes before schedule. What the hell... Ha.. ha..

20 minutes is quite a long period when you have nothing to do. Went back to Central Station. Decided to pay for the strip card in cash. Stood in the queue. The guy before me waved his debit card at the counter. The person in the counter pushed a tray out. There was a card reader. Damn. Why did I go up and down Grote Markt? I paid through card.

I was late to office. Why wouldn’t I if tour around half the city on the way to office? And why am I holding that one-euro coin all day?? I think I am going mad.

Spooky spook

2006-07-18T11:08:00.000-07:00

The moment I stepped out of my apartment building I realized that I forgot to wear my chain. It is a cool ‘Om’ symbol that I adore.
“How did I forget? I don’t remember the last time I forgot to wear my chain”.

The spooky me said, “That is odd, buddy. It is a sign. Something strange is gonna happen today. Better go back and get your chain”.
The rational me was annoyed, “Arre… Chod yaar. You are getting late to office. Nothing will happen to you if you do not act stupid. Only a stupid would walk back to the house just for the sake of chain”.
As always, I listened to the rational me.

Evening. When I packed my things to leave the office the spooky me shouted, “Take the bus pass and put it in your pocket”.
The rational me sulked, “You are getting late yaar. Rush. You can transfer the pass while walking to the bus stop”.

I did what I always do. I forgot about the pass when I walked to the bus stop. I reached the bus stop exactly when my bus reached there. The timing had never been so perfect. I got into the bus and looked into my bag for the pass. It was missing. I checked my bag thoroughly. Then I checked my pockets.

THE DAMNED PASS WAS MISSING.

I used my emergency strip card for the journey.

When spooky things like this happen to you, I think you have no other choice but to be freaked.

Baby watch

2006-07-17T08:59:00.000-07:00

The City hall was pretty crowded. All kinds of people were there – Asians, Africans, South Americans, people from Middle East and lot more.

A mom was with her hyperactive boy at the clerk’s desk. The boy was about to outgrow his cart. His mom may decide to dump his cart any day. He rolled his cart around. He then kicked it towards his mom. The mom threatened him not to disturb her. She asked him to sit with her. But, he had other ideas. He took a walk around the hall. A serious looking girl was with her parents, who were waiting in the queue. She was visibly in a bad mood. The hyperactive boy went to the serious girl. She was unperturbed. He stood in front of her and smiled at her. She looked at him as though she was looking at a cockroach. When he went near her, she glared at him. May be, she had had a bad day. May be she was feeling sleepy. Or may be, she was fed up with stupid kids hitting on her. Whatever it was, the glare was enough to drive the hyperactive boy away from her.

The hyperactive boy then roamed around. He saw a cute girl walking with her dad. She was cuter than the Barbie doll she carried. The hyperactive boy followed her. She didn’t even turn towards him. She was busy chatting with her dad. Her dad would have realized how tough it is being the dad of a cute girl. He would have had a sample of the exasperation that he is very likely to go through in the years to come. The cute girl continued to ignore the boy. After some time, the hyperactive boy went back to his mom. He has a bright scope of growing into a big time Casanova.

And then, there was an annoying kid who was troubling an unfortunate guy endless. The unfortunate guy was trying to fill in an application form. The annoying kid kept picking at the unfortunate guy’s bag, books, pen, etc. The unfortunate guy looked at the annoying kid’s parents for help. They were into an animated conversation, unaware of the world around them. The unfortunate guy then packed his things and moved to a far away place. The annoying kid went in search of another unfortunate person.

The other day I saw these noisy Japanese identical twins at Media Markt. The noisy girls ran around shrieking at each other. They found a confused boy. They stood on either side of the confused boy and continued shrieking in Japanese (or, was it Chinese or Korean or some other language?). The confused boy became more confused and he kept blinking at the noisy twins. He looked as though he would burst into tears any moment. His parents saved him and took him away from the noisy girls. The noisy girls ran away. But, I was able to hear them shrieking till I left Media Markt.

Boredom

2006-07-14T09:13:00.000-07:00

Boredom is just another state of mind. You get bored only if you wish to. If you decide not to be bored, you will never. People say that they are bored of a variety of things - the place they live in, people around them, their job, their LIFE for God’s sake and what not? They are the people who want to be bored and they will remain bored no matter what happens to them. One of the main reasons given for boredom is monotony. Anything is monotonous only if we thing so. There are countless ways to avoid monotony.

I have heard a lot of people saying that they are bored of waiting in public places like queues, tram stops, railway stations, restaurants, etc. I have never been bored of waiting. The secret is – Kid Watching. Kids are such amazing characters. You never get bored watching them because they are never bored. Watching kids is one of my favourite pastimes.

Lambe bal

2006-07-12T09:00:00.000-07:00

Arre yaar... I am just growing my hair a bit longer than usual. Why would everyone think that I am terminally star-struck and am trying to emulate Anniyan or Krrish? All the three characters exhibited by the Anniyan with Multiple Personality Disorder freaked me out. They are so abnormal and I would never wish to be like any one of them even in my nightmares. If I were allowed to switch anything with Krrish, I would rather go for his biceps than hair.

I just want to see how I look with long hair before I get bald. Well, Agassi did it. When I get bald, I would like to show my people my photographs of ‘now’ and ‘then’ (Epdi irunda naan… Ipdi aayitein – How I was… How I am) or ‘before’ and ‘after’ (like they show on Tele Shopping Network). My receding hairline and hair fall are alarming these days. The fact that my dad is bald doesn’t console me either. They say that baldness is hereditary. Damn. Of all the things, why would one pass on baldness through genes? A good reason for anyone to hate heredity.

