What was that again?

I tried to Fine Tune this. I promise.

2007-01-07T01:31:00.000-08:00

Make me a Politician, somebody.

Phase 1: Alexander

Back in the day, there was a young man who decided that he was going to be remembered for eons for what he did. Whether it was for good or bad – well, that’s your opinion - but he undoubtedly did it for the power. I’m not too well-versed in the details, I’m just running with an idea. His empire was vast, stretching from parts of India in the East to the borders of Western Europe. Some of the people around at the time, particularly in Greece (I wonder if This is why we call them great philosophers), were influenced by his thoughts and actions, because although Alexander was a violent conqueror, he had a very apparent… what’s the word…. Humanity about him, which appealed to people, I suppose. The Greeks and the Romans were influenced in many ways by what he did. And this gave birth to a school of thought which is both beautiful and horrid.

Phase 2: The Roman Empire

The Romans took inspiration from the deeds of Alexander, and decided that they could do as good a job, if not better. From the days of the Roman Republic, things developed into something much larger, when Julius Caesar declared himself Dictator for Life. He then proceeded to expand borders like few before him had. They were real estate holders on a global scale, you could say, because when they conquered a country (and remember, Europe was still a jungle at the time, with tribes and the like), they immediately set about developing it, which was a progression of sorts from the destruction the Macedonian indulged in. The Letter of the Law (which is STILL Latin) was respected, and construction of roads (All Roads Lead to Rome, anybody? J) and buildings, along with a lot of other civic infrastructure was carried out on an unimaginable scale. The Greco-Roman Calendar was put in place, and Christianity was the religion. From Turkey in the East, to all of Western Europe. And England.

Phase 3: The Raj

It took a while for this to affect a lot of Europe, because we’re dealing with a LOT of countries (for want of a better word, at the time). The Roman Empire eventually collapsed in the 1400s, when Byzantine fell to the Ottomans (Who had, incidentally, been part of someone else’s empire themselves). And Europe took the mantle over in style, going all over the world. Even if they were racist (a mistake they made which still affects the world today), they were as good as the Romans when it came to developing the countries they conquered. England were pretty good at it – they had a presence in every continent (Africa too, I think) – at some point of time or the other during the years 1600 – 1950 (approximately), they were in America (North and South), Europe, Australia, and, of course, Asia. No wonder they call English the world language. The U.S were a colony to start with, and India succumbed too. We were cut off from the Himalayas in the North, and by water on the other three sides, so we decided to fight among ourselves, with princely states cropping up all over the place. The British saw an easy target, and there were a lot of pound signs in their eyes. Anyway, to cut a long story short – we were a colony for a Heck of a long time, it pains me to say. But our country did gain a lot, in terms of civic infrastructure and Industrial development.

An Interlude…

The Americans, having successfully thrown the British off their rather large patch of land, decided to form states and go through the usual infighting process, before eventually settling on a single country. They built it with the toil and sweat of a lot of slaves, and made the foundations for the way we view the world today. They were enterprising, and they had some revolutionary thinkers who were also politicians (a combination which is delightfully rare these days). The country decided that they’d had as much land as they could take, and went for the money instead – using military might not to conquer in the literal sense of the word, but to establish control over places (a term which is used very lightly). No one in their right mind would doubt that that country today is pulling the strings all over the place. And they’re Helping Eeveryone in exchange for that small (?) loss of control. Investors are pouring money in on a global scale these days, and benefiting. As are people who get jobs with multinationals and software giants (it comforts me to think of the number of Indian giants we have, to be honest with you - Reliance, TATA, Infosys etc, you're all doing a great job of globalising India).

Alright, maybe that wasn’t an interlude.

Anyway, the point I’m trying to make is this. Our country has the infrastructure. It has the brainpower (almost in excess J). It has the will to win, and our politicians are showing more steel than they did in the past (we can believe!). We’ve got people all over, and I mean literally ALL over the globe. And I’ve got a gut feeling in my stomach, the sort of which I haven’t really felt since December the 8^th 2004, when Steven Gerrard scored against Olympiakos. Liverpool went on to win the Champions league on the 25^th of May 2005. And this gut feeling will not be ignored. We just have to realize that we can’t all live in the past. ("Hypocrite", I hear you say)

History was made so that we could learn. And this is almost an open book test, in that sense.

Everything is in place. We have to pull together. And make this country even better than it already is. The attitude is what we need to have. I’m not trying to be incendiary in ANY sense of the word, I promise.

Alright, this is a little theory I came up with as a means to an end. I want to believe that our nation is going to be one of the most powerful nations on the planet in years to come, not dissimilar from what the U.S are today. We’ve got the potential. We’re the people who have to make it happen. And there’s a lesson to be learnt for every country on the planet. I was using India as an example out of a fierce sense of patriotism, but the whole world needs to sit back right now and think about what's going on. (Call me a hippy, and I'll kill you!) I’d like to think I’m right, but I guess history will be the judge of that.

The Rise of the Capitalist Imperialist World

Weren't they all?

2006-11-02T00:14:00.000-08:00

Right, I’m trying one last time, from office, because nothing seems to be going right with either internet connection. (Excuses, excuses, I hear you say)

I know it’s been a while since I dared start this up again, but I’ve received a lot of positive feedback for my last post, so I’ve decided to go for it again. As you know, I’m no stranger to blowing my own trumpet. And this post will prove that, without a shadow of a doubt. Anyway, into the breach…

I attended an all-day brainstorming session in order to come up with a new five-year plan for my company. A fairly interesting thing, a good opportunity, perhaps.

Cue waking up at half past five and rushing to work with my fly open. No specific reason for that, of course… I just happened to be in a hurry. When I got there, the ever-friendly security guards told me that the first two vans had left (the brainstorming session was being held in a country club somewhere near Bangalore – this is supposed to stimulate creativity, by the way) and the third hadn’t turned up yet. So I waited, along with the other unfortunates who had managed to turn up 3 minutes late. Eventually, the van arrived, and we were off. The next half an hour or so was pure torture, as the music being played in the van was God awful. How standards have slipped since the heyday of A.R.Rahman back in the mid-nineties. The same could be said of pop/rock music today, of course, but that’s worth a whole new blog.

The session itself started pretty well – there were a few warm up games that had me in splits, primarily because it illustrated how unfit everyone else is compared to me (Oh, how I flatter myself). Then it was down to business, and for the next eight hours, I sang “Wish you were here” and “All shook up” in my head while pretending to be interested in what my team members were saying. (They kept asking why my feet were moving non-stop). I was taking notes for a presentation in the evening, but the process was purely mechanical. (The presentation actually turned out pretty well, in case you were wondering).

When I finally staggered out of the conference room and onto the lawn at half past nine, I was badly in need of a drink. These all-day sessions usually precede a massive booze-up in the evening, at the company’s expense. There were around thirty of us involved with the brainstorming, so imagine my surprise when I found the place teeming with company employees – apparently, they’d gone and combined our “party” with another one, for all the freshers in the company. Lots of kids just out of college, a fair few of them older than me, and the odd 35-year old. The chairs were arranged in a MASSIVE circle, instead of in groups of 4 and 5, and the bar had been open for a while. I’d say at least 2 hours, judging by the smile on Ramnath’s face. Ramnath is a good pal, in case any of you were wondering, and he’s usually the MC on occasions such as this.

All the newcomers were asked to introduce themselves to the senior management (the VP and the Head of the Division – my direct bosses, incidentally), over the mike. After the usual run around the circle, someone (I think it was Ramnath) decided that the old employees should introduce themselves to the freshers. Once again, cue several men telling us stories over the microphone, which was quite entertaining. I had my beer for company, and was rather enjoying just taking the atmosphere in. Until my boss (the div head) spotted me lurking on the edge of the circle.

