So, you want music as well... Just tell me how !!!

Monday mornin all. No wonder im posting this. Tons of work to do and given up hope of finishing, so....

Anyway, this post is to ask somebody with the technical knowhow to advice on how to play music on this page - like pages on myspace do. Not any music like supplying a link to some FM radio website (For god sake, i can do that myself). No, rather from an mp3 stored on a local hard disk.

What i am looking for is something to the tune of embedding a music player and providing the controls so those that wish to read at peace may do so and pause it.
Something as simple as this would do the job.

And think about the benefits - you get music along with the pleasure of reading this blog. It is a privilege people may not kill for, but definitely consider (and decide against eventually, but we'll cross the bridge when we get there). And to say the unsayable, you could play the music and navigate to other pages and it would just keep playing if you let this window open. How audacious that i could even mention it. The ball's in your court.

Making a big deal out of it, because am just too lazy to look around and do it.
Will credit advisor with a honorary mention as well as provide compensation in the form of a card or a song or beer - whichever you prefer. And as if all this is not enough, will come to advisor first on future projects.. if thats not a deal, nothing is.
So, get cracking.

Sivaji - The Boss - The Experience

I am I am I am.

Watched the movie yestday night 9.30 show. The atmosphere was just unbeleivable. Hardly felt like we were in US. The movie plex was running Shivaji in 4 theatres for a total of 12 shows and all were sold out. No hindi or telugu or other Indian junta too. Just a lot of hardcore Tamil fans, like really hardcore. People came in veshti, others had t-shirts printed with thalaivar's picture, even others had shaved their heads prompting catcalls of 'motta boss' from others and everything was taken in super spirit. The parking lot was full of cars blaring Adhadikaaran and Sega fighta in full blast, not unlike neighbours in india turning their volumes to show whose music system is better. The mood was just unreal. It felt like being in Chennai for Diwali.

In hardcore tamil style, we filled our pepsi glasses with Mr. Walker's black brand and polished off half the bottle while waiting in the parking lot and the queue and it was madness when we entered the theatre. Hardcore drunk and sober fans were running amok shouting ghumthalakadi ooh-aah and other tamil salutory/ celebratory shouts. Thalaivar shouts intensified, rocket's flew, paper money was thrown, bit papers and confetti tossed as if it were Chennai and we removed our shirts and waved it Sourav style blocking the projector (we were strategicaly in the last row) during rajni's into. There was nothing the Mexican projector operator could do to restore order. So he just caved it and joined the gala.

Coming to the movie part of it, the movie is two halfs. The first half is just okay dokey. Rajni's introduction was below par and the comedy in the first half was ordinary. Vivek's one liners were catchy but they were few and far in between and the set up to that was a small letdown.

The second half - more than, i repeat, more than made up for the first. It easily exceeded the hype for the movie. The second half was just rajni at his mercurial best. Okay, forget the logic, forget the story, Rajni's screen presence and acting has to be seen to be beleived. He takes over the comedy and its way way better than Viveks. The action, the drama, the fights, the background music, the mind dazzling sets, song picturization, camera work, special effects for the fights - you name it, was simply spectacular - just out of this world. It was a completely different movie watching experience - you just give it to Rajni - his action and style and appeal are unparalleled. Just bow to the master. Do i even need to mention the STYLE - one of Rajni's best portraying different styles - the man just continues to amaze.
And the songs - The picturization / video for 'Oru kudai sunlight' and 'Adhiradeekaran' . I had imagined kanna-pinna stuff for adhiradikaran and what i had imagined was nothing. That song is the best picturised song in Indian movies - EVER. Dholare from Devdas can go begging - such was the grandeur. And boy, has Rajni put some effort into dancing. Shriya is stunning. The background score, especially in the last fight (and the last fight itself) were a different level altogether... I cant use words to describe it, they will fall short.
And all this is child's play in a lead up to the last 30 minutes. Having caught fire in the second half, the movie just runs amok. It just takes a huge turn when rajni re-appears as Motta boss. I dont want to spoil it for you. You should savour it yourself, but the last 30 minutes where mottai Rajni appears alone is worth the money. Avan kannula oru veri, oru fire theryum. Oru thimir, machan - chance a kedayudhu. Seriously, pera ketta odane summa adhirudhu.
Some serious thinking has gone into it and it has come out just amazing. You have to be tamil oriented to get it, so its interesting how the reaction for the that segment is going to be in other languages but kudos to Shankar for thinking of that in Tamil. You have to give it to Shankar. I am not really a fan of the man but this movie is the real deal.

Overall, the movie was AMAZING. Just 2 words - Watch it. 2 more words - Right now.
Thalaivar rocks. Rajni is the best. Only Rajni (movie) possible.
Completely lives up to the hype.
Go with an open mind and soak it up.

Heavy Metal

Came across this news yesterday.

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BERLIN (Reuters) - A court in Germany has convicted three men of stealing over four km (2.5 miles) of rail track, weighing nearly 500 tonnes, to sell as scrap metal.

The court in the city of Marburg said Tuesday the men, aged 26 to 29, pretended to be working for the national rail operator Deutsche Bahn when they began carving up a disused line between nearby Niederwalgern and Lohra with blowtorches.

The three suspects, all Germans born in the former Soviet Union, had removed 476 tonnes of steel track by the time they were caught when a local man contacted Deutsche Bahn to check their story. (Talk about snoopy neighbours and neighbourhood pride)

The crime has become so famous that the regional education ministry has used it as a model for a math exam, asking pupils to calculate the weight, volume and value of the stolen steel.

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Wow.
This seriously reminds me of the time i was a fresher in my Engineering college in India. We had Mechanical Workshop Practicals where we had to file metal pieces, polish and bring them to shape (proper rectangle, triangle blocks etc...)

Me and my friend hit upon this brilliant ploy and used to collect and bring all the scrap metal pieces back to out hostel rooms, and after we did that through the year, we thought we had a fortune to sell to the street hawker who exchanges scrap metal pieces for date fruit.

Now, we didnt want to short change or sell ourselves so cheap for a years hardwork of sneaking pieces and carrying them to our rooms and safeguarding them in our lockers and dreaming of the money i will fetch.

So, we put the metal pieces we hd collected between us over the year in my friends travel bag, and took a bus to downtown vellore (sounds grand, doesnt it?) in peak May Vellore summer to a hardware store that would weigh the pieces and pay MONEY straight up. After much bickering amongst us en route on what to do with all the money we'd get ( i wanted beer and he wanted rum), we took solace from the thought we'd have enough for both and some more. The hawker weighed our pieces and gave us 15 rupees. 15 rupees for a years work of diligently carrying the pieces from lab back to hostel room, sneaking it behind the professors back, saving it from other friends who had similar ideas and taking the trouble of a 30 minute 2 bus change (@ 3 rupees per head one way) from katpadi, where our college was.. to vellore.

Boy, we had a lemonade each and made the return trip in without (local slang for travelling ticketless). The rest of our friends were eagerly anticipating us returning with hard cash that just not to let them down, or be the laughing stock later on in our college life, if they got the real dope on what happened, we had to shell whatever we had out of pocket and share a half beer and act drunk so the odor would carry through and the others would be convinced we had got some money but drunk it ourselves..

It was a very miserable day but we learnt our lessons: that petty crime doesnt pay. It served a purpose too. We were pretty put off by our initial fiasco we didnt have the heart to pinch resistors, capacitors, transistors etc.. from subsequent years labs. Turns out a good thing. They come at 10 rupees for 4 transistors, and you get the rest for fucking free.

