Never Returns

Our last photograph -

Still glossy and smiling happily,

Unlike reality.

My Love For You

Like rust, we blend

Into something neither of us are.

Clinging tenuously

To this world of prettiness

Until the all-pervading wind

Sweeps us away

Into far away lands

Where none understand our words

But lovers breathe us in deeply

And say

"Love is in the air".

Are you ready to be tooked?

My friend Agni and his friend Ramanan are starting a new venture (not sure whether I could call it a company or an organisation). He tells me that the inspiration came from ... oops! I am not supposed to say it. I personally think it will be exciting and quite unlike anything else that has been tried. I would even be willing to put my money (I have lost my Monopoly board anyway) on this becoming quite a "cool" phenomenon. For one, this is not based on something hip or Web 2.0 and that makes me like it. I'll tell you what it isn't and then you can stay tuned to get more info from them (or on this blog). Agni says that the launch will happen shortly, so if you are in Bangalore you should surely not miss the launch.

1. It isn't a software company
2. It produces no tangible entity
3. It will never be traded on the stock market (or I will be visibly surprised)
4. It doesn't involve people in ties (can create ties though)
5. It is not into the restaurant business (though food will feature in the offering)
6. It is not about organising magic shows and event management (though it would be an event to remember)
7. It is not into venture capital or funding or anything related to finances (though if finance is your thing then you could very well be part of this. Actually, if you're passionate about anything then this could very well be for you)
8. It is not some social networking fad (though it is social)

You need to check it out to know more. They have a presence on FaceBook too. Join in.

The Master

In a used shoe's warmth

Dreams of kings are born and lived -

Zen in a loafer.

Generation V - The Age of Voyeurism

I don't think this generation can be called Gen-X or Y or any other letter of the English alphabet. I think we are in the midst of a growing generation of voyeurs. The funny thing about this moniker unlike the others is that it covers nearly everyone alive. The other categories seem to be temporal or spatial but not Gen-V as it stems from the basic (as in base) instinct of human beings. But I won't meander through the thickets of taxonomy.

Till a while ago, all we had was Buniyaad-like serials. That and Nukkad made most of our TV viewing, excluding music programs. Then came Mahabharat and Ramayan with their special effects. Pan to the days of Saas-Bahu serials which had daughter-in-laws and mother-in-laws nod alike with vituperative glances at their foe. Soon viewers started connecting to the characters in the serials. It wasn't uncommon to hear newly wed girls gossip about how much their mother-in-law mirrored the vile woman in so-n-so soap-opera. I believe men didn't play much part in these never-ending soaps (except for looking younger than their daughters).

Till a long while ago, we had 19:30 regional language news followed by one more at 20:30 in Hindi and then another in English (if I remember the timings right). It would have been absurd to imagine an entire channel for news. It would have been considered the joke of mankind to imagine a 24 hr news channel. What on earth could ever happen 24x7? All our politicians would be asleep and we don't quite care about some French premiere did with his in-house policies! Right? Fine, maybe there would be news for at most 4 hours in a day. Why would we need a 24x7 channel? 10 of them? Are you nuts?

Till a long while ago, newspapers were thin and the raddiwala came once in 2-3 months to collect them from us. We would be happy to see a few kilos balance the scales and a sum of Rs. 20 come our way. We would invariably buy some groceries for the kitchen and that would be it. International affairs would take 2 pages, sports, 2, domestic affairs would be 2-3, other states would command another 2 and the really local news would be a terse one page. There would be an editorial and reading the paper was a religious excursion into the words of the wise and informed! Why would I need a God-in-Gucci column? Why would I need a column about what celebrity X eats? The standard bulk of the daily in Bombay is a whopping 1 kg! Seriously, who can ever read all of that? It would require me to sit through the day with these papers and do nothing else. Especially, if I have to understand how Pamella Anderson's sprung a leak and forced her into reducing her assets. Or why Rahul Mahajan picked D and not N and why the wedding was getting delayed which would need you to be informed about his uncle's demise which would require you to be informed about the ceremonies surrounding death in the Indian communities, which would take you into an analysis of superstition in India and the atrocities done unto the Dalits and how Dr. Ambedkar was a great man before his affair was revealed, drawing a parallel with the affairs of great leaders like Nehru and Tagore (though not a real leader), finally rolling all of it back to the fact that Rahul Mahajan might not postpone his wedding because his uncle killed his father before ending in a serious debate about whether Rahul should forgive his uncle and delay his wedding with Sri Sri Sri ... Sri Ravishankar commenting on the importance of forgiveness and marriages and blessing the newly wedded couple.

Which brings me to the then-and-now topic of weddings and marriages. I have always seen weddings conducted differently. Thank my lucky stars, I still see them being conductive in a manner I can understand. Along came the Swayamvar (and later Swayamvadhu) brigade and weddings are no longer what they used to be. Marriages are no longer what they used to be. Now everyone has to know how I chose the bride/groom, what I had dreamt of when I was 5, 10, 15 (puberty set in and we would have experts commenting on the effects of hormones on our conception of our mating partner and how premature conception happens), 20 and now at the age of 27 when I am finally getting married (no, I am not!). They have to ask 10 of my friends what kind of girls did I letch at (well, they were too busy leching to notice) and a tarot card reader to divine how my first night would be (the two of clubs show a rather masochistic night with the queen of cups showing drunk revelry). Oh! In those days, the first night was really the first night (at least in India)! FYI...

Welcome to Generation V (pronounced "generation vee" or if you wish to be cool you could pronounce it "generation wee" (not wee-wee) or if you wish to sound educated then you could pronounce it "generation five" or if you wish to sound Churchillish (or hellish) you can pronounce it "generation victory" or... well, you sure are jobless!)

This is the generation of voyeurs. Frankly speaking, every decade had it. Human beings, as such, are voyeurs. We would spy on the mating habits of tigers and rabbits (do you ever find them peeping into our bedrooms?), and the affairs and flesh display of our fellow human beings. We were always curious about how the neighbour made it rich. We were always curious why the neighbour's neighbour was fighting with her husband. We were always curious and our curiosity led to voyeurism when all that we had in our life was surplus time to create and satiate curiosity and very little substance. We soon got curious about the actors on screen. We got curious about our actor's pet poodle. We soon got curious about our curiosity.
With gadgets making life simpler and somehow people having more time on their hand than options to utilise that time: enter reality shows and reality content. I will avoid trying to sound preachy, but hey! I may slip. I will dwell on the voyeurism in news, TV programs, movies and relationships. Surprisingly, that covers 80-90% of most people's lives.

Rakhi Sawant is a girl you might never marry. She is also a girl you might never want your son to marry and if you are old enough, you wouldn't want your grandson to marry. People with grey hair (and missing teeth) would summarise RS in one or two words and they aren't printable. This woman who has the least objection to doing anything on screen in order to get herself 2-10 minutes of limelight, hid nothing. She is gutsy, crude, stark and in your face (something else about her reaches you before her face can reach yours). I can't stand her because she lacks the ability to articulate and is disgustingly pretentious. RS decided to conduct her wedding (called simply, Rakhi ka Swayamvar, which means: Rakhi's ceremony of picking her own husband). You can read the details here. I was forced to see a couple of episodes (I was being fed at the house of a very dear friend and I played along). There were games and interviews and all the crap that one could manage to pack into a program (well, or so I thought before hearing about Emotional Atyachaar). RS acted the coy girl straight out of the textbook and continued to disgust me. She finally got engaged to a sleazy looking chap and later they broke up. Expected! All this, including the final breakup, swallowed hours of news channel time and pages of ToI and evenings of millions of people in India. Some kept saying "Oh! Come on, E. It is just timepass" and continued watching. I am sure Tom and Jerry serves as better "timepass" and retains our senses. Whatever! I thought the country would have learnt a lesson and would be wiser (but that, I learnt, is never true about this country).