Now that I am away from home, this could be my only chance to grow long hair. My mom would definitely freak out when she receives me at Madras Airport early next year. I hope she doesn’t faint, or worse, create a nasty scene at airport. I am sure my dad would be proud of me. He would merrily boast to his friends “You see that lousy guy with shaggy hair? That is my son. I was like him when I was his age”. But he would not show off his glee in front of my mom. He may even pretend that he doesn’t approve my hairstyle. Well, nobody messes up with my mom. Why on earth would we infuriate her with something and get ourselves reminded of it on all sorts of random occasions for months to come? We know each other too well and we see trouble when it is miles away.

I sort of love this game I play with my mom. Get on to her nerves till it is about to explode and retreat at the last moment. Who said I am scared of adventures? When I go back home, she would manage to keep her cool with the only intention of not to shout at her son, who had been away from home for around a year. I would visit my barber before she gets a good chance to take a dig at my long hair. Ha.. ha.. I am now a pro in safely ducking away from my mom’s lethal digs. Well, I am a peace loving person at heart and I am not fond of being terrorized.

A lot of things about me freaks my mom out.

“Indu, turn off the TV and get some sleep”
“Just 10 more minutes, Amma. This is the greatest movie/documentary ever made”
Those 10 minutes would extend to at least an hour.

“Wake up, Indu. It is 8 AM”
“I am feeling sleepy and it is weekend for God’s sake”
“No wonder you feel sleepy. I asked you to turn the TV off and go to sleep last night. When was the last time you listened to me?”
Just to escape from the long boring lecture about to follow, I would scamper away to brush my teeth.

“You have again bought dark colored dresses. They don’t suit our dark skin tone, Indu”
“Come on, Amma. Pale colors stand out distinct from our skin tone. Darker colors merge with us”
“I have never ever heard a more stupid argument”

“How come you watch a whole test match? That too when India is not playing?”
“How can you say that, Amma? It is CRICKET”

“Why do you wear ‘Om’ around your neck? I have no doubt that you are a goddamned atheist. Do not dare to make fun of my Gods”
“Amma. Calm down. I like the symbol. It is cool”
I then try to keep the chain safely in my travel bag whenever I go to Pondicherry.

I miss her tea. I miss her egg-curry. I miss her smile. I miss her shouting at me. I miss her a lot.
My long hairs are not long enough yet. I think they would take a couple more months to touch my shoulder. It is perfect when they are wet with water or hair gel. When they dry off, hairs curl up and look like a bird’s nest on my head. Hell. At those times, I have this strong temptation to run straight to a hairdresser and have a crew cut. But then I convince myself saying that this could be my one and only chance to grow long hairs. May the force be with me to stay strong in my ambition. Amen.

Passion

2006-07-11T05:47:00.000-07:00

Sunday, 9th of July 2006. Rome was on a high. Nearly half its population was in blue jerseys, with the mandatory word ‘Italia’ and optional number or player’s name. Italian flags were everywhere – rooftops, balconies, windows and a lot of people were proudly waving it all over Rome. The shops were rapidly running out of blue jerseys, national flags and plastic trumpets. Big screens were installed near the majestic Roman architectural wonders.

As the day passed, I found that the number of blue-jersey-wearing-Italian-flag-bearing-trumpet-blaring-chirpy-people around me was increasing. Even the attendants at Mc Donalds were wearing the Italian blue jerseys. Towards the evening beer was flowing down the roads of Rome. The drunk got noisier. Flag waving people were rushing through the streets in their vehicles.

By 7 PM the traffic was quite thin and was getting thinner. A few on the roads were rushing as though mad dogs were chasing them. Probably, they were getting themselves positioned in front of TV sets at home and big screens all over Rome.

Leonardo Express took me from Rome Termini to Fiumicino Airport. While moving towards security check at the airport, a couple of guys were kicking a football. I think the securities and airport authorities at any Indian Airport would have gone crazy at such an action. They smiled at us and we smiled back. One of the guys kicked the ball towards us and my friend kicked it back to them. Smiles were exchanged once again.

We were waiting for the flight. Suddenly a bunch of people went ecstatic. One of them was on phone. He conveyed some news to his group and the group went mad. They were jumping up and down and punching their fists in the air. May be the team they support had just scored a goal. My friend was so upset that the match was not telecasted live at the Airport.

We boarded the flight. The pilot made his customary speech welcoming the passengers and giving a few details about the journey. He then continued to make a sheepish laugh and announced that France and Italy were tied at 1-1. During our journey, the pilot announced that Italy had become the World Cup Champions. The passengers greeted the news with spontaneous screams and applause. They congratulated each other. One waved the Italian flag inside the plane. A kid went to the mike and shouted “Viva Italia!” with joy.

That was pure passion or mania. Passion is a funny thing. Passion leads us either to celebrations are heartbreaks. I shall be passionate about my studies. I shall try to learn anything and everything about my favorite subject. But, I cannot assume that my favorite subject is better than the other subjects. I shall be passionate about my work. I shall put my 100% in whatever I do. I shall try to design and develop efficient, bug-free applications within the given deadline. But there is no point in being devastated if something goes wrong. I shall take it as a lesson learnt and try to do better the next time. Life is a continuous process of refining oneself.