Insomniac...

Its 1.15 in the morning...
And i cant sleep.
Been having trouble with my sleep lately. Been tossing and turning all the time. Having dreams. Real bad and irrelevant dreams at that. Weird thoughts go on as a result of that.
And its like a trend.
Im afraid im becoming insomniac.
Let me illustrate.. yeah, illustrate, now thats a grand word.

Recently, i dreamt of being at a dinner party with some Indian friends and during the dinner, a major fight broke out between the north and south indian factions. Because the South Indians had finished all the north indian snacks while at the same time chastising them for how tasteless they were and wouldnt let the northies eat south indian snacks.... or something along those lines. Real wierd.
So, anyway a fight broke out over that and i was made captain of the south faction and i was discussing the repercussions of the fight with the north counterpart. We were smoking a joint outside discussing the repercussions of the fight while our troops were banging each other indoors. Then we had another joint discussion (pun intended) and decided we should have another joint, i mean discussion, in 15 minutes while we went in and surveyed the damages. And when we entered, we found out the fight had stopped and everybody was all chummy inside and watching something on the tv, beer in hand. And then the north deputy (who they had all elected spokesman) told us the fight had been foreplanned and was a decoy to stop me from getting to the beers first. And everybody just laughed me out the party.

I woke up with a cold sweat. I ran to the fridge to see if my supplies are still there. You know, what do you do with dreams like this.. Real bad and irrelevant dreams.

So anyway, this has become a bugging pattern of late. And its cutting into my work. I toss and turn for 6 hours at night. I wake up at 6 in the morning, everyday. I dont want to wake up at 6 in the morning. It bugs me to wake up like that. All stiff and absolutely not fresh at all. Its the opposite of fresh. Anyway, i wake up and i say, you know, lets just get it over with. Brush teeth, bathe, freshen up a bit, goto work early, leave work early and sleep early and catch up on sleep tonight. And i go and brush my teeth. I am out of toothpaste and my apartment-mate uses Colgate and i swear those are the worst toothpastes ever made. I mean, you are looking for something to freshen up. To wake you up in the morning. A paste like Close-up wakes you up. It does something and sends some signals that tells the brain its a new day, so wake the fuck up...

I mean, just look at the ad. I love the Close-up ad. The dood is all drowsy when he gets up, he yawns and hits the wash and he puts some Closeup on his toothbrush and the minute the brush reaches his teeth, his eyes open up and he grins a very ugly grin, a grin that shows his day is well and under. It freshens you up. It sends the pulse racing. It makes you fresh just watching that. Colgate is the opposite of that. Yes, its the best toothpaste for germs, it prevents cavity, it has calcium and is good for the teeth but it does not wake you up in the morning. If they were honest about the product, this is how their ad should be. A zippy dude, who is all fresh and all, decides he needs to slow down and get some rest and sleep. So, he goes to the wash and gets his brush and puts some Colgate. The minute it reaches his teeth, he falls asleep. It serves a double, maybe even triple purpose. First it puts you to sleep instantly and the teeth are protected while he is asleep. That how their ads should be, not about some family somewhere where the grandfather is in his white kurtas crunching and spitting out on his pistachio shells with gay abandon... They should have a caption like ' Working on your teeth while you are asleep' or something creepy like that.

And its with this knowldege in mind, the old men prophesized 'Brush twice daily. After you wake up and before you goto sleep.' They wanted to add 'With Closeup in the morning and with Colgate at night' but they had just tested out Colgate and fallen asleep before adding to their prophecy.

And while i am at it, let me confess teeth and feet are among the words i hate because i always get confused about which is the singular and which is the plural.... Why cant they just say tooths and foots. Whats wrong with that? No, they have to say teeth and feet. Sophisticated asses. See, now that is simple because i dont have to goto dictionary.com to find out the plural of ass. But the Brits want to call it arse. The Brits.. dont even let me get started on the Brits.

So, i am just lying in my bed, tossing and turning, cant digest the fact that i cant get any sleep. I start thinking of weird things. During the initial bouts of insomnia and laying awake in bed, i used to think about how much i miss home and reminisce the good times with my uncles and all, used to digress how it would be to live like Holden Caulfeld and movies like Schindlers List and used to get really depressed as hell.

I think i am adapting to insomnia like a man these days. I can warm upto and face the fact that i cant sleep. I turn the lights on (I have repositioned the bed so the light switch is at arms distance) and start reading my favourite Irwin Shaw short stories. If Irwin Shaw cant put me to sleep, nothing can. I recognized this trait with Irwin Shaw. The way he writes, its like you are lying on your grandpa's lap listening to tales and time is never a factor, at least to me. You cant get enough. Anyway, to stop digressing, i would try to sleep again but the mind goes back to weird thoughts. Although the thoughts are better these days. I think of funny stuff like Zoolander, 40 year old virgin and burst laughing. I digress on why none of my friends can remember the name Djimon Hounsou. I spoke to 4 people and each time, during the closing phase of the phone conversation where we ask about books and movies (because you are out of things to talk, usually followed by weather and talk to you later) and we spoke about Blood Diamond and everybody was ooh,aah ing Dicaprio and i would say 'I think Djimon Hounsou was way better' and everybody is like 'Yeah, yeah. The black dude, right. He was good. Whats his name again?'
What do you do with thoughts like these?

Am sorry, what was the intention of this post... Yeah, about how i am getting insomniac.. Yeah.. And it affects my work. It affects the productivity and quality of my output, now thats royal fucking grand. Coming from me, because i typed this junk almost exclusively at work. Maybe if i try blogging when not getting sleep, i will sleep in a jiffy. Thats something to think about. Or maybe i should just brush at nights with Colgate. Maybe i'll try that too.

Visions for 07

Lets cut straight to the chase...

I told myself this year was going to be the year of at least 2 things.. fitness and blogs.

I set myself a goal of completing a few half-marathons atleast and penning some 35-40 posts by yearend. Nothing too aggressive. A lot of roadrunning over spring/summer and 3 posts a month. I am satisfied with the progress on the fitness side. I am not yet there, but i think I will get there. I have been running 10-12 miles and cycling 20 a week the past month. Cycling is on the off-days, when i dont feel like running.

Atleast, i shook the cobwebs and started doing something rather than just thinking about it all the time. And the exciting part is the months persistence. So, buoyed by that, i went and bought myself a pair of Nike running shoes and a terrain bike. Cost me 150 bucks between them and the people that i owe money to wont be too happy, but its alright, they don’t have to know. This is personal reward and i am a firm believer in that not only should you deserve anything in life, but also that, if you deserve it, you should get it.

I think i owe the credit to Mahesh for that really. Sometime last year, when i was sulking and seething at the transition, (which i will address in another post, - i have it in my drafts) and telling him how i was going to join a gym and concentrate on fitness once i got settled, he said, "yes mister, thats all fine. Why dont you just run the streets until then?" which basically translates to "Dont stand there just talking about it. Start doing it".

Anyway, its going alright for now. Spring's here and its not too chilly. The season may yet have its last bouts of snow, but summer is round the corner. So, longer days, decent running weather, thank you very much and and i have discovered a route around here, its got all kinda terrain. It is a linear trail for the most part and very gradually decreases in elevation for the most part and gains elevation awkwardly intensely toward the end, prompting me to think of it as my own Boston marathon(yes, i am a showoff) and its a perfect 5k. From out the door to back in. I ran it the first day, and immediately drove it in my car to measure. 3.1 miles = 5 Kilometres. My home track. And im doing that in 33 minutes these days. The hill definitely slows me down, but i ran an allout linear 5k trail and did that in 28, so its alright, i guess. I did my first hour long run yesterday, ran 5.8 miles in those 60 minutes on the treadmill while watching my personal favourite Paulina Porizkova shunted off ABC’s ‘Dancing with the stars’. Its a different matter that my system has issued a revolt today. I had to work from home and finish assignments like these....