Enter the drunkard and drug addict. He looks like a hooligan and comes from a family of politicians (less said about them). He acts like he has never seen a piece of feminine flesh and is known to have beaten up his wife and divorced her. That too, was a drama. His father was murdered and another drama conducted. This man would never feature as a model son/citizen/.../human being. He is the kind people use to scare their children into inculcating values and being educated. Mothers in far away villages tell their wailing child "So jaa, nahin to badey hoke uss ullu ke patthe jaise bann jaoge" which means, "go to sleep else you will grow up to be like that good-for-not-even-nothing scoundrel". Ladies and gentlemen, please run away from Rahul Mahajan. He has nothing to his name except disrepute. He has no job. He has no qualification which will get him a job. He has no history which can be proudly quoted to get him a job. And he decided to get married ala RS on screen. I had the gross misfortune of watching one episode of this while lunching at a dear friend's place. Her friend was addicted to this reality show and I had to wrench the mobile out of her hand as she was about to send her votes. I had to give her the math behind this SMS voting farce and she was too shocked to even notice that the program had ended (or maybe she just watches all of them in succession). I saw the last 3 girls. One of them was supposed to be extremely educated and looked rather refined. I was thoroughly disappointed to see someone supposedly so classy stoop to such levels. Her mother too joined in this drama. Hence, my conclusion that Gen-V spans age groups.

News channels have already come under fire for their callousness. Barkha Dutt, Rajdeep Sardesai and all the other cartoons of our news channels will not have the decency to stay silent and leave the suffering/embarrassed individuals alone. They will keep hammering them with tonnes of questions while the camera zooms in and out. I had already written about RS (no, not the Swayamvar-wali RS) and his coverage of the Taj Hotel incident. His desperation to be the first to report some disaster oozed out of his words. BD (jalaile?) is equally dramatic and usually insensitive to the individual's situation while she continues to bombard them with questions and then turn rapidly to the camera with her conclusions. Western news channels had already mastered the art of invasive, voyeuristic reporting before India got its first 24x7 news channel and we obediently copied their style of reporting.

The coverage of the Aarushi murder was another incident which was sickening. The poor girl is dead and her family bereaved. Even if they were part of the murder, the media had no business prying into their lives in such a horrible and cheap manner. Aaj Tak and other news channels with their pathetic taste in background music insist on sensationalising every piece of news and every incident (which sometimes is not news).

Pan to the great scandal of the gurus. India is by far the most stupid nation in that it spawns more gurus per square yard than any other country. And this, in spite of the repeated scandals each one of them gets into. The latest is with Mr. N who was caught rolling on his bed with some actress devotee. My first question was, why does the nation care about what he does in his bedroom? My lifelong question is why do we need gurus when we do not have it in us to cultivate a spark of spirituality? If we had it in us, we wouldn't seek gurus beyond the nudge they might be able to give us. All the well known babas and swamis and gurus and godmen have landed themselves in scandals. From the Shankar Mutt acharya to Sai Baba (the one alive) to this recent one with Mr. N and the supposed Bhagwan Kalki and Mrs. BK. As long as there will be stupid people, they deserve such knaves. I think it is only a matter of time before something crops up against the great guruji of our times who happens to bug the daylights out of me! But that apart, why was that camera planted in Mr. N's room? Sting? Why broadcast it? The cheap thrills of watching some godman romp with an actress tickles Gen-V. If his words resonate with you, how does it matter whether he has sex with one or a dozen women? If his words don't stir anything in you why use his sexcapades to justify debunking him. And in all this, why destroy his ashram and hurt his devotees who are perhaps nothing more than ignorant fools?

We want to know the bedroom-tales of every actor and actress, and if we have exhausted that list then we want to know about our neighbours etc. It is not about whether we are holier than them or not (though a lot of people like to collect these tales to reassure themselves that they are indeed holier then thou) but more about the sheer hollowness in our lives.

Would I, E, be watching these videos or reading these articles if I had a deadline tomorrow?

No.

Would I, E, be watching these videos or reading these articles if I had my child in the hospital?

No.

Would I, E, be watching these videos or reading these articles if I was reading an interesting book by Henry James?

No.

Would I, E, be watching these videos or reading these articles if I was out on a date with this lovely lady?

No (I'd probably just wake up)

Would I, E, be watching these videos or reading these articles if I was having a wonderful meal?

No.

I am not holier than thou but I definitely don't watch TV (other than Discovery T&L, Discovery, Nat Geo, HBO, *Movies, Sony Pix, UTV WM, NDTV Lumiere and Cartoon Network) and I definitely don't read the paper (other than to find out whether there are any food festivals happening or book exhibitions or whether what they said about Libra really happened!!). I have friends call in to tell me that something happened in the world around me. I don't care, because my life has enough meat (no, I don't refer to my friends thus) to run smoothly without the base entertainment of watching someone's life lived out on screen.

LSD is the latest movie which talks about this Gen-V but no one is watching it with a meta-understanding of what this Gen-V is all about and what is happening around us without our noticing it. Perhaps LSD is fodder to Gen-V.

Reality shows, 24x7 news, newspapers with their sleaze state that they are catering to the demands of the people. Well, that is what pimps say too. That is what drug dealers say too. It amazes me to observe the double standards of people. No one I know will let their daughter sign up for the Rahul Mahajan drama or let their boy for Rakhi's Swayamvar. Still, I know enough people who watch these programs. Somehow watching is not considered on par with participating. But in murder and in violence, an onlooker who let the crime happen is considered a participant. Aren't these a violence done unto our sense of refinement and our standards of conduct and character?

If Dimpy Ganguly is considered cheap for whatever she did after show timings with Rahul M then why do you continue watching that program? Why would you watch a program where people are made to eat beetles or walk through a chamber of earthworms if you find it disgusting? Why would you watch MTV Roadies or the uglier Splitsvilla when you wouldn't swear like that and consider it vulgar? Emotional Atyachaar is the scum of all reality shows feeding directly on our craving for soft porn. And if you think they are fine and there is nothing wrong in being part of it, then my next question is, do you have nothing worthwhile in your life to spend your time on? Is this all that you can do? If you answer in the affirmative, I wonder what are you doing here!! :-) There is nothing nice on this blog. I do not cater to the "Wow" seekers. I have nothing "Wow" on this blog.

Which brings me to Seth Godin's article (for which I must thank K who shared it on Google Buzz before I did my periodic visit of Seth Godin's page). I agree with him entirely in his observation that our attention span, our intelligence, our refinement our ability to pause is taking a beating and this is no new phenomenon.