I shall be passionate about myself and my family and friends. But that doesn’t mean that I should believe that whatever I do or my family or friends do is always correct. I shall be passionate about my country and my culture. That doesn’t mean that I have to consider that India is the best country in the whole world. I shall always believe that India will become a lot better in the future and shall do whatever is possible towards it. I shall be passionate about my mother tongue and consider that it is a great language. But, that doesn’t allow me disregard other languages.

On a lot of occasions, we are passionate about things that are out of our control. I shall be happy if India wins in sports. But, what is the point in painting the player’s house black and burn effigies of players if they lose a match? I love arts. I like to read literature, listen to music and watch movies. They entertain me. But forming fan clubs, watching movies on first day first shows… I think that it is more of madness than passion.

I have my own opinion about politics. I like and dislike certain agenda of certain parties. I believe that politics is one of the best means to serve humans. But I can only feel pity for people who neglect themselves and their family to put politics and politicians ahead. It is more of stupidity than passion.

Passion is for lesser humans. Lesser the passionate, greater the human you are. Passion narrows down one’s mind. Passion makes you see only what you want to see. It doesn’t allow you to see the truth. Being neutral and level minded may help you to see the real scenario. Being devoid of passion may help you to prevent unwanted heartbreaks. But, on the flip side, it could make you boring. A passionless person is always considered a boring person no matter how practical he may sound.

Core problem - snore

2006-06-30T07:12:00.000-07:00

A friend in Brussels shares a studio apartment with this guy. The roommate is a nice guy. He is fun to talk to and spend time with. But, the fun ends when he starts sleeping.

The studio has a single bedroom. So, they sleep in the same room. The roommate comes back from work at around 4:30 PM. Reaching the apartment, he goes straight to sleep. He wakes up at around 7:30 PM. The friend comes back from work by then. They cook dinner. After dinner the roommate goes back to sleep. Things will be normal and pleasant till the roommate starts snoring. It starts as soft breathing and slowly gains momentum. Friend says that he has never heard or even imagined of such a grand snore in his life. He is sure that the roommate’s snore has supersonic and ultrasonic components when it gains considerable momentum.

Well, everything has got a threshold point. One fine day the friend casually (he had actually planned meticulously to make it sound casual) brought this to the notice of the roommate.
Friend: You know what? You have a quite prominent snore…
Roommate: Really! My dad snores really heavy.
Friend: Oh! Yours too is a bit audible. [Abe… Maine tere ko kharrate ka baap samja… Tera baap tho tere se bhi bada baap nikla]
Roommate: Is it? If I snore too loud, give me a gentle poke. We used to do it to dad.

That trick indeed worked. But, it solved the problem only a wee bit. When the roommate’s snores went unbearable, the friend poked him gently. The snore stopped. But, only for a short time. He started snoring again. As this continued long into the night, the friend’s poking grew stronger. He was afraid that he would one day end up thrashing the roommate black and blue. Also, he had to reach out for the roommate to poke him every time. This irritated the friend more.

As they say, Necessity is the mother of inventions. The friend invented a new trick. He found that he was able to extract the same result by clapping his hands instead of poking the roommate. When the snore got louder, the friend clapped. This broke the rhythm of the roommate’s snore and he went quiet for some time. Sometimes the friend clapped his hands so strongly that the roommate woke up from sleep. The roommate would sit up and start blinking. At those times the friend pretended to be asleep. There were times when the roommate responded to the friend’s claps by himself clapping in sleep. The friend expected the Belgian police would knock at their door one night under the neighbors’ complaints. Luckily that never happened.

The roommate wakes up at around 5 AM and gets ready to go to office. It is after this that the friend gets a few hours of peaceful sleep. The friend is sorry for the girl who would marry the roommate. The friend doesn’t believe in the policy – ‘forgive and forget’. He has cursed that the roommate’s future wife would snore louder than the roommate.

The friend and his roommate are traveling to India tomorrow. Above anything, the friend is happy that he would not have to sleep with scary background music anymore. He is also afraid that he would continue clapping while sleeping at home. He doesn’t want his parent to come to conclusion that their son’s stay at Brussels made him crazy.

He is also worried about one more thing. The roommate would be traveling with him in the same flight. He is afraid of what could happen if the roommate snores in the flight. Could the supersonic sound ruin the flight’s engines? Would the snore make the other passengers violent? Can it drive the pilots crazy? The friend is one scared soul now. He has decided to talk to the roommate all the way through the journey, without allowing him to sleep. If he fails, he has decided to teach the other passengers the clapping lessons.

Cruelly concerned...

2006-06-29T07:10:00.000-07:00

Reached Damlaan bridge while walking towards office. A dad was about to cross the bridge with his kids. Cute kids they were (aren’t all kids cute??). The boy was in the cart and the girl was walking along with her dad. The girl rushed towards the bridge. The dad grabbed her. She struggled to free herself. The dad didn’t let her go. Well, dad knows better about his kids’ inquisitive nature. May be, he is aware of the secret that his daughter thinks that she is a duckling. May be, he thought that she is hydrophilic. May be, he knew that she is fascinated by fishes. Or, may be, he didn’t trust her walking prowess. Whatever it is, he didn’t let her go. He made the squealing kid sit in the cart by the side of her brother. Watching his dear sister cry, the boy decided to let his dad know that his sister has got his full support. The boy started crying. Probably the kids were fed up with their bullying dad. The dad was unfazed. He had this hard emotionless expression in his face. He clasped the belts across the kids. He then rolled the cart across the bridge. After moving safe enough away from the bridge, the dad released the kids. The girl sprung to her feet. She stopped howling. The dad let her hold his hand and walk along with him. She started laughing. Looking at his sister laughing, that boy too smiled. A divine smile spread across the dad’s face. The happy dad and his chirpy kids continued their journey.