So, amidst all this old enthusiasm rekindled and put to effect, the blogs fell by the wayside. I have done 2 posts this year. So, i just started to spend a lot of time with the blog window open.. I played around the template and HTML awhile, i even did a couple JAVA feeds, basically diversions from what you set to do.. obstacles in the path of life.. (similar to why you would sit with any novel on exam eve). So, to shake the mental block, i scoured the archives and drafts to see if i can get any help there, and sure enough, i have a few, at least 7 works, not including the one on Sourav. (The Sourav one is LONG and i have braced myself into the thinking that i will never complete it until he retires). Even otherwise, seeing the draft works, Jacckpot, i thought. These buddies are just waiting to get published. I just need to alter the dates. I can catch up quite fast. How long is that going to take?? Very, as it turns out!!!

Let me tell you this. People of the old world weren’t too off the mark when they said 'Take a task. Finish it and move to the next". Because editing blogs from the past are no joke. They are harder then new posts. You can pen 2 new ones faster than the time it takes to polish an old one.

You know, generally, the best part about procrastination is that its endless and you can say you are saving for something to do in the future but the worst part is when you actually get down to do it, it gives a right royal pain to go make changes on the date and situation as applicable, as memory is a thing of past and erases itself fast (Holy St. Thomas), even more so, when certain events are manufactured and/or are improvisations. But i guess maybe thats what makes it more fun. Or not. We'll find out..

So, with that to retain your interest, I shall talk to you in the next post. Unless you call me before that, but why would you.

Left in the lurch by a lift.

That's how unthankful things to which you are thankful are, man. Lesson learnt in life.
I do like the biggest writeup anybody has ever done on elevators right, outside of research papers, that is, which are anyway similar to my posts because nobody reads either. And i have to say mine are better because they take less time to create.

Anyway, these elevators are starting to get all cranky on me. No, i didnt get stuck on one, not yet, but its just obvious im going to be one of these days. I mean, if the law of averages can catch up with Sachin Tendulkar, who am i?

'Moving on', i board this elevator in the first floor, right and hit 2. I get all cozy and stuff inside because there was noone else, and i was just enjoying my ride, thinking what an asshole i had been to write like 2 pages on elevators. If i had written it on the cow, who knows, maybe i could have shown my mom and she might have been pleased. Actually not, upon hindsight, as every kid writes about the cow at some point of time in his life.. how many do about elevators. ...

And so the elevator came to a stop, the doors opened, and i was stopped in my tracks when i started to walk out because thats when i realized that its gone to the basement. DOWN when i had said UP. Basement instead of 2. I started to freak out man.

Thats when i see its a cute Indian girl whose summoned it. Ah, a twist in the tale, Mr. Archer, NOT !!

And she just enters, doesnt say hi or flash a smile, no acknowledgment toward the fact i was already there or any signs of guilt or uneasiness about how her summoning the elevator had delayed me to........... well, something okay, i forget, not that its important !!!!!!!! Not even the "Where are you from India?" or " Can you believe how cold it is outside". That usually lasts a ride between floors.

She just steps in and hits 1 when the 2 light was already lit up. Like she owns the elevator or something. Then she does the unthinkable, she starts to flip a file. Come on. Indians do not read files between floors. Its just not us. Moreover, like you can read it between basement and 1st... Whatever happened to elevator manners. I was gaping at her the whole time and she didnt even see from the corner of the eye if i was checking her out. All Indian girls do that. Where are you from India......

Okay i thought, i lost the battle, maybe i will win the war. Maybe it will take me to 2 first and then drop her at 1. That will show whose the boss. Moreover, i had just sucked upto elevators so surely they'll return the favor. I was ready to bet on it. No, it stopped at 1. If you want to hear the rest, like you havent anticipated already, she just left. Like she couldnt wait to reach to 1. And then the elevator, he is from the Thyssenkrupp family, (oh yeah, i noted that name), waited forever, like share auto drivers in Chennai do, to pick more passengers, found none and dropped me off at 2.

Man, I was demoralized. All i could was walk out and mumble like Zaphod "left in the lurch by a lift" while the doors slammed in my face. Thats it. Im moving my allegiance from elevators to... suitcases. Most of them even have wheels, you know.

That's how unthankful things to which you are thankful are, man. Lesson learnt in life.

Valentine Day Special.....

Just got done watching some V.Day special (yeah, pour some oil on the fire, you.....) on TV.

And the show was an interview about whether to celebrate the day or not....
And every now and then, we have a loser walk up and say 'Its stupid. Whats up with this expressing love on just one day an year. When you love somebody, show it everyday. This is once again just a big hype for marketing and advertising and people to spend their hard earned money on flowers, cards, jewelery and crap.. Thats what it is.. Half the people dont know about St. Valentine......." you know, sour grapes..

But again, every then and now, there is this kid that comes along where the interview about Shakespeare's Valentinian theory "To celebrate or Not to Celebrate" takes the following course..

Reporter: Do you celebrate valentines day(to aforementioned)
He: No
R: WHY ??
He: Why? Because i dont have a date, thats the fuck why....

That kid is me. A perpetual Helmet.....

For them that dont know about helmets, a helmet, although it is a a protective device, it usually (in modern usage) refers to a person that is either "not looking" or "prefer to say not looking" or "forced to say not looking" or "not having" (Stolen from somewhere on the www). In plain words, a helmet is a kid thats single, and whats important is that a helmet alone can steer an interview in the above course, that being one of the reasons why he is a helmet.

Although most people argue it should be 'helmetor' ( drawing a parallel to 'conductor' who conducts or 'driver' who drives, they shut up when we counter with ' What is the plural of fish?'). By some stretch of similarity and partly by the 'Same difference' principle, a helmet is a person who wears a helmet for not getting hurt when he falls down like this.

Helmets are almost always a flesh and blood male ( i dont know any female helmets and thats part of why i am a helmet), and most often, salt of the earth....

Anybody females interested in helping remove the helmet can contact by commenting below. All offers considered and most accepted.
(If you are a guy, do not even think of contacting pretending to be a lady who is up for it. I'm tired of that rubbish.)

Breaking News

BCCI REFUSES RICHARD BRANSON'S VIRGIN STORES SPONSORSHIP

Richard Branson of VIRGIN Airlines has offered to sponsor the Indian cricket team.
However, Greg Chappell has asked the BCCI to refuse the offer saying "There is no logic on this move. We can't have VIRGIN written on our shirts, when we're getting "fucked in every match"!

Sorry about that, but I am on a alltime time high coz of Sourav's return to the team and getting heady with it courtesy his initial success in a tour game. While what Sourav does on the field over the entire series will decide who looks like an asshole (himself or Greg Chappell/ Dravid), i think i would have absolute delight in kicking a man when he's down, especially if that man happens to be Greg Chapell, who conspired with BCCI to get Sourav off the team. So, this is my initial jab for that absurd connection.

Yeah right... basically whatever helps a Friday afternoon pass by. Im in that state that i would pay the clock to move that short hand to 'Five', if i had any money or if it was doable. Which is neither, so am doing posts like this. Yeah, this is my 'low five'.