Him: “You’re still relatively new here, come on!”

Me: “Erm…”

And he dragged to the centre of the circle, where the ever obliging Ramnath thrust the mike into my hand. I wasn’t particularly high, but I was feeling pleasant enough. Before I continue, a little bit of history (this seems to be becoming a habit).

When I was younger, a LOT younger, my aunt (bless her) was an assistant director for a well-known filmmaker. I had the good fortune to act in a couple of films, one of which was Bombay, which had Manisha Koirala in it. The role was just a bit part, but I did have a couple of lines of dialogue, one of which had me saying “I love you didi” or something to her. I haven’t told anyone at my company about this, but word got out (as it usually does), and I didn’t deny anything. Anyway, some people knew about it.

The place was pretty empty, as everyone had gone off to eat, so my nerves weren’t really on edge.

Me: “Why do you want me to introduce myself? There’s no one here…”

My VP (standing fifteen feet away): “I’m here, Vishnu!”

Me: “Oh, right… Anyway, My name is Vishnu, and I joined the company in June 2005…”

Anonymous Heckler 1 (from off to the right): “He studied in London!”

Me: “No, I was born and brought up here (note – age 1 to 5 is nothing, so people have no right to pretend that their British, and I don’t, all the real proper growing up was done here)… Anyway, I studied Mechanical Engineering in…”

AH2 (from the left, this time): “He acted in a film!”

Me: “That’s irrelevant, anyway…”

AH1: “Don’t call him Vishnu, call him Peter!”

Me: “…Erm, good luck everyone” (hand mike to Ramnath, try and hide behind a tree)

Ramnath: “Have any of you seen these two films…”… etc etc “…said ‘I love you’ to Manisha Koirala”… etc etc “…he looked, and still looks like an Amul baby…” and on and on.

I was, naturally, pretending to be embarrassed by all this, because that is supposed to be the modest thing to do. Secretly, of course, I was lapping up the attention. It’s nice to be the centre of attention from time to time, eh? And then my VP walked up to me.

The Boss: So, you’ve met Manisha Koirala?

Me: Yes sir.

The Boss: Have you… touched her?

Me: Er… um… what do you…?

The Boss: Tell me one thing… have you shaken her hand.

Me: (realization dawning) Of course, sir!

The Boss: (says nothing, shakes my hand… walks away… then turns back and starts to wax lyrical about how beautiful she was in Mudhalvan… which she was, mind)

It’s an old trick, but I thought it was a nice touch. Apart from being a fantastic boss, by the way, he’s also one of the nicest men I know. (Am I saying this to get out of trouble in case someone reads this at work? Do I have an ulterior motive?)

I eventually got home at around half past twelve. Lunch, by the way, was a nightmare… the food was bland (I mean, I’m used to low salt and spice at home, and the food’s delicious, but this was beyond tasteless) and I had to eat quite a bit (I was hungry!).

Although the butterscotch ice-cream was a nice touch. Served off a plate, which pissed me off no end. I love butterscotch ice cream...

That was one of the most pointless things I’ve ever written. Thanks for the patience.

I’ll finish with a quote:

“Things always seem better in people’s minds after they actually happen. The anticipation is the only thing to be worried about.” – Some big-headed philosopher

I really shouldn't be telling you this

2006-10-15T03:40:00.000-07:00

I wanted to put this off for a bit, but my fingers won’t let me.

I feel the need to emphasize, before I start, that I am as sane as any of you reading this blog, so please don’t think badly of this after reading it.

Last night I left work in a good mood. I was going to catch a bus home, and my spirits were high, until I reached the booking office, where they told me they’d just sold the last ticket to Madras. When was the next bus? Oh? Never mind.

Right, well, at least there’s football on the telly, I thought, one which kept me going for the rest of a fairly dreary afternoon, punctuated by naps which seem to come out of nowhere for ten or fifteen minutes at a time. I think I may be sick. In any case, I put the TV on at half past six, only to find my sports channels blocked. Why? Apparently, the subscription had run out. Spiffing. Did they tell me I was running out of time? No. Was I able to contact them on their mobiles? No, they’d changed their numbers. (Maybe they predicted this would happen). So I panic, because Liverpool are on at 7.30, and I don’t have a TV to watch them on. Now, if you’re a football fan, you’ll know that this is a crisis. (I must add that there’d been no football worth watching on the telly for a good coupla weeks, so I’d managed to work up a bit of an appetite). So I run outside and hail down a passing auto, and tell him to take me into town, where my cable operator’s office is.

At the office, I am told that I’ll get my football back by this Monday at the earliest. This wouldn’t do, obviously, because my team were on in half an hour. Then I decided, what the hell, lets get a cheap hotel room with a TV. I figured shelling out 250 bucks on a game would be a one-off, and well worth the investment. As you would. Well, most of you. Make that some of you. Actually, very few of you. You know what, I think I may be the only one. Bugger. (Did I overdo that?... Really?... Thanks!)

So I’m off hunting for a cheap hotel. The first one I came across I shall call Red Light Inn. That isn’t its real name, of course, but it could have been. I went in and ask the guy at reception for a room. He says Single or Double? Single, I say. Rs.350/-, inclusive of taxes, he responds. Fine, I say, I’ll take it. I’ll transcript the rest of the conversation, it’ll be easier. Everything’s in Tamil, roughly translated, except where mentioned (look out for this):

Him: Do you have any ID?

Me: Here (Pulling out my license)

Him: Where do you work?

Me: At Titan. Why do you ask?

Him: Do you have any proof that you work there?

Me: No, I only have my license on me right now.

Him: Where are you from? Where do you live?

Me: I live in Hosur. I’m from Madras.

Him: We don’t give rooms to locals. Are you single?

Me: Yes. I asked for a single room.

Him: Why?

Me: There’s a match on and I need to see it!

Him: You want a room to watch a match?

Me: Yes! I’ll be out of here at ten!

Him (In ENGLISH): What’s your problem?

Me (Shocked that anyone could be this rude while sitting behind a reception desk): What’s YOUR problem?

Him: No room for you.

Me: Fine. Silly old …. (under my breath)

So I stormed out into the street and made my way to another hotel. I didn’t have my hopes up because this hotel was usually full.

At the reception desk, I was informed by a very distracted receptionist that there were no singles, only doubles. Fine, I said. Do they have ESPN? Absolutely, he went. That’ll be Rs.550/-, taxes extra. No thank you, I said, and slithered out the front door.

Before I continue, for those of you who don’t know me, I feel I must give you a little bit of history. When I joined Titan in June 2005, I had no accommodation, and was forced to stay in a hotel, which I will not name here. This place was the only one which offered monthly rates at anything like a reasonable price, but it also happened to be very seedy, dingy, and a little dangerous (I thought)… well, I wasn’t too fond of it, if you get my drift. When I moved out of there last September, I promised myself I wouldn’t go back..

Well, I had to break that promise last night, and I walked up to the reception with a smile on my face. The old fellow behind it was dead eager to give me a room, and handed the keys over sharpish. Do you get ESPN, I asked, and he was nodding all over the place, so I said Great, and went upstairs. The game would have kicked off by now, I thought to myself. When I opened the door I told the lad who had accompanied me to my door what I wanted for dinner, and he was off. Then I turned the TV on. No ESPN. Every single channel EXCEPT ESPN. I didn’t know what to do with myself. This can’t be happening, I thought. No. I went down and told them to call their cable operator, and was dismissed with a nod, a smile, and a message in Hindi that the cable operator would not be available till Monday. Hurrah. Then I panicked, and called a friend, who managed to let me work myself up so much I realized that the game had already kicked off and I’d better get home, at least to follow it on the internet. Off I went, only to be chased by a waiter with my food in one hand and a bill in the other. After a little bit of Keystone Kops, I set off for the homestead with a parcel of food and my wallet considerably lighter, as the hotel wouldn’t give my money back, seeing as I’d booked the room for the night, and that a refund was SIMPLY impossible. I didn’t have time to argue, so off I went (the food caught up minutes later). My dad called to tell me Liverpool were one down, in spite of dominating the game. Brilliant, I thought. At this rate I’ll get home, walk through the door, and the lights will go out. Which they duly did. I was ready to kill someone, when the power came back on. I dashed to my computer and followed the rest of the game, which Liverpool managed to draw. Lovely.