Going girlish??!!

2006-06-26T08:18:00.000-07:00

They say, “Boys don’t cry”. Roger Federer cried buckets after winning the Australian Open this year. I saw a headline screaming, “Federer cried like a schoolgirl”. Even if we what to compare an emotional Federer to a kid, why schoolgirl? Why not schoolboys?

Yesterday the Holland lost to Portugal in the second round of FIFA World Cup. The same team that had played roughish football till then, bullying its opponents, went down to tears. The team had exhibited the so-called ‘manly’ way of playing football and yet wept at its loss.

And yeah... How could one forget Kapil Dev crying his heart out when he went Face to Face with Karan Thapar in national television? Nowadays, even the male characters in movies do not hesitate to shed tears. Are men not afraid of crying in public these days?

And they say, “Pink is girlish”. I see guys wearing pink with vengeance. Bollywood is painted pink now.

I guess the taste of the people has changed. There was a period when people liked watching only the macho characters played by the angry young man Amithab, Punjab-da-puttar Dharam paaji, Sunny paaji (Punjab-da-potha?) and their likes. Then came the chocolate heroes. And then came Shah Rukh Khan. Ever closely noticed his antics? Whatever it is, it is certainly nowhere near what is called ‘masculine’. Ever noticed Shah Rukh playing Babloo Chaudury in Duplicate? Somebody tell me what that was. Still, Shah Rukh is the undisputed King Khan of Bollywood.

World full of weird people – Part I

2006-06-23T07:53:00.000-07:00

I think everyone would agree to this statement. This big bad world is also a wide weird world (www??!!). It is inhabited by loony beings. I have come across a lot of them. I try to remember some of them.

A lecturer with a prominent paunch had this problem with the blackboard. When he writes at the top of the board, his paunch would wipe off whatever he had written at the bottom. He would then search for what he had written sometime ago without knowing that his paunch had wiped it off. At the end of the sessions, he used to leave the classroom with his belly covered by chalk dust.

Another lecturer never looked at us. She stared at the corners of the classroom while lecturing. We always had this doubt that she taught the corners and pillars of the classroom about the Principles of Programming Languages and not us.

Another one was called the Rain. He spat while talking. We considered the front row as a cyclonic area and we were scared to sit there. We even thought of bringing our caps and umbrellas to his sessions. One of our classmates even suggested that we should demand financial help from the Principal and should buy either raincoats or Knight’s Armors, based on the amount of finance we receive.

The drawing master at my school took our fancy pencils, erasers, paintbrushes, etc and never returned them. We hid our precious things from him.

A master used to scratch all over himself. Watching him performing the scratching act was more interesting than his lessons. We used to bet among ourselves about which part of the body he would scratch next.

Another master never wore his wig at home. Quite a few of our guys, who went to his home, had asked the master himself where he was. They got the shock of their lives when he informed them that he was the one whom they were looking for.

One of our seniors at college was a hefty giant. He stayed at hostel. The hostel had a common telephone. The first lesson that a fresh hosteller was taught was - When the telephone rings, the guy nearest to the telephone should attend the call, ask the caller whom he/she wants and then shout the name for the whole hostel to hear. Whenever the senior’s name was called, he used to run to the telephone, making the whole hostel to vibrate. Once Pondicherry felt mild tremors of a quake. The whole Pondicherry ran out of the buildings to open spaces. But, the hostellers ignored it thinking that the senior had got a call.

A hosteller used to get calls from his girlfriend. They talked for hours together blocking the calls to the other hostellers. The rest of the hostel cursed him with all the sufferings known to mankind. Now the lovers are happily married – to different spouses.

A hosteller friend never slept in his room when he was drunk. He slept in others’ rooms when he was drunk and he used to puke in his drunken sleep. The others found a solution for this problem. When they found him sleeping in their room, they dragged him to the bathroom in his sleep and left him there. Soon he stopped boozing.

Renaissance of my Sony NW HD5

2006-06-21T08:57:00.000-07:00

Selecting or choosing something has always been one of the most difficult jobs in the world to me. Grey jacket or the brown one? Diet or Lime or Normal Coke? All the watches look good… Chicken Tikka or Chilly Chicken? Physics or Computer? CBZ or Pulsar? I have spent half my life wondering what to choose. And, I am still scared of the selection process.

I decided to buy an mp3 player during my last visit to Holland. God! I need to choose one among the available… I wanted to buy one with large memory – 10 to 20 GB. I have tons of e-books that I would like to carry around. There were some cool options from Cowon and Creative. These pieces also had document, image and even video viewers. Who on earth would want to view doc/image/video in his mp3 player? Certainly not me. I am already half blind. I narrowed down to Apple and Sony. iPod Nano is gorgeous. But, they came only with 1 and 2 GB memory (The 30 GB model was not yet introduced then). iPod Mini had 20 GB memory, but its production was stopped. Sony NW HD5 had 20 GB memory. It doesn’t have the other fancy features like doc, image, video viewers, FM tuner, voice recorder, clock, timer, etc. It is a plain mp3 player. It doesn’t even have the fast forward and rewind features. But, it has a killer battery. Sony promises 40 hours of continuous playback time without recharging. None of the other products were even halfway to it. Even if I get an average of 25 hours of playback time, I wouldn’t have to recharge for weeks together. That was pretty impressive. So, after a weeklong furious analysis, I bought a Sony NW HD5 mp3 player from Media Markt.

