Guns and a Rose

After a long day at office, I slowly make my way through the car park. Two football grounds and some more, the huge carpark can pack. Always one who comes in late, it is a long walk for me having get to park the car farthest from the door.
I push myself in and drop my backpack in the backseat and myself at the wheel.

About to start, I see a car rushing in fast. The car park is hemmed by my office, a creche, a construction company etc. The car stops in front of the creche, some distance from me. Nothing unusual in that except for the rash driving. I am about to turn away when I espy a guy getting out seemingly in a hurry and at the same time being pulled in by the driver, a lady. Rivetted I look at them. A family argument.

The guy peels himself and starts walking away. The woman wildly gesticulates and talks something which doesn't reach me.The guy walks out into a pavement nearby and slowly but surely makes off. The woman starting the car with a ferocious speed matching her temper tries to come on to the other side and take on the guy head on. The guy nonchalantly gets back to this side of the pavement which is long and wide and the woman turns back the car and comes without reducing her speed. She tries to climb on to the curb and hit him. Failing in that, she stops and getting out of the car, rushes on to him. She, her arms spread wide, starts pleading something. I watch a tragic mime. They belong to different races, I could presume from the colour of the skin. A subconscious observation as I am transfixed by the quarrel.

After about a minute flailing and failing, the woman walks back to the car, alone and angry, pulls the door shut and takes a U-turn on her drive back. As the car makes the turn I notice a doe-eyed kid sitting without an expression in the back seat.
Another war, another innocent victim.

'G'agged!

I was tagged.
The Tag Instructions: Comment, and I shall give you a letter. Go back to your journal, and write ten words beginning with that letter, including an explanation of what those words means to you and why. And I was given the letter G.
Hastobeme must have been really mad at me to give me that letter! I think, thank and thunk but for the life of me, couldn’t manage ten words starting with G. Of course, some exotic but had-to-be-censored “G” words, I had them down pat. But I pretend to be a gentleman and so tried to get hold of other words. No progress! So I archived the post in the trenches of my shallow mind {It kept floating :-( }

You allow me in peace, and I’ll ramble, drivel, blather, babble and generally won’t leave you in peace. But you test me with an alphabet and I flunk.

It is almost like stage fright. I can talk by a tea shop for hours together. But remove the tea glass (pronounced T-gloss) from me and give a mike, I’d become verbally challenged. It has happened so many times. How I overcame that and became a proficient public speaker with a stray dog and a lamp post for an audience (yup, it happened, I promise), is the stuff of legend. Will be narrated sometime in the future.

OK, what I am trying to drive home is that this simple tag had me stumped. I was almost tempted to buy up a dictionary and jot down all the “G” words.

Then a week back, Casa threatened with the letter X. That was too much for me. So I decided to hurry up and finish this tag before someone throws a “Z” at me.Here I go!

God – “I am in him; He is in me” – sounds good and high falutin. But I’ll stick to saying that I have felt His presence.

Green Day – Their “American Idiot” is a masterpiece. I love it.

Goal – I am in a country where there is no interest in the soccer World Cup. And the first match starts at 10.00 AM when I’d be in office busy having my coffee break. By the time I reach home, all the three matches are over. I hate it that I am in a place where nobody talks about it.

Goal – One which I don’t aspire to have in life. I meander like a river shifted by the sands of time!! Big funda but can’t help it. Lol.

Gloating – I never like it when it comes from others!

Grumpy – My current mood

Goa – The place I like to visit, hopefully next year

Google – They have made our world a better place with their search engine. God knows how it was before one could “google” anything.

Godfather - The movie (Part 1) which every aspiring screenplay writer should see. Not a scene wasted. Never an irrelevant gesture. A marvellous movie on its screen play alone.

Girls - :-))


I am done!

Budding Buddha!

As I lay waiting for sleep to come, I was thinking deeply. All of a sudden I had gone into a philosophical mood. I thought whether there could be any person in this whole world without any worry. But I also know that, for any person, there would be atleast 2 or 3 people around him who will perceive that given his riches, material or immaterial, he wouldn't be having anything to worry. But to each man, his own pain. A poor man might think the rich who has a luxurious home and all other amenities would be a most happy person. But in truth that rich person might be neck deep in debt, or a failing business, no family and friends....one may never know. Infact the rich person might actually be envying the poor for living a care free life (his perspective). Nothing with you, nothing to lose would be what rich man's opinion would be. Why so many ills and worries plague this world thought I. And I plunged a bit more into the pessimistic morass.