This is so irrelevant to the problems in the world today, and I can’t imagine an awful lot of you really caring, that much, but let me just say this: A fan and his football team are a permanent relationship – even weddings can end in divorce. But I’m a fan, and I’ll love my team forever.

(I wonder how many marriage proposals I’ll get after this one. Crikey.)

not really about South Park

2006-10-03T07:22:00.000-07:00

I was about to take a shower when this irrational fear gripped me. Most bathrooms have locks on the outside as well as the inside of the door, right? The bathroom at my house in Madras has TWO doors – one leading into the bedroom, the other opening out onto the living room. And both have locks on the outside. For some reason, I started worrying about what it would be like if, by chance, BOTH doors were locked from the outside, I was stuck inside, and there was no one else at home. Kinda scary, because the only other way out would be through the window, and it would take a file to get through those bars. Hmmm… Maybe we should keep files in all our bathrooms. Anyway, the doors weren’t locked (from the outside), and I got out okay. End of. (I belong in the loony bin.)

In any case, today I thought I’d write about a topic which really pisses me off. A lot of you might have watched this episode of South Park called ‘Cartman joins N.A.M.B.L.A’.

The episode basically starts with (8-year old) Cartman telling his little friends that they weren’t mature enough to be friends with him, and that he wanted to find older, more mature friends. (‘Screw you guys, I’m going home’)

He goes home, gets online, and enters several chat rooms, introducing himself as “a young boy wanting to meet mature men for fun times”. Predictably, 500,000 paedophiles reply, and he selects one to go out with. On their ‘date’, the older man is arrested (with good reason), and Cartman is very, very pissed off, because he thinks his friends are trying to sabotage his attempts to have a ‘mature’ relationship. To cut a long story short, Cartman eventually chances upon ‘NAMBLA’ – The North American Man-Boy Love Association, an organization whose only goal is to legalize sexual relations between men and boys as young as 8 years old (they actually have 2 goals – the other involves love between a man and a boy, but you probably figured that out). The episode, as you would expect, descends into farce (as most of these episodes do), but the end is pretty good.

Oh well, I thought. Funny episode, that.

It never really occurred to me that such an organization could exist. It just seemed… unfeasible. And disgusting. And illegal. And very, Very disturbing.

And then I picked up this book last night, by a talk-show host named Bill O’Reilly. In the first chapter, he talks about an interview he did with a lawyer for the American Civil Liberties Union, a national organization which defends the right to free thinking/speech/action etc. Before I continue, let me just say that this could only happen in the United States.

NAMBLA exists in real life. They have a website (which I imagine would be nauseating, if I ever visit it), and they actually advocate sex between men and boys. They are, of course, under the notion that there’s nothing wrong with what they’re doing. Sickos.

This repulsive organization is actually canvassing to bring about a law change which would allow them to offer physical ‘comfort’ to as many kids as possible. And the ACLU supports them. In fact, the ACLU, which is one of the richest, most powerful advocates of free speech in the world, is pumping millions and millions of dollars into defending these slimeballs whenever they’re taken to court by (justifiably) shocked/disgusted people who have been directly or indirectly affected by NAMBLA.

Only in America. I don’t know what else to say.

A Prayer for a cow, and the perils of driving in the rain

2006-09-28T08:18:00.000-07:00

Spurred on by my increasing boredom at work (see? It Does have a purpose apart from paying the bills!), I’ve decided to treat you all to a birds-eye view of one of my rare forays into the magical world of blogs.

I’ve been out of the office the last few days, because I had some work in town. I’d come in at half past eight and leave by ten or so, before returning to office at around 4.30/5.00pm, dead on my feet and in dire need of a beer. Yesterday happened to be a colleague’s birthday, and he asked me to pick up some chocolates on the way back. I stopped at Nilgiri’s, which is on the highway, picked up a few dozen Perks, and stood in the check-out queue. The thing about this shop is, it has HUGE plate glass windows, which afford a wonderful view of the highway, which is actually missing the point. I wish I hadn’t been looking out of them though. It was a little bit like something out of a film, with the wide screen to boot.

As I stood there with my wallet in one, hand, waiting for the girl behind the counter to give me my change, I noticed a cow crossing the highway, ambling across slowly, as they usually do. What happened next was in slow motion.

The road was fairly wet, as it was drizzling. Driving on a highway is difficult at the best of times, but when it’s raining, you have to be extra careful. When you’re driving a really heavy vehicle, like a truck, you have to be extra extra careful. Actually, it doesn’t matter, because if something’s going to happen, it will happen. Even if you take every precaution against it happening, fate usually deals a fairly assured hand, and all your pathetic little precautions are rendered useless.

Back to what happened next. This big truck came barreling down the highway. He must have being doing at least 80 kph, which is fairly dangerous in that sort of weather. The had just crossed the median, and it was almost over to the other side. I’m fairly sure the driver of the truck was blowing his horn, but then I couldn’t hear. I’m also fairly sure he’d hit the brakes, but then that’s what I would have done. The next thing I know, the cow’s flying one way, and the truck’s toppling over on one side. It was a glancing blow, but at that speed, it’s pretty damn dangerous. The cow ended up on its side, on the median, while the truck ended up on its side, off the road, pretty much.

The driver of the truck was out almost immediately, scratching his head and looking pretty dazed (as you would), but the cow wasn’t so lucky. The girl didn’t even give me my change. Everyone was outside. You know, the ghoul factor (is that what it’s called?). I sauntered out, feeling pretty disturbed myself, because it looked nasty. Now, I’m not one to get involved in things like this, especially when there’s over 50 people on the spot within 20 seconds of the event. As I watched from a distance, three people tried to pick the cow up and get it back on all fours. Twits. The sounds it was making were pretty heart-rending. Eventually they gave up, but by then I reckon it was too late. The poor thing. As I turned away to go back into the shop and get my change, I prayed silently for it. Why did that have to happen? Especially considering cows are among the most gentle, harmless creatures on the planet. Along with chickens, fish, lambs, pigs etc. Which is why I wish I were a vegetarian. In fact I am, but I went and made a complete hypocrite of myself by eating meat at my friend’s birthday party. Perhaps by telling you all, I’ll be redeemed, but it’s still something I regret doing.

I feel pretty bad for cows in general - they always seem to get a raw deal. I’m tempted to make a joke about what’s at steak for humanity and our principles here, but I won’t, because that wouldn’t be very nice. (“Well done”, I hear you say). Sorry.

Actually, I have no clue why I wrote that post. Explanations? Anybody?

A shameless plug... forgive me

2006-09-24T04:13:00.000-07:00

"Maybe I don't really want to know
How your garden grows
I just want to fly
Lately did you ever feel the pain
In the morning rain
As it soaks it to the bone

Maybe I just want to fly
I want to live I don't want to die
Maybe I just want to breath
Maybe I just don't believe
Maybe you're the same as me
We see things they'll never see
You and I are gonna live forever

Maybe I don't really want to know
How your garden grows
I just want to fly
Lately did you ever feel the pain
In the morning rain
As it soaks it to the bone

Maybe I will never be
All the things that I want to be
But now is not the time to cry
Now's the time to find out why
I think you're the same as me
We see things they'll never see
You and I are gonna live forever
We're gonna live forever
Gonna live forever
Live forever
Forever"

This is a shameless plug. I said it. There.