All was well till last week. One day, the mp3 player suddenly died without any warning. It wouldn’t respond to any of its keys. I couldn’t access its memory and couldn’t even recharge it. I approached the service center of the Media Markt. The guy at the counter tried to operate it. It didn’t respond.
He said, “Sony has now stopped the production of NW HD5 model. We need to send this piece to Sony’s Service Center”
“All right. Can you do it?”
“Sure. Give me the warranty slip”
“It is in my home… in India…”
“Do you have the bill?”
“I gave it to the customs at Frankfurt to claim the VAT back. I have a photocopy of the bill. But, that too is in India”
“Mmm… Do you have a bank statement of the purchase?”
“No. I paid in cash”
“Then, I am afraid, you need to get the warranty slip and copy of bill from India”
“Okay. I’ll do it…”

Oh my God. I don’t know where I kept the bill. What if mom had thrown away the warranty slip? I should ask dad to search for the bill and warranty slip and courier them to me. I thought that my 250 euros are gone along with all my e-books, software utilities and songs. Without mp3 player, my daily trips to and from office seemed longer.

Yesterday night I accidentally saw the mp3 player in the cupboard, while searching for something else. I checked if it was functioning for the zillionth time, though I was pretty sure that it wouldn’t. No luck. I casually took the battery out and put it back again. Bingo!!! The mp3 player came alive.

Now the rhythm and melody is back to my life. The mp3 player accompanies me in my trips :)

Imagine Me & You

2006-06-20T09:30:00.000-07:00

Sunday. J and H went to the monkey park in Apeldoorn. Monkey watching is one hell of a fun. It is like looking into the mirror. I was on production support. I cannot travel far away from The Hague. Well, not that I would have gone if I were not on support. I am too lazy to look places, even if it a monkey park :P

Sunday morning. There was no morning for me. Slept through it.

Sunday afternoon. Had ice cream and ice cream alone for lunch. Found out that I like Vanilla and hate strawberry.

Sunday evening. Movie time! Went to Pathe to watch Imagine Me & You.

Why?
1. This movie is screened in Pathe for over a month. One month, to Pathe’s standard, is a light year.
2. Imagine Me & You? Syntactically fishy, isn’t it? Shouldn’t it be Imagine You & Me?
3. I have watched all the other movies screened in Pathe except Imagine Me & You and Take the Lead. Looked at the genre. I prefer Comedy to Music Drama.

Again I was almost alone in the cinema hall. Just one more person was in the hall - a weird girl who was laughing aloud all through the movie. Realized that watching a comedy with a laughing stranger is indeed scary.

I think it is a wonderful movie. Movie starts with Rachel’s wedding with her long time best friend Heck. Heck’s best man is Ned, a big time stud. Luce is the florist for the marriage. Minutes before marriage, Rachel and Luce glance each other for the first time. Chemistry, Physics, History, Geography – something sparks. Ned develops interest towards Luce. She flatly avoids him. Heck tries to match Luce up with Ned. Luce says she is gay. That doesn’t discourage Ned. He continues his attempts. Rachel and Luce’s paths keep crossing. Rachel starts doubting that what should not happen may happen. She is confused like hell and torn between the two. On one side is Heck, a sweetheart in all sense. On the other is Luce, whom she could not resist. Rachel declares to Luce that she cannot let Heck suffer though she loves her. Heck senses that something is wrong. He comes to know that his wife is interested in somebody else. He confides it in Ned. Ned understands that it is Luce. He warns Luce. Luce decides that she moving away would solve the problem. Heck decides to play the gentleman. He says the he wants Rachel to be happy and encourages her to follow Luce if she is her happiness. Rachel rushes behind Luce. They unite dramatically.

Ufff… I never thought that I would ever like a gay movie. I didn’t watch Brokeback Mountain just for this reason. I watched Imagine Me & You without knowing that it is a gay movie. Well, gay movie or straight movie, Imagine Me & You is a good movie. A well made movie. I liked it a lot. This doesn’t mean that I would watch Brokeback Mountain. I like watching movies that ends as – ‘and they lived happily ever after’. I avoid tragic movies.

There are lots of characters and scenes in this movie that are beautifully filmed:
* Rachel’s little sister who is never short of questions (like, does penguins have knee?)
* Rachel’s weird dad
* The eccentric customer at Luce’s flower shop. He frantically searches for a single flower, ponders over various options and finally settles for a cactus
* The scene with Heck and Rachel’s sister at rooftop after Heck suggests Rachel to follow her real love. Rachel’s little sister promises Heck the she would marry him after 10 years if he was still unhappy then
* One with Rachel’s mom and dad towards the end of the movie. Rachel’s dad confesses that he was lowly compared to her and she deserved a much better husband. Rachel’s mom replies that he had always been enough for her
* The other with Luce and Rachel at the stadium, where they verbally abuse a player
* One with Luce and Heck at flower shop. Heck asks Luce if Rachel had mentioned about any shortcoming or defect or problem in him. Luce says he should Rachel about it. Heck says, “I can’t. What if there is?”
A wholesome memorable movie.

The movie has the title song – “Imagine Me and You”. I googled and found that it is the song “Happy Together”. The tune is wonderful and familiar. Very familiar... Was it a Hindi or Tamil movie song? Somebody went naughty and picked somebody else’s tune...

If this movie is made in Hindi… let me guess…

Karan Johar would direct it (Obvious, isn’t it?).
Karan Johar would name it "Kuch Hum Sochen, Tum Kuch Aur Soche"

Rachel – Preity Zinta? Starting as the who sacrifices her fiancée, then graduating as mother determined to have her illegitimate child, prostitute willing to be a surrogate mother, girl who falls in love with a stud after her engagement, RJ in a live-in relation… Is married women turning gay the next step of evolution??