Elevator Blues..

Before we start, let me warn you this is long and not without reason as this is the most comprehensive write-up ever attempted on elevators, if you include the outbound link, which I implore you to read after going through this in entirety.

Basically Mitch Hedberg is responsible for this as I was inspired to write a blog on elevators after watching his joke about elevators and escalators which goes thus: ‘ I don’t like elevators man. I like escalators, because an escalator can never break down. It can only become stairs. Escalator: Temporarily stairs. Sorry for the convenience”.

Elevators are a part and parcel of life, very important, next only to pizza, beer and computers, in that order. Douglas Adams recognized the role of elevators in everyday life and gave them their due in his book, ‘Restaurant at the End of Universe’ envisioning a hilarious exchange that takes place between Zaphod Beeblebrox, who wants to go ‘up’, and an elevator in the building, which insists on taking him down because it is an ‘existentialist’ elevator that can read into the future and smells trouble if it takes Zaphod ‘up’. For the entire exchange, click here.

(Well basically, all that song was for introduction about my various elevator experiences that I have been thinking of sharing for quiet sometime now.)

The first and foremost one was when, as a kid, probably in 5^th or 6^th class, I was accused of single handedly braking the lift at my uncle’s apartment in Bombay. It was a nice 15 floor highrise in Andheri and I would ride up and down and up and down and again and again because there was nothing else to do, and also because it would play music and I remember liking the tune at that time. Anyway, the maintenance-wallah caught me quite a few times and I would run around the basement, escape and take the lift up again. Sometimes, I would be clever and stop at the 2^nd floor and ride it back till the 15^th. I remember my fascination being with the small rectangular glass window on the door of the lift that offers view of the people outside, on the corridor, waiting for it to rest at their floor. I would look through it and sometimes roll my eyes, make faces or click my tongue out just to annoy them, because I knew it worked both ways. They could also look through the same rectangular frame to see who is riding the elevator. Apparently, in those days, lifts could not come to a stop in between. Or that’s how I remember it. As in, if you were riding it from 2^nd to 8^th and somebody summons it at 5^th to go on further up, it would not stop at the 5^th, but go all the way to 8^th, drop the person and then move down to 5^th. But I would not get down at 8^th. I would get out, get in again and ride it till the 13^th, and again to 7^th, and so on. So, due to the wait and constant usage, the poor thing broke down. A middle-aged woman was trapped and it took them an hour to get her out. They had a big conference about it, witnesses summoned and minutes taken and decided I was responsible. By then, I was anyway tired of the elevator thing and had found a Bahadur comic and laughed the whole thing off when they squared me, saying I never rode the elevator all day, but had been with my uncle, aunts, granddad and that we had been playing monopoly all day. So anyway, that was my first experience with lifts and it was awesome.

The other elevator that I do remember is the one we had in the main building of my college in India. My department was in a different building and I had no business at the main building. But I had a few friends in the main building and there was also a girl there I was eyeing at that moment. They were all in the 3^rd floor and I used to go there every now and then. Anyway, the hearsay is that the elevator in the building is off limits to students. It was only for staff and teachers, or for students carrying record notes and everybody’s drafters. But I would always take it and that gave me a big bang, riding that stupid elevator to the 3^rd floor. I would step out of it, and see if my friends or the girl had seen me step out of it and act all important and as if it was a big deal. ‘So, you walked the stairs, huh, loser’ would be my body language to people that I knew had taken the stairs. I feel incredibly foolish now that I think about it, but got a major high out of it at that time.

Then there was this elevator at my friend AS’s apartment in Adyar that would start playing music within like a couple of seconds after you reached the designated floor. It was an obsession of mine to open the door before it could play its goddamn high-pitched music. I would be mentally ready and warming up by the time we were on the first floor, hands on the handle on the 2^nd like on the mark to slam the door open upon reaching third. It was like a reaction test, a race against time. It was Me Vs. Elevator, rage against the machine. Of course, I never won. It always beat me to it. I have had nightmares about it before AS showed me how to silence it.

The mother of all elevators is the one in the new Engineering building at Utah Sate. It was like the fastest elevator on the planet if it ever closed the doors. Like you would enter it, hit 4^th, and make tea and drink it before it would close the door. But once the door closes, it would take off like a rocket. But you can be smart about it, and hit the ‘Close Door’ button. If you remembered that, it was all right. I usually forget about that and wait for it to close by itself if an undergraduate bombshell from the Civil Engg dept would ride along although as is most often the case, whenever I forget about it, they always remember. There’s no such thing as ‘Stuck in an elevator with a girl’. Atleast, from my vast experiences in different elevators in different lands, and it’s a myth perpetrated by unimaginative movie directors and killjoy romantic novelists to introduce the hero and heroine. Even worse unimaginative movie directors use the situation to make the villain develop an interest for the girl, while the hero is the bellboy or is waiting on the next floor. That’s the pits!!!!!

Okay okay, seems this has become longer than I thought it would be, but there are so many elevators in my life that hold a special memory but there’s just this one last elevator I MUST talk about. It brought down the whole building. Yes, I am serious. Listen up. This was the one in the Merill Library building in Utah State. It was the slowest ever. I would have said ‘It is the slowest ever’, but, like I said, they tore the whole building down. Which makes that the most significant elevator in the history of mankind.

They held a meeting and decided that it would just be faster to tear down the building rather than wait for the elevator to descend the 4 floors. If only they had waited for that, the dear building would still be in place. Apparently, it was on time that day. But that’s the way it goes. Human patience runs out every time, and our impatience is better than only the vogons, who couldn’t wait a further 5 seconds.

All right, alright, let me wind this up with one last paragraph, a ‘psychological test’ as encountered everyday in life. You could take any 1 of the 2 roles described below, and in what capacity you relate to it from your everyday experience tells a lot about you as a person. So, with that info to retain your attention…..

Ever encountered the nonchalant-all-the-time-in-the-world-guy who sunnily steps into the elevator with a ‘howdy’ (especially if you are a pretty girl)? This happens like all the time if you work on the 9^th floor, and definitely happens when you are running late for an appointment on the 14^th floor.

Remember him? He gets in on the 2^nd floor, waiting all the 10 minutes to let the construction worker get his cart outta the elevator. You’d be kicking yourself for not taking the stairs and bemoaning your luck on why it happens to you all the time. Meanwhile, the-all-the-time-in-the-world-guy would wait and/or help the construction guy to get his cart outside the elevator and take his place in with his ‘howdy’, as already explained. He would then press 3, whistling under his breath, to pretend that he didn’t get turned on by your perfume. Remember that guy???

I am he.

Let me sign this off in the way I have always wanted to end all my other works.

If you really liked this narrative and have your own elevator story (or other opinions) that you’d like to share, please write to me using the comments below.

Playing around...

I am playing around with my page and figuring out the "HTML" code (the geek in me has finally surfaced after 2 and a half years) making changes on the template and stuff, just the font and colours and sidebar and stuff, so the page might behave bizarrely over the weekend.
I am not asking you to bear with me and stuff, but just thought might let you know. It might after all probably serve as a reminder for me to finish fooling around and revert to original template if it has been a very long time.

Anyway, here is a pice of information. I visited new York today. Downtown Manhattan and Empire State Building and Times Square, the works. Rode the subway. Hell's F kitchen. It was grand. Whats so great about that, you might ask? Nothing, but its not everyday you visit the Big Apple, anyway not unless you work there. And its just information, so thats that.

Anyway, thats abt it for now. So long.