It took me almost no time at all to figure out why people blog. We need to be heard. We want our views to be read, sometimes analyzed by other people. People who may not share the same opinion as you. People who may agree with everything you say (spineless twits!). People who haven’t got a clue what they’re reading, but do so nonetheless, because they haven’t got anything better to do (that’s my category there).

Anyway, I watched a DVD today. I don’t do this very often, mainly because I don’t have the time (that’s supposed to make you think I’m really busy, by the way). This DVD was a commemorative edition released to coincide with the 10-year anniversary of probably one of the greatest albums of all time. Those of you who know me have probably guessed what I’m on about by now.

Definitely Maybe.

Oasis are a band from Manchester. They make proper music. And they’re my favourite band. Now, my loyal readers (all 10 of you) are aware of this, I’m sure. I go on and on and on about them, because, at the end of the day, the music they make means a lot to me. Many of you may not have favourite bands. Well, if you don’t, pick Oasis, and listen to Definitely Maybe. Even if its just for one song. All the songs are pretty good, which is rare for any album, but there’s one track which stands out. Live Forever.

The first time I heard this song, I didn’t much of it, mainly because someone had told me it was pretty good, and I figured I should give it a casual listen. The guitar solo stood out, of course, but nothing made any sense. And then I figured out the lyrics, and listened to it again. And again. And again. This song compares, quite easily, with the likes of Imagine by John Lennon, in terms of its lyrical content. Noel Gallagher (the songwriter/lead guitarist) said recently that he wanted to write a song that could be mentioned in the same breath as Imagine. What he didn’t realize was, he’s already done it. And probably written something far, far better than Imagine ever was or could be.

Right now I’m thinking, Why am I writing all this? Do I have a pathological need to make people love Oasis as much as I do? Not really, but I figure if you’ve come across something that you think is good, you share it with as many people as possible. Which is what I’m doing.

The 16-bar drum intro to the song is fairly well-orchestrated, but you don’t have an inkling as to what’s next. And then you hear the first lines:

“Maybe, I don’t really want to know,

how your garden grows, cos I just want to fly”.

It just takes off from there. The drums and bass complement the lead guitar perfectly throughout the song, and at the risk of repeating myself, the solo is phenomenal. Short, but brilliant.

Noel says the song is about friendship, and I figure he’d be quite right there. I figure it’s also about ambition, and about wanting to be the best you can possibly be. Although these lyrics shatter that little theory of mine:

“Maybe I will never be, all the things that I want to be

Now is not the time to cry, Now’s the time to find out why”

Philosophical. Especially coming from the fingertips of an 18-year old who’s never been out of the dark half of Manchester, but wants to take on the world. (He did, by the way. Haven’t you heard “Wonderwall”?)

If you haven’t heard the song yet, GET it, for God’s sake. And listen to it.

On an unrelated note, the last few days have been fairly difficult. Work has sucked. The personal stuff has sucked. Liverpool won, though, so that’s a bit of a consolation. And I still have my music.

A few engineers joined my company recently. A couple of them, both girls, have been posted in the Systems Department, and they sit together. I call them the Davinci Twins, because one of them is named Mary, and the other’s Magdalene. Coincidence? I haven’t got a bloody clue.

The End. For now.

Some of you may be wondering what the hell I was on about there… well, the fact is, I’m nursing a massive hangover, and trying to do some work (“On a Sunday?”, you exclaim. “Yep”, I say). When I get home I’ll get online and post this. Listen to the song. Many of you may not like it, but those of you who do will be thanking me for the rest of your lives.

And now for something completely different. You’re not going to read it, though.

I'd like to buy the world a coke...

2006-09-21T09:20:00.000-07:00

I know, I’m supposed to be working now. Bollocks. I had to get this out of my system though, for whatever reason. This is one of those posts, you know – kinda… I dunno, really. You probably won’t enjoy it, but for my sake, give it a go.

Yeah, that’s the spirit! Last night, I was sitting at home watching Seinfeld or summat on Star World, and this ad came on. Now, I’ve forgotten which brand it was, but that’s irrelevant. The thing is, Catherine Zeta-Jones-Douglas (?) was in it, and looking incredibly beautiful. As usual. It would take a brave (and blind, I might add) person (man or woman) to call her anything BUT beautiful. I mean, she’ll be 70 years old, and she’ll look just as lovely as she does now. Before you write this post off as a guy thing, let me say that women might actually enjoy this more than us men.

When I was very young (well, a few years ago), my mum told me that there is no such thing as an ugly woman. Some of you may disagree, but I’d just tell you to shut up. Every woman, no matter what – be it wrinkles, big teeth, bushy eyebrows, or even an Adam’s apple – is beautiful, and you can’t deny it. I may sound like a sentimental sop here, but that’s how I feel. Men just can’t compare (I haven’t spent any TIME comparing the two, but you know what I mean) when it comes to sheer gracefulness, poise, intelligence… I could go on. That’s of course, not to mention the emotional quotient.

Take me, for example. Being a man in the metrosexual age, I like to think I’m in touch with my emotions. Poppycock. Us men are either big sops or incredibly repressed, sometimes both at the same time, if that’s possible. I haven’t got a handle on my emotions – either they all come flowing out with no control whatsoever, or I keep them corked up tighter than a bottle of wine (I want to name one here… erm… 1960 Bordeaux?). But women are just a heck of a lot better at it. They also mature faster than men.

Anyway, back to the point – Catherine Zeta-Jones. She is stunning, isn’t she? For some reason, though, I don’t look at her and size her up or imagine what she would be like in bed. She’s just… beautiful, and you could look at her face for hours on end (well, I could). With most women (and I’m not referring to anyone in particular here), if they look attractive, 99% of the time a guy looking at her pretty face will be undressing her with his eyes. Men do lech, much as I hate to admit it. I’m not one, though. (Did I just shove my foot into my mouth so hard I lost a sock? Oh, no… Come on guys, I’m just illustrating a point).

The sort of beauty I’m talking about is just… there. And it’s very, very rare. You can’t count your immediate family in this list though. You’re mother, sister, daughter, grandmother, aunt etc will always look beautiful to you, no matter what. Or your wife, if you happen to be married. Or your girlfriend. Actually, let’s just stick to celebrities.

The few I can think of off the top of my head are…

Catherine Zeta-Jones (obviously)

Jennifer Connelly

Hm. I’ve been thinking for half an hour now. That WAS a short list.

In any case, I’ll stop before I make a complete fool of myself. Women are wonderful, and us men are really lucky. So if you’re a guy, tell the women in your life how much they matter to you. And if you’re a girl, whack him on the head and tell him to go cook dinner. (Where’s the cereal?)

Homophobic?.... Nah...

2006-09-19T11:01:00.000-07:00

Right, let’s get down to this again. After two days of utter, UTTER boredom (except for Orkut, which kept me going), I’ve got to write something here, in an effort to make a habit out of it. What I thought I’d do, with the aid of my lovely sister, is come up with 5 of the funniest, nastiest, most disgusting moments of my life so far. I hope there’ll be more, though, obviously!

You’re gay! No, YOU’RE gay!