Luce – Sushmita Sen. This would be dynamite. She could bring dignity to the role without ending up as a marriage-breaking vamp or womanising woman.

Heck – Shah Rukh Khan. Naturally, this character would be fleshed out for the King Khan. Though Salman is expert in playing guy who loses his girl to perfection, Shah Rukh would have a blast with his teary eyed, I-am-so-cute-and-sweet-to-be-dumped expression in the scenes with Rachel’s sister at rooftop and with Luce in the flower shop.

Ned – Without any doubt, our Salman Khan. Who else could play the role of the stud who can get any girl in the world except the one whom he desires.

Rachel’s dad – Anupam Kher, the standard eccentric dad.

Pathe screens Phir Hera Pheri this Sunday. Yippeeee…

Matchless in Margarethaland

2006-06-16T07:52:00.000-07:00

Yeap. You heard it right! WE WERE MATCHLESS IN MARGARETHALAND last weekend.

If you think that I am making an ultra-arrogant statement, I am sorry to say that you are wrong. I am not proclaiming myself peerless. And, I didn’t do anything to consider myself one. I didn’t win an Olympic gold for India in 100m sprint. I didn’t see God. I certainly didn’t drink a litre Coca Cola through my nose. I don’t understand the language of dogs. I didn’t invent the drug to trigger a dozen kilo weight loss in a single day. I didn’t even find the secret of Bappida’s fantastic dressing sense. And yeah, I haven’t yet got enough evidence to prove that I am an alien.

If you think that I am a pathetic bachelor desperately browsing every matrimonial site in the world to find the perfect ‘match’, I am again sorry to say that you are wrong. I don’t think that I am so heartless to a random girl’s life in the name of marriage.

Let me explain. We - J, H and I, who live in Margarethaland, went matchless. We ran out of matches. We ran out of matchsticks. And we couldn’t cook our dinner on Sunday. I was assigned the duty of getting a matchbox on my way back from office on Monday. As it always happen, I couldn’t leave the office on time. Konmar closes sharp at 6:30 PM. I got a lighter from my namesake at office. She carries plenty of spare lighters. Smokin’ Joes too can be useful at times. I bought a matchbox on Tuesday evening. Thus we retired from the ‘matchless’ state.

Almost alone @ Cinema Hall

2006-06-14T07:21:00.000-07:00

Vacuumed the house, cooked lunch, dumped the previous week’s dresses into the washing machine and we were free for the rest of Sunday. J and I went to Pathe to watch ‘The Shaggy dog’ in the afternoon, while H preferred to watch the live telecast of French Open final.

Pathe was deserted. There was a small group glued to a television set. Holland’s first World Cup match was being telecasted live. We entered the hall 10 minutes before the show. Nobody else was there. With Holland’s World Cup match, French Open final, bright sun and Scheveningen beach right outside Pathe, a matinee would naturally be pretty down in the preference list of the Dutch. Even if they decide to watch a movie, ‘The Shaggy Dog’ would be the last preference.

J and I counted the number of seats in the hall. There were 200 of them. We realized that we were in a scenario, which is exactly the opposite to that of Musical Chairs. In Musical Chairs, the count of people would be more than that of chairs. But, there were 200 chairs at disposal for the two of us. The movie length was 98 minutes. After intricate calculation, we found out that 4 chairs would be left un-sat even if we change chairs every half a minute. We then concluded that we could solve this problem if we start changing chairs while the ads are screened. We congratulated each other for our brilliance. J elaborated his similar experience of watching Aasai at Madras in an almost empty cinema hall. We came to the conclusion that lots of things happen the same way all over the world. This time we congratulated each other for the philosophers within us.

Seconds before the ads were screened, a Chinese family dropped in (To me, Japanese, Taiwanese, Nepali and the rest of east Asians are all Chinese). Dad, mom and four noisy children of the same height. Quadruplets??? Every kid was carrying popcorn buckets half their size. I wondered how the parents would manage situations like a kid falling in the popcorn bucket while trying to pick popcorn from the bottom of the bucket. I came up with a brilliant idea. They can pick two kids each and assign themselves to be in charge of them. They can sit in between the two kids they select and watch them from falling into the popcorn buckets, while the kids watch the movie. I was about to pass on this wonderful idea to the Chinese parents when I heard loud noises behind me. A mini kindergarten had entered the hall. There were seven hyperactive kids followed by two middle-aged women. I started wondering how the two women could look after seven kids. I couldn’t think of any decent solution. The women made the kids sit in a row and they sat in the row behind the kids. What a brilliant idea. This way, those women can have all the kids in their view. The women were certainly a lot smarter than me.

‘The Shaggy Dog’ was a wonderful movie. The important thing is that you should leave your brain outside the cinema hall while you watch the movie. You should also believe that there is nothing in this world called logic and should forget the usage of words like ‘Why’ and ‘How’. The movie is about a 300 years old dog which lives with Tibetan monks and which can meditate. Those bitten by the dog would develop doggish characteristics and end up becoming dogs for random periods. I loved that movie.

While travelling back home, I say a guy in Orange T-shirt and Orange shorts with an orange lion tail. He had painted the Holland flag (Blue, white and red) on his face. His hair was coloured orange. His dog was dressed in an orange cloth. He was under the influence of Smokin’ Joe and was visibly high-spirited. It was so very clear that Holland had won its opening World Cup match.