And with this I tie back to the nature of content itself. Content is created with least effort for reality shows. The people presenting news are not putting a lot of thought into what they are doing. It take a lot to be intelligent and insightful. I am yet to hear of one line of insight that the BDs and RSs have produced. The same seems to plague literature and the world of the written word with chic-lit and college capers abounding. The likes of Chetan Bhagat wave their resolve to cater to the LCD with aplomb. Music today is nearly all dhanchuk-dhinchuk. Lyrics get worse with every movie. The urgency to get out there and grab people's attention albeit for 10 min seems to be the sole motivator. It seems like a wife who cannot create genuine joy in the house and resorts to a quickie and considers her job done! The sheer effort required in producing content that is nearly immortal is what made some channels (BBC, Nat Geo, etc.) famous and fondly remembered. No one will remember UTV Bindass. The sheer lack of talent and worthy content seems to justify content providers to reel out low quality but high attractiveness stuff. So be it with blogs and the like. There are blogs which do nothing more than provide links to interesting content across the world (laziness) and some which are merely a collection of gossip columns and links to gossip columns around the world (high attractiveness). Good content need not always be only serious stuff. I had once pointed to two blogs which are seriously hilarious. Nothing about their posts provides food for thought, but they are simply hilarious and are not lazy or sleazy in the entertainment they provide. Being provocative too becomes a cheap trick if repeated too often.

So how should I conclude this? Hmmm... Generation - V is here to stay. No matter what I say and no matter what people think about the need to be refined, cultivated and educated, there will always be those who prefer the sleaze and cheap thrills of being a voyeur. You and I, definitely have the option of choosing differently. If your life lacks substance, resolve that and do not resort to the easy way out with lame entertainment. There is a huge difference between an occasional thrill and making that the only thing that can interest you.

More Reading (Will add more as and when I find them):

1. http://livemint.com/2009/01/13212700/Can-edginess-and-voyeurism-con.html
2. http://socialmediarockstar.com/voyeurism-social-media
3. http://www.freireproject.org/blogs/media-voyeurism-–-when-reality-becomes-spectacle
4. http://www.digitaljournalist.org/issue0705/heaton0705.html

Apologies

Some relationships can afford to be kept on the far sill of the attic window with a quiet whisper assuring them that "I will soon return once I clean up this place." I believe this blog and I share such a relationship. It has been nearly two and a half months since I wrote something here. Actually, it has been around the same span since I visited this blog and cleaned up foul comments that stupid surfers leave (now I get them in Chinese).
There have been several changes I have been working on over this period and allowing myself to witness many more. Most have been good. Hence, my absence was quite conscious and necessary. I think I will return to blogging now.
Friends and readers kept reminding me of the fact that I hadn't written. Paramita even left a comment to nudge me awake. Thank you, Paramita. I hope to have something that might interest you. I had several posts I wanted to write. Some are excessively delayed now and there is little sense in penning them. I won't. The rest will be published as days pass. So, no, there was no writer's block (thank the Goddess) just a decision not to write till I sort things out.

3 Idiots - Reflecting

It was a dear friend's birthday and we were taken out to watch this movie. In many ways we were three idiots of our own kinds, but nothing like what is shown in the movie. I could describe the Gold class seats and how my couch simply refused to recline until I got off it and so on, but that is largely beside the point.
I enjoyed this movie in spite of the hype around it. I usually am doubly critical of a movie when it is hyped, but this one was good. Several characters and incidents were exaggerated for effect and there were factual inaccuracies too, but I think the message was clear: If you can live a life dedicated to your passion, then go for it.
One thing I liked about the movie was how Rancho's character was built. They didn't portray him as a know-it-all or someone who was purely rebellious. Here is a character who can prove himself in the system but chooses to do things his way. So, he is not merely projected as a school dropout who goes ahead and builds a company all by himself or someone who flunks but still goes ahead to become some superhero. He is clearly shown as someone who loves his subject so much that he can succeed in the system and then do things the way he wants to - all on the wings of his love. He also shares this conviction of his with his friends who go on to lead happy lives (or so we are made to believe).
The movie is quite light and there are several jokes and funny moments sprinkled throughout the movie. Many of those jokes are old and made to appear as if they were originally conceived by the author. Rather shabby in that sense. Boman Irani plays his character very well. For once, Kareena ceased to be a pain. I think Madhavan was good too. Chatur Ramalingam played his character well enough to evoke the distaste for him. I think the music wasn't noteworthy and not even something that I felt like humming after the movie (though one song might still pass).
The message in the movie is rather old and not necessarily original but I think it is one which is worth repeating and this movie does so in a different style.
Here starts the "boring" part. Today, a dear friend of mine sends me a link. She mentioned that it was a review against the 3 Idiots. She knows exactly the stuff that excites me and I always bite the bait to find someone intelligent enough to critique something with a strong and original tone. Given that nearly everyone was gushing over this movie, here was a chance to find someone who might impress me ("A worthy adversary!?" asked the lady to Thomas Crown). I am largely disappointed.
Ms. Ghose raises a few points but unfortunately all of it is based on the fact that she missed the point of the movie. She thinks the movie "Three Idiots encourages us to throw away our books because today we are chanting the mantra, "the-system-sucks-and teachers-are-pathetic-and-who-cares-about-grades-and-the-rat-race-is- foolish"." Well, not really. Not at all, if I may say so.
Rancho is there to learn. He likes to question. Teachers don't like students questioning them too much. I have been witness to this. Osho claims to have been witness to this. Not many people are comfortable with having their thoughts and rules and fundamentals questioned. Teachers, motivational speakers, gurus and most people up on a dais usually cannot stand such an audience. I have had so many people ask me to leave. Rarely have I asked a question in order to show off or irritate the prof, but over time, the system taught me to not bother these people and hack it out for myself or invent things. That helped me cook up stories for kids and also patent stuff (Rancho's 400 patents did make my eyebrows shoot up). Many teachers in my school and college still remember me as the boy who loved to ask (annoying) questions.
Rancho loves machines and prefers things hands on. Nevertheless, he respects theory enough to study and score well in the exams. The point is, he wouldn't have had a problem even if he came 2nd or last in the exams simply because he would have loved every minute of the semester. That is what everyone was missing out on. I think all that Rancho was saying was that people should enjoy whatever they do or take some time out to evaluate what they want from life and their priorities.
Viru Sahasrabuddhe was depicted as a demon in the form of a director, but he does receive Rancho's first question and does get back to him after Mona's delivery about the problems with using a pencil in outer space. So he was a good prof as far as the fire to learn, clarify and communicate goes. Yes, he believed that competition was all that the world had to offer. So many people believe in the same thing. Parents strongly believe in competition. Students learn the same and carry that attitude forward. Organisations are built on the need to compete and eliminate competition. So there is no point pretending that such characters (ViruS) do not exist and are figment of one's imagination. Some IITian on Ms. Ghose's article mentions the same thing "I have never seen a prof like how Viru S was depicted". Well, why didn't anyone say that about the teachers who subjected their students to capital punishment? When a child was made to lift bricks or run around the school in the sun, why don't we shun it as pure fiction and exaggeration because "We have never had such a teacher so it can't be real". Simply put, there are all kinds of teachers and professors and this movie depicted one kind.
Can this work for everyone? Well, no. There will always be people who have no passion. There will be people who simply want a job and nothing more. There will be people who want to take the fastest route to a lot of money and social status. There will always be people who are passionate about life and as a wise soul once said, those who are passionate about life cannot be single minded about only one thing. There will always be people who can do a simple job when taught how to do it and that would pretty much be it. People who clearly are passionate about something constitute a meagre 1-5% of the human population. So is this movie made for only these people? I would think not. It is made to encourage people to pause long enough to ponder over what they really like to do, and if they find nothing then they could always pick a line of work which a needs large amount of labour force (like the software industry). Currently, people don't do that and that is a concern. If more people were encouraged to pause and ponder, there is a higher likelihood that people will align more with their area of interest/passion.
Being in the software industry, I am surrounded by people who have come from all walks of life and are here mostly for the money and often for the opportunity to go abroad and get a better lifestyle. Very few people are here because they like to hack and develop software. I am sure every field has such examples. Bankers and teachers are rarely there because they love it. They simply wish to eke out a living. Nothing wrong with that but there might be opportunities to obtain a similar earning by doing something that they like. One teacher likes to cook, a banker loves painting, another loves collecting old movie songs and so on. Had they received sound guidance, then they could have juggled with setting up cooking classes (which can earn a lot) or provide catering services (which earns a lot more) and create paintings and setup shows and perhaps sell a good number of them and setup a radio show which plays old songs and people get to request for songs. Can they earn as much? Perhaps not. Perhaps they can be secondary career options. Perhaps we need to pause long enough to think.
Rancho doesn't recommend that we kill the system. He suggests giving it a relook. He doesn't suggest we dumb down knowledge, but recognise what is relevant and what can be smoothened out to be more accessible. Rancho doesn't say that all teachers are bad but they need to revisit their teaching methodology. He doesn't say that engineering colleges are a waste, he says that they need to produce something vital and not a bunch of people who just want to use it as a stepping stone to higher paying jobs (even in unrelated sectors). Rancho doesn't simply point a finger at the education system but actually goes ahead and sets up a school based on what he believes. He doesn't say forget about grades but he says put your soul into it and enjoy the subject and success will follow on its own.
Too philosophical? Perhaps, but if it can wake up a few, then why not. Human beings being what they are, are quite likely to interpret according to their convenience, but that doesn't mean that the movie is wrong or, as Ms. Ghose says, dangerous because it will create a nation of idiots. We are as much a nation of murderers and gangsters and voyeurs and Casanovas and silly fellows running through fields in Punjab because we watched movies depicting these things. I think we can live with it. If we anyway do not have the sense to think for ourselves, we can be a nation of idiots or Indians. Big difference!