“When I was seventeeeen, it was a veeery good yeeeeaaar,

It was a very good year for small town girls and warm summer nights,

We’d hide from the lights… on the village green,

When I was seventeen”

- Frank Sinatra, “It was a Very Good year”

Only there were no small town girls, or village greens. Warm summer nights? Plenty, but I’m digressing. I’m sure those lines have been quoted more times than I can count, but that’s an excellent song, and he’s got a voice that flows like melted chocolate. But when I was seventeen, life was actually pretty cool. I was fresh out of school, getting used to the idea of ‘College’ and the lack of uniforms. I was exposed to a lot more than I’d been used to, and made a lot of fast, but good friends. Didn’t have a girlfriend though. Being 17 and horny is kinda difficult, especially when you can’t express yourself the way you want to. For the first six months of college, the only action I got was, well…. Imagine a conductor waving a stick at an imaginary orchestra. (Too graphic? Too bad.) Actually, my situation now isn't very different.

One of my best buddies was (still is) a chap who I’ll refer to as S. Now, S has always been the cool dude, cracking the funniest jokes and making a fool of himself (ie. He was very popular), and he had a girlfriend. I’m rambling here but bear with me. I had a huge crush on a girl (surprise, surprise) and she actually sorta liked me back. In fact, we nearly kissed each other. I was very excited (obviously), and when S dropped by in the evening, as he was wont to, I told him about it.

We were sitting on the terrace in the dark, with a little illumination from the street lamps, and I was telling him:

“Dude, we nearly kissed each other”

S: “What do you mean?”

Me: “Well, we hugged, and then she sorta leaned in towards me with her face…”

S: “What, like this?” (Leans towards me with his face)

Me: “Yeah, a bit more like this, actually” (Leans towards S till our faces are well, a FOOT apart – which is actually a pretty good distance!)

SLAM!

I look up to see the terrace door bouncing back off its frame, it had been slammed so hard, and my brother’s back, disappearing down the stairs. Heck.

Needless to say, we were out of there, chasing him, shouting “That wasn’t what you thought it was!”… but he was gone. I think he’d locked himself in the bathroom. And to this day, my brother hasn’t brought it up. Bharath, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry mate.

Not very funny, I know, but put yourself in my position. Actually, just laugh at me.

More chillies than you can handle; the toilet bowl

“With a few red lights and a few old beds
We make a place to sweat
No matter what we get out of this
I know well never forget
Smoke on the water, fire in the sky”

- Deep Purple, “Smoke on the Water”

Does that make any sense now? No? Oh, well…

Back in college, I was in a class with 66 boys and NO girls. Zero. Nada. NONE. It was a blast. We didn’t have to worry about that good-looking kid impressing the class babe, which helped build camaraderie, in a way. Anyway, being “engineers”, we were required to go on an “Industrial Visit”. This was mandatory, as per the curriculum. Of course, these I.Vs were just an excuse to hang out with a bunch of friends, away from home, get drunk, and learn very little about industries. Again, I digress.

Our class went on a trip to Bangalore and Hosur (I hated it then, now I’m just numb), and we stayed in this little hotel which was air-conditioned and run down at the same time (go figure). On Saturday night (which has its own type of magic), a bunch of us decided to hit the pubs, because that’s what you’re supposed to do in Bangalore. There’s shopping too, of course. And traffic jams. You don’t ‘do’ traffic jams, they just happen. The majority of guys left the hotel at 5 pm (imagine drinking for 8 hours straight!), while a few of us stayed back to watch the game. Yeah, Everton (blue scum) v Liverpool (my team). Kickoff was at half past five, so we gathered in one of the rooms at five fifteen, breathless (well, I was, at any rate). Let me introduce a couple more buddies – again, no names, because this is Really embarrassing. The first one was this lovely teddy bear of a guy, who I’ll just call HB – stands for ‘Horny Bugger’. The other was one of my intellectual friends – he’s smart enough to be a doctor, so I’ll call Him MD. Easy. So we’re sitting down in front of the telly with about ten minutes to go, when MD decides he needs a crap (is that Heading making a little more sense now?). So he goes to the loo, and we’re all sitting in the hotel room, talking. With a couple of minutes to go, MD was still in there, so HB (who was worried that MD would miss the start of the game) went up to the door and shouted: “Dude, it’s about to start. Get out of there!”

MD: “A couple of minutes da, hang on”

So we did.

There’s 30 seconds to go and MD is still in there, so HB decides enough is enough, and strides up to the door purposefully.

HB: “Come out, you daft sod!” (or words to that effect)

MD: (silence)

So HB hammered on the door, and the bloody thing swung right open. And there’s MD, sitting on the pot, playing his air guitar, going:

“dah dah daaah, dah dah DAH daaah… what the F@$K?!!!”

(the dah dah daaah bit is the famous riff on “Smoke on the Water”)

HB’s just standing there, bewildered, with his jaw on the floor. You can see why I’ve changed the names, yeah?

The thing which still gets me is, Why on earth didn’t he lock the door? Or even, Could HB have done it on purpose? Actually, I haven’t got a clue, but the thought of it still makes me laugh.

The Eye Hospital

I can’t think of a song to fit in here, so I won’t. A year and a half ago, I was in my final year of college. Final semester, to be accurate. It was a breeze, actually, because we only had to go in from Monday to Wednesday; Thursday and Friday were ‘Project Days’, but a lot of the time we’d be sat at home doing something else. (I’d like to say we were studying, but Come on!, for God’s sake).

Before I begin, I feel obliged to tell you that this isn’t a ‘funny’. It was actually rather disturbing. And surreal.

It was a Thursday, I think, and I was sitting at home, studying. At around 10, my grandmum rang to say that she had to go to the Eye Hospital for a check, and would my mum go with her. My mum (bless her), was rather busy that morning, so she said, “Don’t worry, Vishnu’ll go with you”. Well, after she’d said that, I couldn’t really refuse, could I? I’m a very dutiful son, though, so I said “No problem!”, chucked my text book under the bed, picked up a book (I think it was Disclosure, or something) and went on my merry way. My grandmother, by the way, is Brilliant. Generous to a fault, foul-mouthed, and a great cook. I’m sure your gran is too.

At the hospital, my gran had her pupils dilated. You know, they stick these drops in your eyes and make you sit on an uncomfortable chair with your head tilted back, bored to tears (literally!). Every once in a while, they send someone to check on you, but it’s always “No, no, not yet. Try some more of these eyedrops”, and then squeeze three drops into each eye. Again and again. I hate those. Anyway, I didn’t have to go through it, so I’m sitting there with my book open, but talking to my gran about God Know’s What. Philosophy, probably. We usually have really interesting conversations.

She went all quiet for a bit, so I figured she was getting sleepy. I was just getting into the book on my lap when the following exchange took place:

Paati (eyes closed, head back): So how’s your girlfriend?

Vishnu (reading): Hmmm? Yeah, she’s fine… doing good.

P: Please be careful kanna.

V: (still reading, sort of) What do you mean, paati?

P: Don’t do anything stupid… do the two of you get physical?

V (totally alert, trying not to offend): Well, you know… we have kissed and all that…

P: Have you had sex with her?

V (not surprised, but still being careful): No… we haven’t had se…

P: Whatever you do, don’t try anal sex.

V (unsure of what to do): Paati! Don’t be ridiculous…

P: It’s very unhygienic, you know….

V (nodding emphatically, even though she’s got her eyes closed): I know, I know… I’d nev…

P (with yet more potential to shock): You know, your grandfather and I tried it once…

V (looking for a rock to hide under):…

P: It was very painful. We couldn’t do it.

V (stammering): I’m sure it was…

P: If you ever do try it, make sure you use lubrication.

V (Thinking that he has the coolest grandmother in the world): I’ll make sure I do, paati, if it ever comes to…

P (eyes STILL closed): Good.

And she didn’t say another word for fifteen minutes. I eventually managed to find my book (it had fallen under the seat), and found my page. I’m still shaking my head at that conversation though. Bloody hell.