Andre VS The Backboard !!!

Me and Mahesh were fooling around the tennis court the pretty much the whole of July. After an especially gruelling couple of hours on a sticky sunday afternoon, we thought it would be fun to warm down by hitting against the wall and having the other person video it. Oh, by a lucky chance, i had brought my camera along. Stroke of genius and luck, huh.. NOT - Because we had planned to video in the first place, and all that introduction was a load of bull... Anyway, i videod him and it sucked and wudnt be appearing in any forum in a hurry. But he videod me and i think it has come down alright. Maybe thats because i am a super player. Maybe. You never know. Anyway, watch me flaunting my tennis groundstrokes. Pretty neat skills there, especially those 4 back to back backhands, which the stupid wall kept returning. Must admit that i donot recollect having returned 4 continous backhands in play until now. Which could probably be because they never come back once i hit one, so there is my Brent-ism right there. Feel like you have seen that backswing and follow through somewhere? You have, if you have watched Agassi play, that is. All inspired by the great man, although i am a single hand backhander myself. I had titled it Andre VS The Backboard even at the time i had uploaded it on Google way back in July, so them sceptics that think i have titled it hence to capitalize on the great man's retirement, kindly take a backseat. As a last word, this post has no connection to my Thanks Andre post. Just thot might check out if the BLOG video link on the Google video page really works, and also if it did, it might be cool to actually have an embedded video playing on the home page. It is, isnt it?

THANKS ANDRE

US Open 2006, Men's Singles, 3rd Round, Benjamin Becker Defeated Andre Agassi 7-5, 6-7(4), 6-4, 7-5

That is how the final statsheet will be recorded against the greatest player to have played the game. But the scenes and emotions and tears and applause and the mutual affection the fans shared with Andre can never be summarized in words.

When Becker aced one down the middle on match point to signal the end of Agassi era, 23,000 + courtside fans stood up in unison and gave the 36 year old retiring legend a heartfelt standing ovation that lasted, not 1, not 2, not 3, not 5, but the whole of 8 minutes and then some more.

Agassi's transformation is a great story. From the 16 something, baggy short sporting, long maned loud mouthed punk from Las vegas to the genial smile in place, soft spoken, shaven headed 36 year old in classic tennis whites statesman of the game is a success story that can hardly be matched. Along the way, he won a Wimbledon, a French , 2 US and 4 Australian Open titles, an Olympic Gold and Davis Cups for US. While he was at it, he won a million hearts worldwide and practically inspired thousands like me to pick up a racquet and give it everything on the court. What makes his a greater story is that he lost his focus and fitness midway, and was written off. He found a way to learn from his mistakes and comeback and become what he is today. That right there is an inspiration - not just in sport, but one for everyday life any person would do well to follow. That is what life is all about, isnt it, second chances and taking them.

Another fact about Agassi is apparently he is a very nice man to know and be friends with. He still has the same circle of friends he had when he was very young, and that he has taken care of them financially too. He has started his own foundation to help kids with education and college preparation in 2001 and has donated millions to charities endorsed by peers.

The impact he had on the game was in evident display from the innumerable moving moments from his farewell after his loss to Becker. Agassi's speech couldn't have been better if it had been read from a prescript,but yet, it wasnt and it came from the heart. “The scoreboard said I lost today. What the scoreboard doesn’t say is how much I’ve found. I found loyalty. You have pulled for me on the court and in life. I’ve found inspiration. You’ve willed me to succeed. I’ve found generosity. You’ve allowed me to stand on your shoulders to reach my dreams. And I will take you in my memory for the rest of my life.” That should go down as one of the greatest speeches ever made by any person.

The applause from fellow players was no less.
Fellow Americans Roddick and Blake showed their respect by bowing to fans in the trademark Agassi fashion of bowing and blowing kisses to 4 sides of the court after their respective wins. Blake even dressed up as Agassi of yore, sporting a white bandana and a black, white and neon red combo top to go with spandex shorts and matching shoes.
19 year old stalwart Rafael Nadal came courtside to catch a peek of Agassi's last game, as did 50 year old legend Martina Navratilova. Nadal and Brit Andy Murray later confessed they were moved to tears watching the great man's farewell speech.
Andre was given a standing ovation all the way along the passage till the players lounge, from where the players took it up. The ones in the waiting room and locker rooms stood up and applauded and appreciated the great man.
“The greatest applause that any person will ever receive in their life is that which comes from their peers,” said Agassi “ It's not like we're a company who's working together to accomplish something. We're people that succeed, in some cases, at the demise of the other. To have them applaud you is the ultimate compliment.”
Even the media snobs in the pressroom stood up in unison and clapped for Agassi, a honour never extended to any other player in the history of sport.

As for me, the greatest Agassi moment was not his last match and farewell, not the first Wimbledon he won, neither his classic 4 tiebreak loss to Sampras nor his run to the finals in last year's US Open. Those are just standout events in a star studded career and nothing more. They voice his appetite for healthy competion and a never say die attitude, a trait every player should have, but do not define the man himself. In fact, it was an incident that made a small splash and hence forgotten. In the late 90s, Agassi was scheduled to play an ATP tour tournament final against Sampras. Sampras went down with food poisoning and offered to retire. Agassi would have none of it. He volunteered to wait till Sampras got better and they played the final a day later. Agassi won and quipped "Now, that feels much better" and Sampras appreciate the gesture with a suprsisingly witty reply "Now, i feel much better too". That, for me, epitomizes sportmanship, a respect for the spirit of the game and consideration and appreciation for a fellow competitor. That, for me, is what Andre Agassi is all about and that is the reason my email will always be andre_ram@yahoo.com

THANKS ANDRE.
THANKS FOR THE MEMORIES MATE.
YOU ROCKED 20 YEARS AGO AND YOU ROCK NOW AND YOU'LL ROCK FOREVER.

PS - I do not have the heart to put a picture of a crying Andre. He will always be the ever smiling and the most complete tennis player in my book/page.

Adios, Andre

Me Dupree

It is said there are at the most six degrees of seperation from one man to another in this world.
Six degrees is the theory that anyone on earth can be connected to any other person through a chain of acquaintances with no more than five intermediaries.
No wonder its a small world.

Here is my second degree of seperation with film star Owen Wilson.....

In his new film, You, me and Dupree, Owen plays Randolph Dupree.
Me myself, presently, i am a dupree in Randolph.

How's taht for a connection, now?

A small trip down childhood lane.......

Introduction
Was doing Sudoku yesterday with a pencil. Did one of the squares wrong, and didnt have an eraser. I dont like crossing out numbers. It disturbs my analysis.
Procedure
You know how they say " It all comes back". It did. Licked my finger to get some moisture, dried it a bit by rolling it with the thumb and rubbed it nice and slow on the square.
Result
It still works. A bit of black smudge, but the 3 i had analyzed wrongly was a goner.

Happy and elated, spent the next half hour recollecting school days and kids i know and their antics. When i returned to the puzzle, couldnt help the feeling that a kid, upon erasing a square would have gone straight ahead and finished the puzzle, or moved on to something more intresting, like building a paper boat, rather than mull or contemplate about the day he took his first step or uttered his first word or fascinate about being an adult. The best part about kids is that they dont know they will lose their innocence when they grow up.

And as soon as i finish typing this, i am going to find an eraser, apply a little oil on my hair and see if the age old printing trick still works. After that, i am going to find a magazine, and draw moustaches and beards on George Bush's photo. Must admit i did that all the way till my 10th standard, with my personal best being the beard i gave to Khudi Ram Bose portrait in my friend Ankit's 7/8th history book.