Experimenting

I am trying out new templates and colour schemes because I heard many folks complain about the red and black scheme that I had earlier (the only reason I preferred that was that it was entirely constructed by hand by me). But when a friend (who states that she is my "number one fan") recently mentioned that she finds this an eye-sore, I decided to visit options.
Experimenting over a dial-up is impossibly difficult and slow and dependent on weird things, like no incoming calls on the telephone line. Hence, this blog will be in various states of undress and I count on you not to laugh (too loud, at least). Btw, I would love to hear if you like this current scheme as it stands. I really liked the quick snippet view and the clean layout and organisation. But it doesn't seem to reflect much of the blog's personality (don't ask me what that is). So if you could comment and tell me which state of the blog you liked and so on, perhaps I could use you to blame my decision! :-D
Wishing everyone a wonderful new year ahead.

To a Pinker World

Nothing to do with Steven Pinker!
In the midst of all that I am drowning in (which spells work work work), I read this article about how "Instead of trying to change the women who do not relate to the stereotype, our research suggests that changing the image of computer science so that more women feel they fit in the field will go a long way to recruiting them into computer science" and I felt like throwing up! I can't believe that there are so many jobless people out there trying to figure out why some sex/race/creed is not interested in a particular job! As long as there is no legal and bureaucratic constraint, I think the reason why people don't get into a job is because they are not equipped for it or are not interested. Pretty simple. Why don't most men become cooks (though actually most chefs are men)? Because they are not interested or can't be creative enough! Someone who truly loves food will go and do it. Similarly, someone who truly loves fashioning clothes will go ahead and do it. If women don't like computer science they simply don't. This is also true about Math as a subject. Why should people who love computer science change their ways for those who don't in order to "change the image of computer science"?

I have been in the software industry for over 7 years and I have found only a handful of women truly interested in their jobs. We don't have coke cans or science fiction memorabilia in our cubicles. Most women are here to supplement the income of their house or make some money for themselves. They don't care about software or computer science. So be it with a lot of men, too, but when I assemble all those who love computer science and love hacking and coding and designing and coming up with new ideas, women are a minority (if present). Not because of coke cans and Star Trek. I am part of the invention evaluation team at my organisation. How many inventions come in from women!? You can count them on a pair of hands. Why? Not because of Star Trek and coke cans. Sheesh!! I can't believe this is a university professor (and no guesses, she is a woman). I would love to see women in software industries. It can lend perspective to design (esp. UI). But if they don't like it, I will let them be. It is like forcing the women in your house to fall in love with a Man U game by watching it on a pink TV or having the players occasionally enact a scene from "Kyunki saas bhi kabhi bahu thi". The content is the same, for Pete's sake!!

These sort of lame studies ruin the technical edge and vitality of organisations and departments. How? Let me give you a personal example. Last year two papers of mine got selected at two very prestigious conferences. I was excited and applied for travel permit. My "illustrious" organisation refused citing curbs on expenses. Sounded fair to me so I kept quiet. Then I got to know that a female manager was being sent to CA, US to attend a "Women in Technology" conference (which was internal to the company and not even a worldwide conference) for which she was just an attendee and contributing nothing beyond her weighty presence! Here is a technology company that prefers this gimmick to actual technical vitality and participation in IEEE and ACM conferences. All in order to claim a tag of a "women-friendly" company or some such crap.

If the women were mature enough, they would go visit software companies and computer science labs to see what reality is and form their own impression rather than live off stereotypes. Frankly, it is often difficult working with some women who play the sob story and try to get away with actual hard work. Not all of them are like that (and I know of one who can put any guy to shame) but a lot of them will capitalise on their being a woman with "so many roles to play" and sob their way out of real work. Frankly, we need people who can work and with brains and who are self-motivated: sex/age/race no bar. I can do without people who want me to grow a beard in order to feel more welcome or prefer floral wallpaper in the office. Most east coast (US) companies have the worst interior decor in all their worldwide offices. Try convincing them to invest dollars in better decor!

And what then happens to a guy who likes to have the coke cans and pizza crumbs on his desk to feel more at home and in the peak of his form? He has to clean up so that some women can join his office? Coming to think of it, he might just agree (till they join)! Guys!
I would like Ms. Sapna Cheryan to try this recommendation on the annual Harley Davidson gathering. I am sure we will have an article that says:

"When people think of computer science riding bikes the image that immediately pops into many of their minds is of the computer geek bearded man in black leather surrounded by such things as computer games, science fiction memorabilia and junk food boots, babes and beer," said Sapna Cheryan, a University of Washington assistant professor of psychology and the study's lead author. "That stereotype doesn't appeal to many women who don't like the portrait of masculinity that it evokes. We need to have pink bikes with wider seats and a place to keep pet poodles."

Given that Harley Davidson lovers frowned on the introduction of the V-Rod 7, I can only imagine their response to this!!

Rule of Thumb: If you don't like it, find something you like to do and do it. Don't ask the world to change for you.

Something To Say

I have been here for the past thirty days. They needed help in setting up the turbines for the power plant and they couldn't afford to blow the coils on this one. When I had decided on playing with wires and electricity, my dad thought I was going to be a great physicist; my mom thought I would be on the radio, my brother never thought about me and hence, stole the wires and sold them for his cigarettes. He still hasn't departed from his barter mentality and the biggest problem in that is that he thinks everything in life is a fair exchange, till he fell in love. No exchanges there.