World full of freebirds

2006-06-12T08:45:00.000-07:00

The Dutch eagerly await opportunities to distribute booze. Visit somebody at their home, attend some party, take part in some celebration – these people carry booze for all these and lot more. May be, celebration to them mean getting drunk. A release was implemented in production and J came back home on Saturday with a bottle of wine in hand and a wide sheepish smile on face – “He.. he.. The release went on fine and booze was distributed to all involved in it”. The strongest drink that we - H, J and I are able to stand is Coca Cola. Now, that bottle of wine would wait forever for guests.

We witnessed the first signs of Dutch summer during last week. You don’t have to watch CNN or BBC’s weather report or check your thermometer or step out in the open to have a measure of the summer. All you have to do is look out of your window. Lesser the people are dressed, the more you are into summer.

We went to the Duindorp beach. We got down on sand. A few steps along the beach and I was looking at a freebird - a topless woman. My heart skipped a couple of beats and I started sweating. Well, technically she cannot be called a freebird. It just happened that she was changing there without bothering much about the people around her and we passed by. Just timing.

From Duindorp, we were able to see Scheveningen. We decided to walk along the beach to Scheveningen. And, what a walk it proved to be! In jeans and T-shirts, we three were the overdressed in the whole beach. With hundreds of skimpily clothed humans as far as I could see, I was slowly recovering from the brutal cultural shock. We started walking towards Scheveningen. There were a few topless women sunbathing and venturing into the sea. We walked further. Some nude women. We kept walking. Nude men were wandering around casually. Oh my God! Men walking around naked - I can't remember a more awkward scene. I felt like I was in some alien land - land of freebirds. J and I talked about totally irrelevant topic – meteoric raise of labor cost in India. H was busy pretending that he was totally occupied with his mp3 player.

I felt like melting. Was it the heat? Or, was it embarrassment? My thoughts started wavering. Are the freebirds glancing at me mockingly? Is this some private beach? Are we trespassing? Is this region open only for freebirds? Will someone appear before us and demand us to undress? We started walking more briskly.

We reached the harbor at Statenkwartier. We hit the roads. The roads were full of cyclists.
H: Let us rent bicycles and go around.
J & I: ??!!
We passed by a few caravans.
H: Let us rent a caravan and got to Brussels next week.
J & I: ??!!
We passed by some motorbikes.
H: Let us rent motorbikes and roam around.
J & I: ??!!

We reached Scheveningen. Went to Pathe. Feasted upon MacChicken, French fries, milkshake and cola. When it comes to ways to regain hard lost calories, I declare myself a champion. We then watched The Omen. I promised myself once again that I would never watch a horror movie. Certainly not in cinema halls. It is better to avoid them instead of watching them with eyes shut for most part of the movie.

Ordeal with the brand new tennis buff

2006-06-09T06:21:00.000-07:00

Highlights of French Open women quarterfinal matches were on TV. I had missed the live telecast earlier that day. Roomie was insomniac that night. He had recently caught this tennis fever. He was religiously into his mission of accumulating as much knowledge about tennis as possible. I am allergic to the hyper enthusiastic ones. I consider myself a pro in keeping them at an arm’s length away. But this time, my proficiency and luck let me pathetically down. Nicole Vaidisova Vs Venus Williams match was the third in the list. We watched through the highlights of Clijsters’ and Svetelana’s matches. Then came the highlights of Vaidisova match.

Me: [Boy! Is she cute?]*
Him: Isn’t she the one who beat Mauresmo?
Me: Yes. [Boy! Is she cute?]
Him: She comes back strongly after losing the first set. She has got good composure, hasn’t she?
Me: Yeah. [Boy! Is she cute?]
Him: Composure is the most important thing in tennis. The champions are always the ones with good composure. Isn’t it so?
Me: Right [There is something called talent, buddy. Composure without talent means nothing. I had truckloads of composure. But, kids half my age and quarter my height used to beat me. Talent rules my dear. John Mc Enroe didn’t have a drop of composure… Boy! Is she cute?]
Him: She doesn’t allow loss of closely fought games to affect her. She is like Federer and Nadal.
Me: Yeah. [That is what is meant by composure, dude. Boy! Is she cute?]
Him: Mauresmo can’t play.
Me: Well, She didn’t play as well as she is capable of, when she lost to Vaidisova. [Hey! She is the top player in the world, for god’s sake. Boy! Is she cute?]
Him: Is it? But, she looks old.
Me: A bit. [But, she certainly can play. Boy! Is she cute?]
Him: Even Clijsters is old and fat.
Me: She is not old. And, I think she has just got a larger frame. [Come on, man. If you call her fat, what do you call me? Obese? By the way, Clijster has got wonderful court coverage. Boy! Is she cute?]
Him: So, you say Henin would win the title…
Me: She is the best among the current lot. [Isn’t it obvious?? Boy! Is she cute?]
Him: May be you are right. She has got good composure too.
Me: Correct. [What is it with you and composure? Boy! Is she cute?]
Him: Also she plays effortlessly. Her shots are compact and economical.
Me: Mmmmm… [What the hell! There is nothing more ruthless in women tennis than Henis’s backhand, dude. I think you would call Lara’s back-lift as compact and economical. Boy! Is she cute?]
Him: How do you say that playing on clay is different from playing on grass court?
Me: Blah... Blah... Blah... [Hey! How many time should I have to repeat that for you? Boy! Is she cute?]
Him: So, you say that a lot of guys around can beat Nadal easily on grass.
Me: you got it. [Please don’t get into its details. Not again. Boy! Is she cute?]
Him: So, Federer is the best. Isn’t he?
Me: Of course. He is the Numero Uno. [How can I escape? Shall I act asleep of shall I go to my room? But, Vaidisova’s match is not yet over… Boy! Is she cute?]
Him: Isn’t Vaidisova cute?
Me: Well… I think so.