Actually, I’ve had enough. There’s a couple more, so I’ll try and do them tomorrow.

Good Night.

P.S: If you thought that last one was a little strange, well, you’d be bang on. But it happened, and I’m still not quite sure why. Or how.

let's try this again, yeah?

2006-09-14T13:21:00.000-07:00

I figured that if I’m going to get this blog rolling again (see what I did there?... no? ok.), then I’m going to have to start writing more regularly. And short of smoking a big fat joint, the only way I’m going to able to get past this strange writer’s (?) block I’ve been having is to record my experiences on a daily basis, starting with today. (where’s that joint?)

Anyway, I went to Bombay today. On business, not pleasure, before any of you jump. I had to get up at 4am (which is actually pretty difficult) and take a cab to the airport. And its 1am the following morning now – I walked in the front door about ten minutes ago. Sigh. Its not easy being a high-flier (read: high-flying-iyer).

The day started fairly well – I went to work to pick up some material (a solitaire diamond, in case any of you are interested), and didn’t know how to open the bloody safe. After struggling in vain for 15 minutes with 4 keys and two locks, I called the security guard, who, of course, opened it in 10 seconds flat. I mean, key 1A goes in first, clockwise, and then 2B anti-clockwise, and then 1B in the second lock anti-clockwise, followed by the aptly named key X in a hole at the back, which I wasn’t told about. Its enough to do your head in!

After collecting my erstwhile boss from his house, we set off on the thrill-a-minute journey to Bangalore. The traffic wasn’t too bad actually, until we reached the outskirts of the city. These days, of course, the outskirts start 20 kilometers before the city, so it was a slow crawl for the last hour or so. We got to the airport with minutes to spare, literally, and were the last two people on board Kingfisher flight IT 104 to Bombay.

Everyone talks about the air-hostesses on these flights, but to be honest with you, they looked like a bunch of ugly Barbies with dark hair, too much make up and skirts which are way too tight. (Pinky and Anamika– if you’re reading this, I MEAN YOU!). Those are their names, God’s honest truth.

Every seat has a little TV which you’re supposed to fiddle with for a while, so I obliged. But we only seemed to be getting Zoom TV (?), Star One, and Ten Sports (which I will forever hate for buying the rights to the UEFA Champions League). So I tried the radio, but that wasn’t working. I was thinking of asking the albino sitting next to me how he got his sound going, but he was immersed in the in-flight magazine. While the plane was taxiing before take-off, each and every passenger was treated to the sight of Vijay Mallya bragging about his brands, while walking through a maze of model airplanes. I tried to turn it off, but I couldn’t… and the sound was being played over the speakers, so I couldn’t even shut him up. Git. After some more posturing, he handed us over to Yana Gupta, who took us through the usual safety instructions. You know, life belt under my seat, oxygen mask will land on your head if the cabin pressure drops suddenly etc. Only, her voice was dubbed in Hindi, so it just seemed surreal (although she IS tasty, you have to give her that!). The English voiceover was done by someone with a strong lis-th-p. “Pleath ensure that all you belongingths are sthowed in the overhead rack, or under the tseat in front of you”. Now, I’m not making fun of people with speech impediments (I used to have a cracking lisp), but come on! A voiceover is supposed to be professional!

Thankfully, the flight passed without further incident. Unless you count the horny guy next to me insisting on asking Pinky for more cream in his coffee. I offered him my packet, because I wasn’t drinking anything, but he went “I want extra cream”. So I said, “This IS extra cream!”, but he wasn’t listening, so I left him to his pathetic attempts to get a smile from the air-hostess. Honestly. The thing which struck me was the fact that 95% of passengers on Kingfisher Airlines are male. Hardly surprising, you’d think. And you’d be right. Ah well, at least I didn’t have to stare at Vijay Mallya’s ugly mug for an hour and a half.

Bombay is huuuuuge. Massive. It took the cabbie two and a half hours to get us to the office. By which time I was so fed up I just wanted to go back to Hosur. But there was work to be done. I had to interview some big-shot vendor for an in-house magazine, and I couldn’t afford to miss it. Off I trudged, up six flights of stairs, to this really plush office. My appointment was for two thirty, and I got in at 2.25. Naturally, if you’re a big shot, you’re supposed to make people wait – so I’m sitting in this dingy waiting room (the reception was the only really plush bit, actually) till 4 30, when he decided that I’d twiddled my thumbs long enough. Tall chap, this fella, but with a massive, massive arse. His son was there too, and his arse was even bigger. I wanted to laugh, but that might not have gone down too well. Actually, it Wouldn’t have gone down too well. My flight was for 8pm, so I shot through the door and caught a cab at 5 on the dot (it was a very quick interview), because I didn’t want to take a risk with the traffic. As Murphy’s Law would have it, the roads were clear all the way to the airport. So a journey which took two and a half hours in the morning only took 45 minutes at rush hour in the evening. An interesting little aside here – On my way into the city, I actually saw a Dhabbawala. After hearing so much about these guys, seeing one was almost a let down. But fair play to them… I don’t think anyone could do their job. Brilliant.

So I’m sitting in the departure lounge at 6pm, boarding pass in one hand, head in the other trying to get some kip. Eventually, I made my way to the security check, where they managed to confiscate all my batteries, and tried to take my pen as well, on the basis that it’s a sharp object. (I made that last bit up, but I’m ticked off about the batteries). More waiting. And then, as you would expect, some lady going “Jet Airways flight etc etc to Bangalore has been delayed due to technical reasons”. Effing brill.

Some more waiting. And then we boarded. Now, I’ve never really noticed them before, but Jet Airways had a couple of absolutely gorgeous air-hostesses. Drop dead, literally. I was smiling all over my face for a while, but then I saw one of them go up to a steward and say something while pointing at me. Well, that did the trick, I guess. I pretended to be lost in my newspaper for a while, waiting for take-off. I’m not making this next bit up, honest.

The captain came on the PA sounding almost breathless, “I’m sorry for the delay folks, but there was a traffic jam, and then someone hit my car, so I had to catch a cab. That’s why I’m late”. Oh. Really. The whole plane fell about laughing, pretty much. Even the gorgeous air-hostesses. I felt a little bad for the skipper, poor sod. After that, we only heard stuff from the “First Officer”, who informed us that we would be landing at 10 30 in Bangalore. I think the Captain was rather embarrassed. The reason for the delay was also clarified by the First Officer – “Crew Malfunction”. Sorry mate, but that sounds just as bad.

To cut a long story short, I’m back at home now. My driver, poor bugger, was half asleep, and I had to keep making conversation with him, so that he wouldn’t drop off and drive into an IT company (Does anyone else think there are too many of these?). Right, well, that’s about it. Feel free to give me your feedback, be it praise or criticism (constructive, preferably!).

Maybe today will be more fun.

I'm not quite sure. really

2006-03-12T05:51:00.000-08:00

I’m not quite sure what I want to write about…. Never am, really. I was thinking that this reunion with my blog could be likened to a meeting between two long lost lovers at the Arrivals gate at the airport. But it couldn’t, really. I mean… even I don’t know where I’ve been for the last year or so (has it really been THAT long?). I suppose this is like a quick fix, catharsis for the soul every once in a while… when the sheer drudgery of day to day life becomes too much to handle. Anyway, enough of all that.

People don’t think often enough. All of us try to live our lives as fast as we possibly can – work, pubbing, relationships ( actually, its just work and football in Hosur – there isn’t a pub in town I could piss on). Sometimes its good to take it easy, but that may be the Sunday mood talking. The reason I thought I’d have a pop at the blog today was because of the Unifying Moment.