I ended up manning turbines and laying the induction coils in them and I thought I was going to be someone great. I didn't know that all they would want me to be is the guy who would fit things in the spindle housing right. This takes me to odd places like this one. They say they need me and can't find anyone like me but they also don't want me to become anything else. Like the man who wound the city clock thrice a week, but that's a different story.

He wasn't one who would create problems but he was still not allowed here. He managed to get through the chicken-wire fencing before he was thrown out and convinced that he should not venture beyond sitting on that rock and watch the entire grand activity below. Metal and instructions sparked the space beneath where he sat and watched. No one knew who he was and in that ignorance, he gained identity amongst us. I didn't like him because he watched us work with genuine interest and curiosity. Even children got bored on the third day. He made me feel embarrassed about my work and its plainness. I soon started working with my back towards him. He would sing a variety of songs while we worked or ate our lunch. When we were about to leave, he continued singing and we knew he had left when we couldn't hear him anymore.

Today he smiled at me and I wasn't sure what to do. I pretended as if something had fallen into my eye and rushed to where my colleague was and asked him to blow hard into my eye. We soon started chatting about his brother-in-law who lost his eye when iron filings had fallen into one of them. It was a while before I thought of our man up there.

He began singing again and it didn't seem like this was a song anyone could sing as it was probably never written down.

You will find something to say, my love

When you heart beats faster

And your nerves tremble a tune.

When your eyes water for no death

But for something that is dying within.

You will find words to shout out, my love

When water dries every green plant

And a man's truth is the dagger that stabs.

When what you thought won't, has happened

But it has already happened, already.

You will find words to fling sharply, my love

When your breast will burst, if the mouth

Doesn't spill what belongs to the world.

When your feet tire from having walked all along

And only words can cover what remains.

You will speak and cry out loud, my love

When what you believe in is raped

And hurtled amongst the felled trees.

When love is the seed for all hate

And pain is the bowl which gathers joy.

But why speak then, my love

For words are but beats

That left the drum

Never to return

And marry the fingers

That thumped the skin.

Why sound your mind, my love

When they never reach

The hand that cracked the whip

Or your soul which sells itself

For a sliver of moonshine

For an ounce of joyous moments.

Why talk and groan, my love

When you could be silent

And die nevertheless.

Why utter your private thoughts

In a public concert?

Why speak, my love

Why speak.

What is there to say anymore

Why speak, my love

Why speak!

Hush!

Hush!

Silence is the tongue you should speak.

Hush!

Hush!

He had left for the day, and if there was more to his song, we didn't hear it. I looked around at all the people who had heard the song and I knew that I didn't know them as I had when we met in the morning. We continued our work in silence and left a little early for the day (the manager, who had also heard the song, didn't say a word). 

Some say he was run over by a truck that was speeding down a hairpin bend. Some say he went back to where he came from. Whatever be the truth, none of us ever looked up at the rock again.

Different Messages

I stretch my hand out -

Five wet fingers assure me

My world will see rain.

Fishes stretch their fins

And chase widening circles -

It will rain beyond.

The Willingness to Make Mistakes

I was the chief guest at a rather holistic and invigorating school's Annual Talent Day. I was a misfit from the very outset. I thought chief guests were typically top businessmen or people high in the government offices or people who had done something entirely unique to deserve standing there, up on the stage with clueless kids assuming that they were in the presence of someone noteworthy. But I wasn't. I was just another software engineer who had qualified himself to be a computer scientist but had grown hoarse declaring that software engineering and computer science are quite different. My being well versed in a dozen other things doesn't count if I haven't done anything with them and haven't chiseled an exalted crevice for myself in the limestone walls of the Cathedral of greatness. I am just someone walking around that Cathedral running a solitary finger on the walls of the edifice, writing poems describing the falling flakes as they land on the washed flagstones, creating, in my poems, towering manors for ants. Soon my finger tip wears and I realise that walking around the Cathedral doesn't bless one with entry. What is there to speak of alcoves and crevices?

I was told that I need to speak to children. I was delighted and never bothered asking whether it would be to the tiny tots in kindergarten or the ones who are slightly more grown up, shy and faltering as I would speak to them directly. Children are beautiful in every size, I believe. I said yes. One day before the actual Annual Day celebrations, I was brought to the piece of news that I would need to be chief guest and the first thing that screamed in my head was, "But, I have done nothing. Honest!" I suppose this is also what an innocent man says when imprisoned for the wrong reasons. I presume that the impulse is the same - neither of them belong to where circumstances derail their life's trains. Undoubtedly, mine stopped at a school and hoisted me out: "There you go, E! Now be a chief guest!"

I kept wondering how I should conduct myself. I was numb with the sheer weight of being something I have never been nor prepared to be. I knew I would have had no problems with the children, but their parents! They would look down their nose (though that would be physically impossible for one attempting to look at me) and scoff, "A mere computer scientist!? Why, I am certain we could have found at least a dentist who had done the most number of molar extractions in Bangalore city to be the chief guest. Surely, my child should receive an award from a better man!" The child, of course, would have had no problem taking her certificate from any pair of hands and rushing off to sit on her father's lap. I would have also had no problems except when expected to rise and face individuals beyond the mental age of 15.

Hence, I decided to address only those who felt comfortable in belong to the club of the Un-Aged. But what should I speak about!? Kids are very clear when asked that question: nothing. They'd rather have me play with them or watch cartoons than hear me speak. Parents on the other hand expect me to redeem myself by providing some profound insight (neither of these words are understood by kids) into the business of living or making one. I really had nothing to say. I usually do, but most often with intimate company. I can speak to an audience I have known in a rather involved fashion than to an audience I am meeting for the first time. How do I know what they want to hear? I don't even know their favourite colour!

Perhaps all of this, running amock in my head, went silent in the face of one true terror: what if I goofed up and said something I wasn't supposed to!? I recall once doing something like that in school. Back in school, each child had his/her day when s/he would walk up in front of the entire school and utter a quote of great significance by a person of renown. It was my day and I realised I had nothing in my kitty. I dug deep and recalled one by Einstein. So I walked up in front of everyone, adjusted the microphone (as I have nearly always done) and said "When you sit with a nice girl for two hours, you think it's only a minute. But when you sit on a hot stove for a minute, you think it's two hours. That's relativity." (I realise there are several versions to this. I have no clue which one I chose). My teachers asked me to stay back after the assembly and thought I was being cheeky. They also thought I had no respect for the quote-a-day activity (which is perhaps something that can be inferred else I would have come prepared, though I think the true reason was that I forgot). A couple of teachers laughed (like kids) and thought I was quite funny. I had to say something noteworthy the next day and I did. I think I quoted Mahatma Gandhi or someone equally serious and who had very little sense of humour.

So here I was, meeting customers and talking to them about software strategies (which is not what your average computer scientist or software engineer does) and corporate visions (as well as software products) and cracking jokes and delighting them with the realisation of how intuitive the entire thing was, but still drawing a blank at the prospect of having to address a whole school of individuals expecting something intelligent, profound and deep from the chief guest.

I landed in the school at the appointed hour, spoke for a while with the wise principal and his wife, looked up at the clouds for some sign (either rain or the script of my speech) and kept on walking. When I had to hand out the certificates to the students, I was at ease congratulating each and every one of them for their individual noteworthy trait (for which they were being recognised) and addressing them by their names and not "Son" or "Young lady". Somehow, I feel an instant connection with people of my age group though they look cuter walking up to receive certificates!