Thin Slicing and Blink

With due apologies and regrets for the absence, I was keeping quiet not because there was nothing going on, actually, there has been a lot, and very soon, I’ll write about all that but I have been quiet partly due to back pain, work overload, too much TV and mainly because I was not clear on my stand on most of the things and anyway most were just ‘all in a days work’ kind of experiences. But when i write, i write long, not because i have lot to say, but because i was poor at preci writing throughout.

I was watching the soccer World Cup Group E game against US and Czech Republic yesterday, and on impulse, started supporting the Czechs (and was extremely happy at the end of the day because i had backed the winning horse). I read a little too much into what caused me to want the Czechs to win, and here are a number of pros and cons for that with a confusing mix of personal experiences thrown in with a couple new flashy terminologies.

When it comes to sports, strong personal likes and dislikes for no rhyme or reason, i admit, is my nature. Making a virtue of it, it makes sport interesting to me. I can rarely enjoy any contest without taking sides. Most decisions are made in the blink of eye and then we prepare elaborate "Office Notes" to justify. There are centuries of human experience that goes into split second decision-making, the newfound terminology for this being ‘Thin slicing and Blink’.

This term has been coined and adopted from Blink: The Power of Thinking Without Thinking, a book by Malcolm Gladwell, in which he explores the power of the mind to make split second decisions, the ability to reach a decision without really considering all information at hand. In essence, it says spontaneous decisions are often as good as - or even better than - carefully planned and considered ones.

The pro argument for thin slicing is that it feels great when it comes off -- that is the kick of liking Agassi and Sourav before the world. You feel as if your son is doing well. There are many times, when i have silently bargained for a Sourav century for my personal score in a local match. Of course, many of my strong likes and dislikes result in egg on my face - examples being Steve Waugh, Sampras, Flintoff (whom all i dislike) and James Anderson (I thought he was the next Donald + Mcgrath, but he's not even in the side now).

My way of following sport is totally opposite to my dad's. He never picks a side to win or a player to perform. " That creates an expectation, and if expectations are not met, its likely to cause disappointment, plenty of sulking and a loss of interest. Thats not why you watch sport. You dont watch it for a person. You watch it because the game appeals to you. Follow the game and you'll love it more". Sincere and lovely advise indeed, but hard to follow. Maybe when i am 50, i can appreciate that, but right now, its cool pick sides, root for that side and live it up when they win or say ‘ the opponents fouled’ otherwise.

Not just sport, movies, politics or any aspect of life for that matter, where a hint of a contest between two forces may be involved. It’s a little different with music. An absolutely awful song might still sound unbelievably super because you might totally relate to the lyrics or vice versa.

Usually, I do a small recap of the day (at least the sober ones) before hitting the bed and I was surprised at why the ‘Blink’ method had made me voice for the Czechs. The only reason I could think of is that Pavel Nedved is one of my favorite players. I am not familiar with anyone in the current US football team. But had I made a detailed analysis, I might have viewed things differently. The Czechs mean nothing to me, while I have been in the US for 2 years now. I wont say I’m a big fan of the American way of living and all, with their credit system and social security and mainly, tax returns, but US is definitely far more tolerant and friendlier to immigrants than any other nation and I have had a pretty positive experience over the past 2 years, and somehow not automatically rooting for the US somehow made me feel ethically wrong.

As opposed to the soccer, when I relate a similar experience with another US team sport, I recollect wanting the US Baseball team to do well in the World Baseball classic. Of course, I knew all the US players there, but once again, I could say I was indifferent to other teams fortunes because I did not know their players.

In the book BLINK, Gladwell had mentioned how our ability to "thin slice" can be corrupted by our likes, dislikes, prejudices and stereotypes, and can be overloaded by too much information.

Anyway, it seems to me, the more I think about this, the more complex it becomes. And in an effort to cleanse my conscience, I am going to try to consciously support US in Saturday’s game against Italy. To consciously support a team is one thing, but what surfaces from the ‘inner you’ is another. I mean, there I could be, telling myself to support the US, but who knows how im gonna feel if Italy score first up? Something similar happened when I was watching a match between Federer and Blake. I was consciously supporting Roger, but within myself knew that I wanted Blake to win.

Probably, I should just sod all these terminologies, go with my heart, not explore for a reason as to why I chose what. Or maybe I should just plain just try remembering and following what my dad says.

All in a day's work

The picture is seating arrangement set up in our lab.

“That’s got to be annoying, huh” JM hollered across the room to JP.
“Son of a bitch”, JP yelled back, “ Have to move out of this lab. At least move this piece of shit out of the room"
" Why is it here and not it the other lab?" queried JM.
" They moved it when none of us were here." said JP.
" They moved it at night, huh, the bastards" said JM.
" No", said JP " They had moved it before any of us had started here. And its been here ever since because we havent moved it yet into a room thats unoccupied".
" But there are no more unoccupied rooms", JM retorted
" Precisely why we havent moved it yet " I ventured.

Not to be left out of this verbal volley, KH suddenly looked up from his PC and shouted “What?”
“Oh, nothing, they are just talking about the loud buzzing noise constantly emanating from the ice machine”. That was me to KH.
“WHAT” yelled back KH, seated a few inches away “I can’t hear ”
And that’s when I understood the joke.

JM still didn’t get it. He walked all the way to KH and pointed to the ice maker and said “That son of a bitch is too noisy”.
“What the fuck are you talking about J, why can’t you say it out loud? I can’t hear you” shouted KH, at the top of his voice. It was madness by this time. JM still didn’t get it.

“Don’t shout man. We were just mentioning about the ice maker and the noise it makes. Cant you hear it?” said JM pointing to the ice maker.
“WHAAAAAAAT? HAVE YOU LOST YOUR VOICE J? WHY ARE YOU WHISPERING?”
JM, sod him, still didn’t get it.
“I haven’t lost my voice. You have gone deaf and you are screaming. You cant hear the ice maker and you cant hear me. Anyway, its just mindless chatter. Forget it. Never mind” said JM, giving up on KH, and started to walk back to his desk.

KH yelled out JM’s name, and I mean yelled like 'He-man says HEE MANN' and cried “ If you cant speak up like the rest of the others, send me an email” and that’s finally when JM understood KH is impersonating a deaf guy to show how loud the ice maker machine was.
“Son of a bitch” he cursed KH, because the joke was on him and he didn’t find it funny.
It was a walk in the park for KH by now “What?” he asked.
“Mother fucker” cursed JM.
“Send me an email” said KH stylishly and walked out the room.

And while you are at it, can you feed the fish?

We were at staff lunch Friday afternoon and JM was rattling on again about what had happened when he was escorting his 73rd girlfriend someplace. He is a centre stage talker and a bad one at that, but he doesnt know it and nobody tells him that, partly, i suspect, because that gives the others reasons to bitch about him behind his back. Everybody was laughing at him, me included and was gearing upto tell us about his 53rd girlfriend. He doesnt always go in chronological order, just so you know.

Thats when KFP stepped upto me and asked " Are you busy today afternoon?". Thats a trick question but i gave him the honest answer. "No" i said, regretting the answer the second i said it. I was thinking 'Here comes more work. There goes my Friday night', when he said " Can you get off a little early today evening?". Now, this cant be bad, " Yea, Sure ", i said smiling.
" Cool, can you then drop me off at the airport after work?". You know, i had played right into his hands, there's no way i could say no and anyway, the airport wasnt too far off. I had a feeling he practised this conversation before asking me. Anyway, i consented.