For people who don’t know what I’m on about (all of you), the Unifying Moment takes place quite occasionally, and in a variety of different fields. But it all leads to one thing. And it usually lasts a lot longer than a speech at the Oscars (What’s the limit, five minutes? Imagine what You would do if you won an Oscar).

The rest of this paragraph is optional. We live in a ridiculously, beautifully diverse world. From our perspective, there’s just SO much to do. All the different types of food you can eat (Mexican’s good)… music you can listen to… places you can visit… people you can meet. Of course, we’re all human beings at the end of the day… but like the Indian Elephant and its African counterpart, or the Siberian tiger and his brother in Asia, we’re different. I can tell when I’m rambling. The point I’m trying to make is, we’re all wrapped up in our cocoons… leading generally self-centric lives, more concerned about personal gratification than anything else. I know I am. It takes something pretty momentous to make us snap out of it, even it is only for a little while. That last paragraph was crap. Heck, I warned you.

This is boring.

On a smaller scale, the Unifying Moment takes place in India every time we play Pakistan in the Cricket World Cup. Everyone knows it on. Everyone’s interested in the result. And everyone’s talking about it. It sort of brings us all together in a way. But that’s just in India. If you look at it on a global scale…

1) Richard Nixon… Watergate… Woodward and Bernstein… and Deep Throat (That one’s got porn flick written all over it… not a good porn flick, mind).
2) Bill Clinton and Monica Lewinsky… A cigar… (Deep Throat ought to have starred in this one)
3) Every single Indian General Elections (Nobody votes… but everyone cares)
4) Princess Diana’s death (don’t tell me you missed Elton John in Westminster Abbey)
5) 9/11. Shocking.
6) The Boxing Day Tsunami. Horrifying.
7) The da Vinci Code. Everyone I know has read this book. Well, almost everyone… you know who you are.
8) The US General Elections. Practically everyone follows these elections because it pretty much decides the state of the world for the next four years. Sad, but true.
9) Liverpool winning the European Cup in 2005. Glorious.
.
.
.
Okay… maybe not that last one.

Of course, we have the sort of unifying events which happen every year or two. Or four.
The Olympic Games. People do follow it. Seriously.
Wimbledon
The US General Elections (sorry, these actually belong down here)
The Football World Cup
Erm… you get the general picture.
New Year’s Day

So what did we cover there… Sports, Politics, Terrorist attacks, Natural Disasters, the calendar, books, and celebrities – told you there was a variety.

Anyway, I’ll stop now. Sorry about that.

the art of bunking... sort of

2004-12-15T01:12:00.000-08:00

OK... this was an article I wrote a looong time ago for our college mag. Unfortunately, the magazine hasn't been published. In fact, I don't think the people responsible for it will EVER bring it out. So I've decided to put it up on my blog. Its lousy, its terrible, the punctuation is crap, and the jokes are so stale you'll go looking for a loaf of bread that's been in the fridge for a year (God knows why, sometimes I confuse myself). Anyway, tell me what you think...

Now, the first thing you’ve got to understand is that bunking is divided into 2 Distinct categories:
Stay-at-Home Bunking (Highly Recommended)
Come-to-College-and-Goof-off Bunking (depends, really)
Get-OD-and-go-out-on-the-Town Bunking (recommended, sort of)
OK, so I can’t count very well. Sue me. Or my math teacher. Hang on, there’s also Come-to-college-go-home-by-MTC bunking. Hmmm… Somebody buy me a calculator.

Right, let’s start with No.1. Stay-at-home Bunking. Most people wouldn’t normally have trouble with this. Just tell your mum or dad that you want to take the day off, and Bob’s your mother’s brother. And if you live alone, even better! The others, however, may have a little trouble. These are the students who need to be (A) Creative (As Calvin once said, Mothers are the necessity of invention) or (B) Good Actors and (C)Convincing Liars [C is mandatory]. The first thing one has to do is come up with a good excuse. A lot of the time, the old ‘College isn’t working today, we’re compensating for it next Saturday’ line works. Chances are, by next Saturday, your parents have forgotten all about it. Risk Involved: Your mum/dad sees an SVCE college bus at 5.15pm, and wonders how on earth he/she bought that ridiculous story. Another feasible method is to feign illness and stay in bed. Or in the bathroom, if that works for you. (Just pull the flush every ten minutes – Nobody’ll bother you!) It’s usually safe to come out of the bathroom by 9am. Risks: (i) You are taken to the doctor for a check-up, against your will (ii) Your mum decides to give you a pill to make your (non-existent) problem go away [This can be a problem if you’ve faked diarrhoea – an Andial can keep you plugged up for a day and a half] (I have friends in dark places(???)). There is a sub-category to Category 1 : Stay-at-someone-else’s-home Bunking. For this, you need a sympathetic friend (who shares your love for the day off) with, more importantly, sympathetic parents. Right. That ought to wrap things up. For more excuses, contact me at 1-800-GOOF-OFF.

Category 2 is probably the most popular type of bunking practiced in college. Personally, I don’t see the point in traveling 40-odd kilometers and then not attending classes, but there you go. Granted, it can be a lot of fun when a bunch of people spontaneously decide to bunk, but mostly, its just not worth it. Anyway, here are a few methods to get out/stay out of class:
(a) [No Attendance] Show up 15 minutes late. 7 times out of 10 (remember, this is a scientific study – did I mention that?), you’ll be thrown out of class by an irate prof. Feel free to wander, to take in some fresh air etc. The library is usually a safe place to go. Risks: (i)Running into senior staff members, who might ask uncomfortable questions (ii) Your prof (in class) asks you to get a letter from your HOD if you ever want to attend his/her class again (remember Internal Assessment, guys!)
(b) [Attendance, maybe] You need to take a pill at 1.20pm, and need to go to the water cooler. Only cold water will do. Risk: You might be sent to the doctor (this seems to happen a lot)
(c) [Attendance Guaranteed] This works only if your professor writes a lot on the blackboard, taking attendance at the beginning of class. Also, the exit should be at the rear of the class. The trick is to give attendance, wait for the teacher to turn to the board, get up, and walk out… calmly. It helps if your seat is near the door. Risks: None whatsoever. A friend of mine does this v. v. often, so that he can get to the canteen early. His intentions are noble. And he’s never been caught. (Akhil, take a bow)

Category 3 is usually quite easy to pull off. Steps to be taken (in no particular order):
1. Invent an inter-collegiate symposium/cultural fest (usually, invention is unnecessary – check out the posters in the library).
2. Approach your faculty advisor. Convince him/her that you’re a natural at… oh, say, Technical Rangoli, and that you would like to participate.
3. Go out on the specified date with your teammates (minimum number: 4)
4. Get OD forms signed, making (false) promises to your FA re: getting certificates, documents etc as proof of participation.
5. Another (lonely) option is to stay at home, with OD.

Category 4 is quite simply, a waste of time. Coming all the way to college, and then, quite INEXPLICABLY, going all the way BACK, is a choice which only the biggest idiots would make. (I’ve done it Loads of times). This is an emergency bunking operation, only to be used when returning to the city is a matter of life and death (or The Lord of the Rings on opening day).

Right, further updates as events warrant, but, for the time being, thanks for taking the 10 minute course on ‘The Art of Bunking’

After reading the article, the editors have forced me to add the following lines, to save their asses. You don't have to read them. Really.

P.S: Don’t ever bunk so much that you can’t make up for it later. 75% attendance is easy to maintain, but keep it hovering at around 80%, in case you really DO fall ill.

P.P.S: Never miss subjects which you have trouble comprehending. Getting an (academic) education is really, really important.

P.P.P.S: Also, bunking on the sly requires a rare talent, which everyone seems to possess (rare???)

Ok, what do you think?

Hurrah!