After some wonderful performances that the students had put together, I was to get on stage and make the speech. I walked up there and the lights were glaring into my face. I do not have a clue about what I spoke, but I will soon put down what I wanted to say. Those few minutes (and I ensured that I didn't speak for more than a few minutes) are nearly entirely lost to me. When people (parents and children and friends) came over later to tell me that they were immensely impressed with the speech and thought it was wonderful I had no clue whether they were just being nice or they were truly touched. As I said, I have no memory of that speech (but that is true even about the posts I write!)

I think I spoke about the willingness to fail and make mistakes. Those who heard that speech and are also reading this post needn't strive to find correlation for there might be none.

We are taught to respect correctness, completeness and success. These aren't mispronounced virtues but they are given undue importance. It is vital to know when to be correct and exacting. One cannot be otherwise while performing a surgical operation ("Excuse me! You have a hernia!? Why, I thought you were waiting for your leg to be amputated! No? Oops") or driving a bus full of living creatures or nuclear waste (no, I don't equate them). One cannot be casual under misplaced sanctions of being allowed to fail occasionally. Being frivolous is not what I am discussing and it would do well for the reader (and thinker) to dispel that at the very outset. No matter of life can be prescribed an application of an uncaring casual mind and effort. Nevertheless, to consider a serious mind and an ever-successful industry to be one and the same is the progressive failing of our society.

To me, permitting mistakes and failing is not a benevolent act nor something to be served to make a soul more noble. These aren't policy decisions to make a better society. I shall explain why I urgently wish to depart from such hurried conclusions. To me the willingness to fail and make mistakes is personal and individual and doesn't call for sanction. The willingness to fail and make mistakes is not the same as tolerating or accommodating mistakes and failure in society. I wish to impress upon the reader that these are different though we all know that it is always preferred to play lawn tennis in the cool airs of Northern France than in the sub-Saharan venues. What I mean is that it would be easier for an individual (who is willing to fail) to carry on with his life in a more educated society than in a brutish and oppressive one.

The willingness to fail allows one to be open to possibilities as well as imbibe true intuitive learning. Intuition is not about mere hunches and gambles or soothsaying. It has to do with the visceral connection to Truth (in its various forms including material knowledge) which makes understanding and gnosis possible without having to adopt artificial mechanisms of picking and choosing a subset of accumulated knowledge to apply in a given situation or matter under consideration. If I am focused on succeeding, I will only adopt the time-tested or hyped methods available to do anything and perhaps, everything. If I am interested in learning and growing, I will understand the subject under consideration, explore, experiment, test limits, approach it from various points of view and learn. There is no place for failure in here as everything that appears to others as a failure or a mistake is essentially a deeper understanding. In having found different ways that do not work, one understands why something does work. In finding the myriad ways one can be mistaken about something, one realises the Truth about that thing. Sometimes, this realisation comes without making mistakes and that is welcome as long as that intrinsic clarity/genius is not made the touchstone of all living.

In understanding this, it is important that parents who had the patience to raise their child long enough to get them into schools show a lot more and educate their child into retaining that spark of humility, that willingness to be in the wrong purely in order to learn what is Right. If the child doesn't remember it and repeats a mistake, find different ways of helping your child remember and realise the Truth in various things that surround her. One's laziness and lack of time cannot be an excuse for reprimanding the child while she is learning. Once the child is comfortable in truly learning, she will enjoy seeking Rightness and not treat it as an ordeal. And please do not compare your child with another. You probably wouldn't like it if your ward started comparing you with whom she thinks is an ideal parent. Work as individuals to a collective sense of goodness and Rightness. And, frankly, the other child is as important as yours. So, if you feel that your child is doing fine then spend some time with one who is having some difficulty.

With lesser censure the child ceases to distinguish between success and failure though progressively gains an understanding of clarity and ignorance. When a child grows to being comfortable living and learning through her life, she is less likely to subdue that beautiful voice in her head which in its untarnished golden timbre can help her be happy and at ease - the voice we sometimes call intuition. With that voice as your best companion, your creative and vibrant spirit will make Spring of all seasons. The joy of living is truly bequeathed to that soul.

I think I ended my speech thus (and the harsh lights screaming into my face were switched off and hence, I have a vague memory of this): I have no clue why I was considered to be a chief guest at this immensely important function, but I would like to console myself into believing that I was chosen because I am most comfortable making mistakes.

The Keeper of Shadows

Perhaps all which followed was meant to happen. There can be no better explanation and the machines of this world are oiled by no other unctuous belief. For its credit, it does offer tender sleep to many who walk around trying to reconcile that which is with what should be. I was merely walking with Henry V and Don Pedro as I have been doing for the past few years now. Henry V treats this as his sole opportunity to impress upon onlookers the sheer beauty of his breed and lineage. Don Pedro, on the other hand, took this as his only opportunity to connect to me. As crafty humans often do, I take this event as an opportunity to shower my attention on Henry V and make it difficult for Don Pedro to have my attention. Somehow, the evening hands each one of us what we want. Today was no different and hence, I am convinced that what followed was merely meant to happen. On all accounts, it happened anyway.

We walked past several trees and tired men and women pushing themselves to walk faster in order to keep their metabolic rates where doctors recommend it must reside in order that the believing soul reside longer on earth. Henry V had his nose up in the air and was slightly frightened when a rat shot suddenly out from under an overturned slipper. He barked his reprimand and we continued. That is when I spotted the bench. It was already laid there because it was meant to be there for the events to happen. On the bench was a large and largely immobile bundle of dark shadow, as the lights weren't in my favour of recognising more accurately. I stopped, much to Don Pedro's delight as he placed his paws on my hip with the "Will you hug me now? Scratch me?" look which is probably his most common and effortless facade. I tossed a "Down" down at him and he obeyed, impatiently pedaling his front paws and bobbing his head slightly in uncontained excitement. His tail swept a loving arc on the dirty walk. Henry V was already seated with his face towards the group of teenaged excitement behind us. They were already commenting about the cute dog and I am sure Henry V must been thinking "Dog? Pedigree!" The lump hadn't moved since I had stopped and I tried my best to understand what this large blackened mass could be. Before I could decide on one of many things running in my mind, the ugly mass cytokinetically split with heart wrenching slowness into a pair of beautifully recognisable lovers, her hair softly wafted in the wind from the river. They came together again to place the top of their foreheads against the other, perhaps the inevitable drawing together of beings used to being together and finding it gaspingly alien to be apart for so long a duration as a few breaths.

They slowly pushed against their heads and stood up. I noticed that they were young and hence, seemed to carry so much of humanly possible emotions and dramatic feelings. He was still holding onto her reluctance to leave, shaped as a little finger on her left hand. She was looking at his feet clad, perhaps, in patent leather and definitely less worn than his eyes looking at the top of her head. She slowly nodded her head and began pulling herself away part by part along the length of her being, head first. Don Pedro also noticed the weeping fingers which had once held hers. He should have lowered them, but he might have kept them aloft in the hope that it would be easier for her to find her way back just in case. Don Pedro, let out a soft whimper as she walked away further before trotting off.

He sat down looking in the direction she had left, and I got down on my haunches to be licked by Don Pedro. Henry V also moved closer because a dog which is close to his master is considered to be cuter. I watched him taking in the warmth still clinging on the strips that made the bench. How long could he have known her to feel that way? How long had I known Arundhati before she left? And Kamna? Somehow love realises its essence in departure. In the prospect of separation, it rises and swells, and like autumn clouds, it promises more than it can sustain. At the end, departure chips at the edges that love's mirages create, leaving us with ourselves: to be loved because we think we love. Don Pedro loves and so does Henry V, but they had the edge of being dogs from the beginning.