The newest leggy girl of tennis, Vaidisova beat the proven leggy champion, Venus. I went to my room to sleep, without watching Henin (who, I guess, could go on to retain the title) match.

[]* - Thought bubble.

Yesterday, Svetelana beat Vaidisova in the semi final match.

Zinda hoon main...

2006-06-08T05:17:00.000-07:00

Damn. I am still alive. The world around me is still intact. Another apocalypse predicted proved to be bogus. 666 – The sixth day of the sixth month of the sixth year – 06/06/’06 wasn’t an apocalypse at all. Double damn.

I am not dumb enough not to be afraid of the biblical dooms day – 06/06/’06. Any sane human would agree, without a second thought, that apocalypse is a certain possibility. There are numerous reasons for the world to come to an end. Some of the prominent ones are:

1. It may very well be true that Osama’s favourite pastime is collecting nuclear bombs. He may already have an assortment of nukes. Considering his lethal attraction towards destruction, it is always on the cards that he decides to celebrate an early Diwali.
2. My namesake at office could somehow manage to get all the TVs and radios in the world to broadcast one of her favourite I-am-the-busiest-person-in-the-whole-galaxy-and-the-world-would-come-to-a-stand-still-if-I-stop-working speeches. If there is something scary enough to inspire the world to mass-suicide without any sort of regret, it is her lectures.
3. The aliens may conclude that they have had enough of the human race.
4. My mom may have prophesied the end of the world. Well, whenever something goes wrong, my mom says that she already knew about it and had said about it. Though, I have never been able to remember when she warned me.
5. May be, God really exists and he suddenly gets this urge to show the world his presence. There cannot be a better way to remind the world, which had made fun of him, than destroying it altogether.
6. A cute little meteor may decide to embarrass the over smart NASA scientists by bumping into the earth.
7. May be, there is a giant volcano sleeping below Antarctica. It may erupt without any announcement. This may cause a big time meltdown and water may succeed in conquering the remaining 25% of the earth’s surface.
8. The plants and trees may get so pissed off by deforestation and stuffs that they decide to go on strike by halting photosynthesis. No photosynthesis – no oxygen. No oxygen – no me and no you. Quite simple, isn’t it?
9. The doubt that the decision makers of the governments of the world are really nuts may prove to be correct. They may suddenly get attracted to the idea of disarmament and decide to implement it by exploding their missiles and nukes in public places.

I didn’t do a few things believing in the apocalypse theory. I didn’t fill in my appraisal form at office (Why bother about appraisal at office when you are about to face The Appraisal by the God?). I didn’t buy those cute FIFA World Cup T-Shirts that I saw at C&A’s window (I hope they are not sold out). Got quite a few things to catch up with.

Weekend watching Tennis and movies

2006-06-06T07:29:00.000-07:00

The weather during the weekend ranged between bad and worse. Cold, Murky and wet. Not that I would have went out if the weather had been better. On any day, you can find me content, relaxing in the couch, holding the remote.

Watched the live telecast of the match between Rafel Nadal and Paul-Henri Mathieu on Saturday. And, that was one hell of a match. When you fight as brave as Mathieu did, the result doesn’t actually matter. Most of the games went to deuce (‘Egalite’ as the chair-umpire called it), both breaking each other’s serve at will. It was like a bloody street fight, each matching the other point for point and shot for shot. Nadal managed to pull it off at 5-7, 6-4, 6-4, 6-4.

Went to Pathe that evening (well, 9 O’ clock is evening when you still have some daylight remaining) to watch Silent Hill. I have some very sore experiences in the recent past with horror films (like Hostel and Final Destination III). Still I went to watch the movie just because of my curiosity to know why would one what to make a movie inspired by a video game. My mistake. Came out of the cinema hall with my head spinning all over the place. First of all, the gore that the movie so very proudly dished out is not my cup of coffee. Second of all, I did not understand the plot. Is Silent Hill present in the real world or is it in a parallel world? Are the mother, kid and the cop alive when they enter Silent Hill or are they already dead? Third of all, the dialogues were crappy. Fourth or all, the guy who sat next to me in the cinema hall scared me to death with his noisy breath throughout the movie.

Watched the telecast from Roland Garros on Sunday. Maria Sharapova found herself in another miracle, but this time around, at the wrong end. She lost to Dinara Safina 5-7, 6-2, 5-7 after being up at 5-1 in the final set. Safina may never win beauty contest against her stunning brother. But, when it comes to consistency, she can beat him black and blue.

France had a collective heart attack when Nicole Vaidisova (Boy! Is she cute?) beat Amelie Mauresmo 6-7, 6-1, 6-2. With that great serve, Vaidisova certainly can play.

Watched American Dreamz that evening. This time the guy who sat behind me coughed through the whole movie. When I came out of the hall, I couldn’t recollect anything about the movie. A totally forgettable movie. Hollywood continues to brand the US president as a dumb psychotic. Very sad.

Yippee… Saw hoardings of Krish all over Pathe. Should not miss it like Fanaa. Well, I didn’t have much of a chance with Fanaa, because Pathe showed it just for one day in The Hague. And, I came to know about it very late. This time, I should stay alert.