2004-11-22T03:56:00.000-08:00

Cat out of the way. Won’t have to take it for another twelve months, thank God! Lousy paper. I bet those IIM profs are having a laugh. Nutcases. Or, as the Two Ronnies would put it – Jockstraps. Ha ha. I’m a bloody riot.

If you’re looking for good sandwiches in Madras, come home. Or go to Subway. Really great sandwiches, ridiculous prices, tiny tables and crap ambience. The music was AWFUL. It’s the sort of thing you wouldn’t risk listening to without earplugs. A mix between Cacofonix and My Heart Will Go On. Well, Cacofonix is okay. Apparently, the songs were Hindi remix videos. You know – BabyH, BabyDoll, BabyShutupandgotobed etc. Funnily enough, I’ve watched a lot of these videos, but I couldn’t recognize the songs. Maybe next time I should turn the volume up. On second thoughts, maybe not. But I’ll stop cribbing, I liked my sandwich.

Some of the ads on TV these days are atrocious. The VIP Frenchie X ad features this lovely lacy pair of pink knickers flying through the air, until it lands on the same clothesline as the men’s (massive) Frenchie X. It’s explicit, it’s disgusting, and it seems to be on 24 hours a day. What were those ad execs thinking? A more pertinent question would be: 'What were those ad execs drinking?!?'. This is what watching cricket is like these days:

--INDIA BATTING--
Manjrekar: Dravid, facing McGrath… he’s on 2… and that’s Bowled Him!!! Through the gate, McGrath will be delighted with…
--CUT TO ADS(Manjrekar still talking)--
Irritating colorful lines appear on screen. Hutch TV. Nausea.
Knickers fly through air, copulate with Frenchie X
More Hutch TV. Nose bleed this time.
--BACK TO THE MATCH --
Manjrekar(still talking): And it’s Laxman facing the last ball of the over… beautiful shot, that’s gone for four through mid wicket, super start to Laxman’s inni…
--CUT TO ADS again!--
More vertical lines. Hutch TV. Dandruff.
AIRTEL ad. Stupid girl calls her dad from the depths of the Amazon. I recall Arvind couldn’t call HIS dad from DELHI, and he uses Airtel. Propaganda.
Hutch TV yet again. I look for something to throw at the TV, but the cricket’s back, thank God.

Anyway, you get the picture. I’ll go watch some cricket now.

the clock is ticking

2004-11-09T04:48:00.001-08:00

CAT around the corner, nervous as hell. Studying, sleeping, studying, eating, sleeping, playing on the computer, writing blogs for twenty seconds a week... hang on, time's up

of monkeys and politics

2004-11-04T03:40:00.000-08:00

A couple of things I want to get off my chest. Well, more than a couple of things, to be honest. I’ve been thinking a lot about monkeys of late. I know, I know, mantids first, now monkeys – I seem to have a theme running here. But technically, I didn’t really talk about mantids in the first blog, so its not Really a theme.

Anyway, monkeys, after humans, are the most intelligent beings on this planet. Well, maybe I shouldn’t say that. Humans are technologically advanced, but I’m not sure we’re intelligent AT all. I mean, just look at America. 120 MILLION voters (human, most of them, surely) helped re-elect a Monkey to the post of The Most Powerful Man in the Universe. I’m sure even HE can’t believe his luck. After four years of war-mongering (against nations that have less money than Wyoming), tax cuts (to the rich and powerful), lying (to everyone but his wife), drug abuse (not really, but its fun to say it) and Errors in pronunciation and grammar, the people still love him! Well, 53 million of them do, anyway. Although I suspect they voted for him because he’s a lot funnier than Kerry. And we all love our comedians, don’t we? Humbug.

Ironically, if the power to vote in America had been given to monkeys (don’t put it past them, ANYthing’s possible in America), Kerry would have won. Not sure what this says about his mass appeal, but hey, at least monkeys are more intelligent than humans (except for Bush, who has all the intelligence of a pizza), as America proved yesterday. I know, I know… I’ve just contradicted myself, but we all have our vices.

Oh, and if any of the people reading this are Bush supporters, I’m sorry, but please check yourselves into the nearest mental institution. Or the White House. We don’t live in a concrete jungle anymore... it’s more like a Human Zoo. Hang on, hang on… Ah! Catharsis.

Coming Soon: How to distinguish a Donkey from an Ass, and other useful tips better living.

Quote of the Day: “He is the only bull I know who carries his own china closet with him”
- Winston Churchill on (then) US Secretary of State John Dulles
Its sort of... Apt, isn’t it?

this is what writers block looks like

2004-10-31T21:36:00.000-08:00

Well, the XLRI server is down, so I might as well do something with this page. As usual, there’s nothing in my head worth writing about, so I’m gonna write about something that ISN’T worth writing about, and I’m keeping my fingers crossed that you’re going to keep reading this. You still here? Good. I was hoping you would be. What I’m going to do is make up several hypothetical conversations between a pair of praying mantis’s… mantis(s)… mantisses… Praying ManTIDS (Thank you, Google!). A blog which I read recently spoke about how sex sells, and that anyone who wrote about sex would just be selling out. Well, I beg to differ, in MY case anyway. I AM going to write about sex, but not because I’m catering to all you charlatans reading this (Sorry! I was kidding!... hang on, do you even Know the meaning of the word ‘charlatan’?). The fact is, sex is on people’s minds 95% of the time, if statistics are to believed. I believe them. They certainly apply to me. Well come on! In India, most 20 year olds are virgins (well, I am), and are probably itching to do SOMEthing, so sex is the only thing they’re thinking about. Unless they’re watching cricket. But even Cricket has people like Mandira Bedi and Roshni something-or-the-other, as well as Ravi Shastri, saying “Some balls swing more than others, while some are well balanced”. OK, that last bit wouldn’t… Shouldn’t make you think about anything, but it was funny.

Anyway, I’m digressing. The reason I was going on there for a bit was because of the fact that praying mantids are best known for their mating habits. In fact, this is probably why someone once said “the female of the species is more deadly than the male” (was that Kipling? I have no idea). I’ve looked it up, it was Kipling, and it’s from a poem he wrote. Look it up here, if you like. And he doesn’t mention the praying mantis even once. Pity. After the mantids have… well… Sex (I mean, you can’t really Visualize a pair of insects having it off, can you? Maybe later…) the female EATS the male. You probably knew that. Shocking, I know. But it does make for some very interesting hypothetical solutions. In the following sketches, the male mantis is called Drazny, and the female mantis is called Ylovrd. Why? God knows. Maybe they’re from Poland. Or maybe they know Paul Gascoigne. Why on earth do all these celebrities change their names anyway? It doesn’t happen much here... unless you’re counting the extra ‘a’ in some places (in Kareena Kapoor’s case, ‘i’). But I can count, off the top of my head at least FIVE western celebrities who’ve changed their name. Bob Dylan (from Robert Zimmerman, with Elston Gunn and Robert Allyn in between) was one. Prince, who seems to be oblivious to the fact that you can’t pronounce a weird symbol. Paul Hewson, whom we now know as Bono (his nickname was Bono Vox , or Good Voice, in Latin). And I can’t think of any more, so sod it. (what was that? Three?). Paul Gascoigne, for those of you who might not know, was… is a footballer. His nickname used to be Gazza, but now he’s decided to call himself ‘G8’. Nutter. And don’t even get me started with David Beckham (Romeo? Brooklyn? Shylock?!). Ok, I did promise a mantis sketch, but not today.

I'm up and... walking

2004-10-29T04:11:00.000-07:00

Hey I finally had the patience to go online and get my own blog. This is just a test, so I'll keep it short. In fact, I don't even know what my blog is gonna look like (random template random template). Right lets see now...