Henry V looked at me and I nodded my head. He tugged at the leash and I released him. He rolled down to where the man sat before steadying into a casual walk up to his bench. The lover smiled at the golden retriever and scratched Henry V's head. Henry V placed his snout on his lap and began a man to man conversation. I decided to wait for a few more seconds before walking over to put my errant dog on a leash and strike up a conversation. It always started like this before we became friends and he would speak his heart out. I have known various kinds of women in the process: workaholics, ambitious, greedy, slutty, disinterested, bored, unwilling to fight their family and society and the occasional ones who left for the guy's good. Whatever they were made of, the guy who stayed behind was always the same - saddened, unsure and wondering why this happened to him. That is where I would come in, telling him stories about Henry V and Don Pedro who have outlived Kamna and Arundhati, about my business as an architect and about Goa where I had a farm. About life and about how being alone can be as beautiful as being with someone though less subject to their immaturity. About how life is insulted the minute you are in pain.

I grabbed Don Pedro's cheeks and whispered, "Get thee a wife, get thee a wife!" before walking over to my man.

Alvibest Part Deux

I think it is high time Alvibest came back. A few others agree. Most others go, "Alvibest? What's that?". I have none to blame other than myself. Its like having a child and keeping her away from her grandparents long enough to make them forget they had a grandchild. I know, I am blabbering, but it helps to blabber at times. Blabber, don't blabber; noodles, don't noodles... :-)

So Alvibest will be back shortly. The periodicity might change. Or not. The content will be new (there's no "Or not" to that statement). Anyone who reads this and feels that they should contribute, should refer to the flier above. If you know some friend of yours who might like to contribute, you still need to refer to the flier above. For those who weren't part of the history of Alvibest, those little squares in the flier were the cover pages of some of the earlier issues of Alvibest. Sniff. I know, it is such an emotional moment! Sniff! :-D

God The Designer

I like to imagine myself a designer: of spaces, of electronic gadgets, of software, of clothes, of food, of furniture, of products, of chance meetings (between 2 friends) changing into a romance which I can hum to (much better when they come to thank me for it), of chance meetings of ingredients commonly believed to be poor neighbours in a bowl of dinner's arrangement, of posters, of names, of stories and similar excursions into the preferred real versus the stale fare we call life.
I like to imagine God as a designer, too, of similar interests and more (though I am not sure why he would spend time designing a tarantula, but then hey!). That is one of the reasons I can look up at a cloud formation and go "Hmmm. Nice one. Modeled it around a bumblebee wearing an apron?" and watch it for a while as it fades into an apron and then an apparition! But, as I always study works of other designers, I have some issues with certain choices He made (so there! Women can be happy that God is now referred to as a "He", but He still gets points for making a dewdrop!). Here is a tiny list of things I thought were ok to put down in public (oh! There are stuff I simply cannot understand but which I can only discuss with my shadow along the toilet bowl).

• Nerve endings for teeth: As in, God! Really? What gave you that idea? They gnash, and masticate. Job over! They don't taste, they don't burn (no one's eating volcano droppings) and they make too much noise when they chatter in the cold. Why nerves!? And then there is a root canal surgery that one needs to go through! How much easier it would have been if there were no nerves there! Tooth extraction becomes as simple as (the current scene of) watching someone else's tooth extracted. I hope Human 2.0 comes without it.
• Burp needs another outlet: I was in the middle of Blanc Manger and the input and output (carried on the memory-wings of a delicious Lasagna) collided mid-palate. Not good, not good... mostly for others at the table. No amount of French or pouts (and French always seems like spoken with a pout) redeemed me or the lady's Arabian Sand coloured blouse (now seeming more Chowpaty beach sand). Poor design, I cried. At least the waiter stood long enough to listen before raising his eyebrows to the bill on the table. Poor design, My Lord. You should not have separated the two gaseous phenomena... I mean the one that missed the elevator and the other we call a burp.
  
• Re-Sequence: I will have to give it to George for wording it the best. You sure got the order mixed up. Frankly, we think we peak and then we definitely wobble our way to the end. So wrong but universally believed like the story of Adam and Eve (seriously!? Just one rib!? Well, I'll give it to You, then). Would anyone buy such a tour package? Poor design, Sir, poor design.
• Hair! God! Why on earth do I need hair? Women spend half their fortune (or sometimes more, esp. when it is their husband's fortune) on removing it anyway! Check with them. If they don't want it, don't give it. It needs to be a runtime variable and not a #define HAIR "YES". And look at those poor men! They so want it on their heads and you take it off and get some clueless jerk to give it a fancy name of MPB. Seriously, what am I going to do with a name? And help me understand, who asked for hair out of their ears? Really, who? Advani is not a designer! Why did you ask him!? Laloo!! God! Get real! Clear. Hair on head is always a yes. That's it. End of hirsute story. No! Only head. No! No! Ok fine... eyebrows! But that's it.
  
• Growth: While on the topic of hair... why do I have to have it growing? Shouldn't my hair (which resides near my brain) be more intelligent and know what style I like most and stick to that length? As in, you don't have my hands and legs grow longer by the day and have me shear them! Brain growth is welcome (oh! but so lacking nowadays in the world around me) but you thought it would difficult to manage that!?
• Ewww: Umberto Eco wrote a rather interesting piece on ugly and he gave ratification to my perspective on the design of the urino-genital system (at least the endpoints). They are ugly, smelly, oh-so-sensitive, poorly designed (very unaesthetic) for something which has moved this Earth around for millenia and created most of Hollywood's content and Freud's popularity, not to mention the dismal collection of papers sold as books (MnB) and created you and me. Sad! Surely, You could have done better. No, you don't need to make it like a Vegas billboard, but still... We should meet to discuss possible designs. I have a few drawing that might interest You. At least separate their utility value, for heaven's sake! Overloading is best left to C++.
  
• Other coolant designs: I know the purpose of sweat, but I am sure there are better strategies for cooling down the system. Look at dogs (I know You created them, too. Damn good job! Perhaps your best work...). They just hang their tongues out. I don't mind doing that as long as you can wipe it out of that woman's head that I am doing so because she thinks that I think that she is gorgeous. Urgh! How about... ummm... cracking your knuckles to plunge the internal temperature to... then make the Sun less hot! God! I have to tell You everything!?
• Stingy breath: Why just two holes!? Of course, I am referring to the nostrils. And so small (well, as nostrils they are aesthetic when not too big but as air inlets... too small)! Maybe the pores in the skin should be able to breath. Then small nostrils are ok. And again, why connect it to my mouth!? What made you think I would want to taste my own cold!? Or have soda come out of my nose!? Yes, I agree. We should meet.
• Women: Well, they are wonderful. Aesthetic, at times, filling the air with varied wavelength and amplitude sounds. Not sure what else is aesthetic about them. Tresses!? Orlando Bloom also looks pretty in long hair and we also wish he would shut his mouth. There are nice noses, and chins and eyes amongst men (and if there aren't nice enough ones, that is another point of partial design which is basically, poor design). So I am trying to understand why women!? Or you could say why men (as in, let me be. So it's suddenly me in a world of women!? Wow! Nice)? From a design and manufacturing PoV, why two (or three) of a lot? Is there any added benefit? And then why make one so complicated in her thoughts and communication and hints!? If she wants you to like a dress, why doesn't she simply say so!? Why do I have to be told that this is a dress that she thinks will rock the show (which I am not sure means good or bad) and then ask me to vote for it but she will drop it if I don't like it only if I am certain that no one else will wear it and if they do, they will sink like a rock (see? "rock" again and hence, confused) and all my verdict built on the one thing that I should love her!!!? Why do I need to love anyone to know that that shade of green resembles the stuff under the fridge!!? Oh! So now I don't like her and have no sensitivity for her feelings especially because her mother gifted this to her!!? Fortunately, I have never had to run through this in my life (nothing grows under my fridge), but I have seen guys who would simply call me to know what to get their wives or girlfriends! Not because they are dumb, but because they are scared like the man in the middle of a train tunnel, clueless about which side of his will be crushed first! It helps to fall in love with books and music etc. Simple logic. And then there was always Bruno, wagging his nearly absent tail. You need to simplify that design (no, leave Bruno alone). Oh god! You so need to do that.