" So, we start at 4.30 and you follow me to my house. I'll park my car and pack my bags in a minute and then we can leave to the airport". I let him know that i thought it was a great plan. Afterall, he is lead researcher and a vice president. You hafta suck up sometime.

Things went by as arranged and at his place, he was packing and i was chewing the fat with him, you know, the usual " Where are you going? How long? Wow, cool" stuff. Thats when he asked me " Hey, i am gone for 4 days. Can you do me a favour? Can you come in for a quick second everyday and feed the fish while i am gone?" and without bothering for my response, he dragged me to his fishtank and showed me his fish and started calling them names and started talking to them " Marble" he said, addressing the leader among fish in his fishtank " Ram here is gonna take care of you when i am gone. Is that okay?". I started praying for Marble to say no, but that didnt happen " Marble says alright" he said, releived that Marble had consented. This left me thinking ' Who names his fish Marble? Correction, who names his fish?'

It was not as bad as i make it sound actually. He lives 5 minutes away and even for a novice, feeding the fish doesnt take more than 10 minutes. And so we rode off to the airport. The ride would have been better had KFP not seen it fit for me to manage his household for the next 3 days.
" I had arranged for my shower leak to be fixed tomorrow at 12. Can you step in at 11.59 and open the house for them and wait till they are done and lock the door after that? You know, you can feed the fish at the same time." How could i not agree " See, you dont even hafta come in twice. Combine the two tasks. Always, manage your time effeciently " he reasoned. I refrained from telling him that i woulda combined the two tasks myself anyway.

After a minute, " Son of a bitch", he exclaimed " I forgot to return the DVDs and books at the library and they are due today. Can you go back today, pick them up and drop them off at the library's drop off box. You dont even hafta go inside the library". I said i would and what a great coincidence, i was going to the library myself anyway.

" Oops, i almost forgot. The newspaper boy just throws the paper outside the door. Can you put it inside". This was followed by "I am expecting a package on Monday. I will send the tracking number via email. Can you be there when it arrives. It should be during lunch time. Even otherwise, can you step in for just a quick second?"

How would i know, he was just striking form. He ended up making a entire page full of 'Things to do' for me. Amongst other tasks, it said 'Water the plants, check the car, pick the mail'.

At the airport after i had helped him unload his suitcases from my trunk, he said " I hope i havent burdened you with too much work".
" Not at all. This is easy. Thanks for the note. That'll help" i said, fighting hard to not show the sarcasm. I was happy he didnt ask me help with his office work, like sorting mails and memos. That might just have made me say that i have other plans. Anyways, i was about to close the trunk and disappear when he said " You know, i arrive at 2.30 AM Tuesday morning. I know its an odd hour but can you pick me up at the airport and drop me off at my house. I could use a ride and catch up on my sleep" And no, he didnt bother for my respnse, " I'll send the flight number via email. See you Tuesday night, sorry Wednesday morning " he corrected himself, giggled, stubbed out his cigarette, turned away and started walking toward the airline counter.

Incomprehensive Information

What he tells his friends "You know i was at this place and there was this girl completely checking me out. She couldnt take her eyes off me. She was blatantly winking at me. It was totally coooool"

What he doesnt tell his friends " I asked this girl if she could take my picture with my camera"

Why me?

The original version of this writeup appeared as an email to friends and relatives in Dec 02 after i had lost my bags (containing certificates) during travel to Varanasi to appear in the IAF interview. I had all but forgotten about it but was reminded of it recently by a good friend who remailed it to rub it in, and went on to add that she carries a printout of the mail handy and reads it whenever in need of a good laugh about a right idiot. Never one to be outdone, i take it as a compliment and go one step ahead in posting this so that anybody that needs something to read can carry a personal printout, and anybody that doesnt need it can still print it out and wipe their shoes or make paper rockets or do whatever they do best with scrap paper.

I had at that time titled it "Why me?" and i see no reason to change it.

I have edited it now, obviously, to fit the times and moods of the present generation of which i am very much a part of, in fact, even more than i was when i penned it in angst 3 years ago.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I took Tamilnadu express to Bhopal from where i was supposed to catch one Kamayani god forbidden express to Varanasi. I boarded the Kamayani train at 3 in the morning at Bhopal and after locking my bag under the lower berth to create more legspace, went to sleep at my allocated top berth.

Guess, there aint nothing wrong till now. Thizz where the story starts.

I woke up in the morning at around 9 and abracadabra, like I can’t get any other word, i find that my bag is missing. YES, the same one that i had locked.
Didnt take much of time or effort for him thief to cut away the straps of the bag to release it from the plank to which it was fastened, and take it away, did it?

There i was just looking puzzled/ angry, looking around for my bag despondently, when a coupla co-passengers jus told me cool, in my face, as if nuthin had happened, that it is just my bag which has gone, and there aint nuthin 2 worry. They told it as if they had arrived at the conclusiona fetr some hardcore detective work. I’m happy they dint use the word "eureka". Horseshit, i had nothing 2 worry!! I had all i needed for the bloody interview inside the stolen bag. It contained all my certificates (originals and photocopies et al), my interview call letter, passport size photos, all physical activities certificates et al.

I went to the TTE and told him so-so. You wont believe the mother fucker’s reaction. He laughed at me. Im not kidding. Im sooper serious. If the thing had been bloody Tamilnadu, i wuda hit him in his face. Deal with consequences later. I would have put a fist to his face.
He then told me something in hindi like "yes, there has been robbery in the train tonight and there are few more cases. I dun see what i can do about it. You musta been careful". That bit is a bit true, but you don’t have to laugh.

After that, the railway cops in the train accompanied me and we made a thorough search of the train in the hope that the thief who had taken the bag had discarded it somewhere in the train itself. I felt like the head of a bomb detection squad looking for them bags all over the train. In vain. En route, the two cops who were supposed to help accompany me in my bag search caught a dude selling cigarettes and promptly pocketed 200 bucks and 2 packs of cigarettes each from the kid. I touched them a pack.

All i had remaining with me was a jerkin, a blanket, return tickets and some loose change. Nothing else.

I then made a call to folks back home n told them so-so. I told them i'll get off the train rightaway, cancel them return tickets and come back to Chennai. Never before had i felt such a big longing to be back home.
My father said " No way, go upto varnasi and tell 'em officials what happened. They are sure to give you a chance. You finish what you started".
I continued on the same train and reachd varanasi that night. I went to the govt. railway police to make a complaint. I told him cop in my trademark characteristic broken hindi "Guv, i lost my bag containing my certificates today morning". Guess that used half an hour of our time. I’m willing to bet any of u folks my first month salary, if ever there shud be one, that there aint no way any of u will give the answer the cop did. It went like this "Why dont u register a complaint a coupla weeks later in jodhpur railway station. You are sure to get your bag back". Dont worry much if you dun make out what it meant. So dint i till it occurred to me that it was the hite of sarcasm. I kinda glared at him and after cursing everybody in the world for nobody’s fault, he took the complaint and gave me a copy, because that’s procedure. Im sure he wud have wiped his shoes with that paper the minute i was gone.

I had found a Tamilian on the train, a real salt of the earth lad, to whom I told everything. He was a godsend. He took me with him to a hotel, turning a deaf ear to my assurances that I wont commit suicide or that I was comfortable staying in the platform that night and got me dinner (and breakfast the next day). He even loaned me 500 bucks that I sent back to him through money order.