I could go on, but it doesn't feel fair to be the critic especially when I am still admiring your design of the brain and the musculature of a hound. Brilliant piece of work. You sure messed up human beings. Or did they offer advice while you were working!? ;-)

A Tour Through Himalaya

Actually, it wasn't what people ordinarily think of in a tour through the Himalayas. Nope, no crunching on snow, now goggles to protect me from the reflecting ice, no slipping on glaciers, no Yeti (or her husband, the Yet), no frozen fingers breaking in brittle painless pieces (but I assure you my derriere was nearly there before I jumped into the Taptkund in Badrinath) and no Shangri-la experience. Of course, I will detail all the fun I had in later posts. Till then, I hope you enjoy the pictures. Do let me know which ones you liked and I might send you a framed copy of it! :-)

Why-oh-Why

To those who asked and to all those who didn't bother to, I am still alive, though I can't say the same about my net connection. Repeated moving and change of location has left me with several computers but no connection to the Internet. No, I didn't get a proxy to type this out. I managed to find a net-cafe. 

So I have been busy and mobile and been doing a lot of fun things which I couldn't for several months before. But all of that has taken a toll on my writing and reading. I'll be back. I have a good number of pictures from a recent trip, I have stories to tell, I have adopted 3 kids (see? Already started with the stories), I have been invited by an army subhedar to his village in Punjab-uh (you never go to Punjab; it is always Punjab-uh), a pretty young girl preparing to be an air-hostess led me into the mountains (and I dutifully followed her), a man found pleasure in oiling me up, I have had my derriere freeze and chip off everytime I bumped into someone, another girl is planning to take me into the Amazon forests, I won a dinner for my team, I hiked 13 steep kilometers, I met a girl who is proud to be from Khajuraho (when she told me, I laughed and then had to sheepishly give another explanation), I had a horse wallop me between my legs and I think all I will ever father is jellyfish (not as a punishment for having laughed), I broke a fast, I disappointed a girl by telling her that all I had for dinner was bread and cheese (it seems she calls me to ask me about my dinner and gets a kick out of the elaborate spread that I describe) and a lot lot more has happened in my life. Yeah, all good things (or so I keep telling those around me).

So stay tuned (I know, I am talking just to myself) for a few posts, poems, pictures, piranhas (I had to say something starting with "P"!).

The say of hands

She sat achéval on her father’s leg, her two doll legs swaying to the tell of the train. She was listening to him intently though the occasional vendor who walked past her often claimed greater interest. She was wrapped in a tiny jacket with a leopard-print fur lining – probably synthetic – and her colliding heels, beneath her father’s thigh, made no noise. Her father leaned over and kissed her on the cheek and she received it casually. Her two cousins came over and enthusiastically played with my little one. She enjoyed their company.
The cousins – two girls – were probably of seven and eleven full years. The younger one was adorable with a lovely mouth the size of a lipped pinhole. Her senior was caught in an age which was neither cute nor curvaceous with a mind juggling between wanting to be cute while being called “grown-up”. She would cast a glance my way and when our eyes met, she would slowly look away while correcting the lock of hair behind her ear. She’d quickly look back to check whether I noticed or not and then check a smile before crashing into her seat. The younger one, wouldn’t bother because I was way beyond her age and hence, unlikely to be fun company.
Three girls and a few women dimmed out the remaining passengers who accompanied me on my trip though the trio formed the cynosure. They held in them a vitality which every woman seems to trade for vanity. Thus, they grow older.
I watched the youngest one play with everyone and wondered whether she was aware that she held the potential for being a woman. The younger of the cousin too didn’t seem to be aware of that while she innocently tugged her knickers into convenience. Her sister, a decaying reflection of her, seemed to invite vague notions of being a woman and would probably smile at someone who called her “finely blossoming young lady” (though I doubt people speak thus) without knowing what actually made her happy and warm in her chest.

In my mental journey between the youngest one and a woman who was lowering a bag from the racks above (clumsily unmindful of her brassiere strap showing) I couldn’t help be amazed at the entirety of life contained in a single human being. The woman – now struggling to balance the bag on her finger tips as she lowers it – once sat on her father’s knee too. She had once let strange hands hold her in loving embrace. She had once looked around and thought women are so strangely shaped and she definitely wouldn’t grow into being one of them with baubles of flesh hanging from everywhere. She had once let her mother change her clothes in front of everyone while one of the older siblings teased her with “tchee tchee”. And she had cried that day, not because she was a woman but because someone teased her about something that is probably not nice. Today she has a husband and kids and I have her just for this minute as I watch her scold her husband for not distributing the weight amongst the bags (he continues to read his magazine).

Often I have held a young girl’s palms in mine and wondered the world of touch that is promised to them. Those very hands will hug her parents and hold her “bestest” friend’s hands while they skip down the school corridor; they will hold a large sandwich while they dig a bite one centimeter into the bread and groan that their mouth is full and giggle, sputtering potato crumbs everywhere and laugh at that too; they will run those hands over pink dresses and beg their parents to buy it for them; hands that will run through their hair while they change shampoos in the hope to find that right one; pulling or pressing their suddenly odd shaped chest, subject to the urge of either ending their “girly” days or postponing the “embarrassing” ones; trying on makeup, holding their hips while they twirl in front of the mirror, some going on to handling chemicals and equipment while others happier with their Mills & Boons novels and mobile phones and then their first crush and leaving that magical hand of their in his, imagining the entire world to be made of only such happy moments and then happier ones when she would hold his face as he kissed her deep enough to cause her stomach to somersault with joy, hands that would soon carry a ring and ring in responsibilities that annoy or trouble their fairytale world, hands that would direct him into her carefully, months before their first child whom she would hold to her breast and once the babe is asleep, she would slowly worm a finger into that tiny fist – yes, she is holding it tight which means my baby loves me the most. And I smile at those hands now impatiently placed on mine, occasionally withdrawn to scratch her cheeks or dig her nose, and bend down to kiss them – several decades of life cupped in my hands.
“That’s ok uncle E, what do my hands say? Mom said you can tell the future by looking at hands. Will I become an actress? A model?”
“A princess?”
“No, dad’s not a king.”
“Cinderella?”
She gives me the you-can’t-be-serious look.
“Ok, ok. So you want to be an actress?”
“Yes or a model.”
If acting out all that I saw in her hands would be her life then she surely would be, as others would be, an actress.
“Oh! Most certainly.”