After breakfast, i went to IAF and they promptly said i could go back. They cant interview me without the certificates because they are tied by procedure as well. SOBs, these people in govt. offices will never improve till they stop being too rigid about procedures. When i later told my uncle (Guru, who is in IAF) the story, he said they aint too rigid usually, and he remembers they actually gave a chance and also selected a lad whose status was same as mine when he had turned up for his interview, though that was some years ago. They later found out he was spying for Pak and made procedures rigid (Ok, I made that up, for my own solace). Blasted damned luck on my side.

So, all i had left to do was return home.
But not so easy. My return ticket to Chennai was from Lucknow the next day. So, I had some time and decided to visit the old Kasi Vishwanath and take a dip in the Holy Ganges and all that. I went to the temple, asking for directions, which is a pain, but somehow managed it. Then I was sitting in the banks of Ganges when a guy approached me and asked if I wanted a boat ride and told me he could take me to some Ghats section. I asked him whats there, and he said “ You can see corpses floating everywhere.” I gave him the old eye and got the fuck outta that place. I didn’t even take the dip. I ran and probably did around 60 kph right then, but I sure as hell got away. Why the fuck would people take a boat ride to watch corpses obstructing the boats’ course? What is THAT, a live dolphin show, from close quarters? Why should people throw corpses in the river? Ash I can understand, that’s like flicking cigarettes on a liquid medium, but decayed human flesh… fucked up psychos over there, I tell you that.

Anyway, personal observations aside, getting back to the narration, it was time to get to Lucknow. Now, Lucknow had no buses from Varanasi. Made it to there in an unreserved train (6 hours of stinkin journey) in an overcrowded train where 4 ticket less guys beat up the TTE for asking 4 their tickets. Thats how they run them railways in the north. Anyways, that was a sight i really relished/ enjoyed watching and me hands were irkin real bad to go join them up. Reached Lucknow around 8 at night.

There was some exam in Lucknow the next day and all the hotel rooms had been taken in the whole i-run-out-of-bad-words city. Found a chatram type place they let me sleep in a corner for the night for 200 fucking bucks, but I paid it without a word. Not that I could bargain in Hindi. Deposited my remaining bag there, went to a nearby alcohol store without a bar, got a quarter rum and pepsi, drank it in a nearby dark alley in 10 minutes, returned to chatram and crashed to sleep.

Woke up the next morning, brushed, bathed, breakfasted, put on a clean shirt (which also the Tamil guy loaned and i didn't return) and went to the station. Unfortunately, went to the wrong station. The stations were named Lucknow Central and Lucknow Junction and closeby-ly apart, ala Central and park. If you have 2 stations, why cant you name them Central and Egmore? The bloody train was on time that bloody day. Managed to reach the right station in the nick of time and finally caught the fucking train back home just to find a drunk asleep in my berth. A Mallu family was traveling and they advised me not to wake the drunk up. I was pretty pissed by then and deciding, ‘hey it couldn’t get worse’, squared up the son of a gun and made him vacate my berth. That feeling was awesome. The best I felt in days. Passed the journey giving the eye to the Mallu chechi seated opposite me. Ghum ka babe. Got chatty with her and she told me my future and stuff, according to which, I’ll never travel abroad, never get married but will father 2 boys. She didnt talk to me for the next one hour though. She was then all chatty again. Spooky folks, these mallus!! It helped me relax a bit, tho.

But actually, tell u what, it was not till i reached Chennai and got home that i regained something of that cool head and composure of mine. I had never been so restless/ anguished so much for so long till then. If this ordeal had lasted anytime more, i guess i can’t have taken it.

Got down to apply for duplicate certificates today and I was glad my father was with me because they said it would take around an year to get the duplicate of the +2 certificate. State Governments, should I say more? Goddamn procedures. I should have waved a 100-buck note at them or something. In Chennai/ Govt. offices, money really talks. No kidding. Folks, if you are a South Indian, here is an earnest appeal from a wellwisher. Please take this advice real seriously and for Pete's sake do not lose ur original certificates, atleast the State board's. It just isn’t worth it, the effort one has to put to get it back.

So, at the end of the day, what happened was i ended up blowing my dads money and the thing wasnt even a pleasure trip. Hell!! That was more like it...

Im happy 2 have bugged u with it. You know it aint my original nature but the north Indians rubbed some of their attitude into me. Those bastards are delighted to see a fellow creature in pain. Yes sir, they are.

Anyway, i dont seem to be able to talk more about it, and there really isnt much more to talk about it. I have been through a horrid time, and have found the courage to say it as is and how many people can you say can claimed to have done that. All i am asking of you is to go hang yourself somewhere if you are laughing at this because this was meant to be a sob story. And it is...
And im not apologizing for all the offensive language. I intend to keep the record straight. Itzz the north Indian attitude, remember.
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I do not know what is making me post this after such an incredibly long time, but i am posting this in the beleif that it will remind someone to keep their bags under their armpits when undertaking a travel to/through North India, esp Bihar/ UP and MP.

Disclaimer: Of course, of course, its been more than 3 years since the narrated incident occured and my stand has mellowed on North Indians and i am accepting offers from interested North Indian girls.

Move it....Sorry, Cant !!!

And today, my legs refused to move….
Of late, I have been toying with the idea of waking up a little early and to do some jogging before pushing off to work. The tummy ka fat (affectionately called the tyre) is threatening to show. It’s almost like its giving a message. 3 more days and no exercise, and I’ll show up. No such cut a deals with the face fat. Its showing and glaringly and obviously and people are starting to recognize and compliment on it, rather than holding back. “Ah c’mon now, you have a job, more money, more food and less exercise. It’s bound to show sometime. Dont worry” advised a well-meaning friend.

And the trouble is that im a slacker. I usually wake up around 8-8.15, which leaves me with no time for some exercise lest I’ll be late for office. And evenings. Well, who wants to get exercise when there is TV, huh? C’mon now, get a life.

So, with major planning, went to sleep around 11 last night so I could get up earlier and see if I can squeeze a 30 minute run prior to rolling to work. The result was disastrous.

Around 6.45, woke up. Didn’t get out of bed tho. Determined its too early and went back to sleep, but couldn’t sleep hardcore anymore. Slept again for a brief 10 minutes, planning the rest of the day in mind. Felt great.
Around 7, decided that I should get up, but was like “Should give my old legs some more rest. They are kinda feeling heavy. Afterall, I sit at work all day and drive a car. They need some care too.”
At 7.15, it was “I can still make it to work on time even I wake up at 7.30”.
And at 7.30, it was “Man, its still cold outside”.
And at 7.45, “Shouldn’t overdo it on day1. Will jog for 20 minutes”
And finally, at 8, “Fuck it. It’s too late. Tomorrow then”

And felt like a bum the whole rest of the day. I can excuse if I simply hadn’t woken up at all. But I was just lying there in my bed, cozy comforters pulled up all the way. Looked out my window and saw other enthusiastic morning joggers, and laughed inside “I’ll catch up with this lot. Give them a 10 minute handicap”. Round about the 7.30 mark was when I was practically desperate to get out of bed, but I just couldn’t. My legs, seriously, made me feel old. My calf muscles were all heavy and my knees weren’t relaxed and the entire area felt stiff and I felt like they were telling my brain “You know what. For too long, we have done things your way. Today is not one of them. We are going nowhere” And like a sucker, I let them union workers have their strike day with pay instead of kicking the shit out of them and driving them to work.

On a lighter vein, how can you kick if your legs refuse to? This is my nadir.