Whatever I do, there is always a problem to nag me. I seem to be running only to stay in the same place. Not one day passes without me worrying about one thing or the other. Personal, official, genuine, imaginary, whatever but something always troubles me. Deeply I thought and I reflected upon whether there had been any great soul who had over come all these. I remembered Gautama Buddha.

I pondered on how Buddha was so disturbed by human sufferng that he quit the material life and go sit under a bodhi tree! That would be a good person to follow, I decided. So immediately I tried to remember how he had renounced his worldly possessions. In the middle of the night, he'd get up and spend a fleeting moment before his sleeping wife and then leave, I remembered reading somewhere. I too decided to do so. I turned and searched for my wife beside. She was not there. Then I remembered that I am yet to be married. Shucks! What all problem one has to face even to renounce this material world! The path to salvation is never easy. Deciding to wait for my wife, I turned back again and went to sleep!

Curse on those Captchas!

I like blog hopping. I don't stop with bloggers that I know or blogrolled. I like to go to one blog, select another blog from its blog roll, then repeat the process to hop to another blog without looping back to an already visited blog. This way, I go to completely new blogs. I've come across many interesting blogs this way. I've come across funny blogs, serious-with-a-cause blogs, plain but interesting blogs, dead pan humourous blogs, very diverse everyone of them.

Some posts make me wish I had written them. Some are so well written that I think of ceasing my blogging altogether and remaining just a reader. Standards so high! Some blogs I remember without blogrolling them (OK, OK, my browser remembers) and visit them frequently. One widely prevalent thing I found is a majority of them employ captchas.

Captchas or "word verification" as described in blogger are a real nuisance. I'd spy a real interesting post which would provoke a comment from me. But in there a captcha would be sitting patiently waiting for me. After commenting, I'd scroll down to hit the Submit only to find cursive and mangled letters asking me to identify them. Some letters among them are a real pain to identify. Some captcha styles make the letters lean on one another making it more difficult to make out what they are. Even if they don't schmooze, they look twisted nearly out of shape. Simply put, they take the joy out of commenting.

Except for the regular blog network, I don't comment on every blog. Infact I avoid commenting on popular blogs that have an insane number of comments even though the posts are too good to leave without a comment. Still a random blog with a post that stops me in my hop and skip through the blog world elicits a response. But the captcha hurdle has to be crossed before saving my thoughts on the post.

Ofcourse, I realize the reason for them reptilian letters being there. I too had the "spam rash" once. But the spammers now seem to be losing interest in hitting blog comments. They must have got a very low rate of response. I guess only a few cranks just for the joy of annoying others still churn out those despicable things. But the cure for them has almost become a bane now. Sometimes I'd hurriedly mistype in a captcha only to be served with another of its ilk. This time I'm chastened enough to patiently pore over it, make it out and repeat it like a kindergarten child writing out the alphabets!

Only good thing is a captcha is less of a pain than a password. Passwords!! Now they are an entirely different story and deserve a more blistering post!

Captcha is an acronym for Completely Automated Public Turing Test to Tell Computers and Humans Apart. Computer scientists at Carnegie Mellon University coined the term in 2000 to describe codes they created to help Internet giant Yahoo Inc. thwart a spam problem. "Turing" refers to Alan Turing, a mathematician famous for his codebreaking work during World War II and, later, as a pioneer in artificial intelligence.

In defence of reservation

Usually I avoid topics where everyone has already gotten into it and sparks fly around. No use stirring the same broth. But I notice one issue that's going around in many blogs (I blog-hop to new blogs all the time) and everyone seems to have the same opinion and that too one which I do not share. It is the burning reservation issue that's rocking the country. In my opinion from my perch afar, I think that the violent protests are confined to the North of Vindhyas, while token protests simmer in the south. In the blog world I notice there is a near unanimity in that reservations are harmful. I can't help a cynical thought that the chance of coming to any physical harm being slim has made the bloggers write their true opinions. No offence intended, but in the place where I hail from, Tamilnadu, speaking against reservation publicly is taboo and is inviting danger. In fact I was astonished when some years ago agitations against the Mandal committee recommendations broke out in North India. Anyway what I feel is anyone blindly against the reservation system doesn't understand the reason how it actually has helped the country, and the politicians and the jingoistic nincompoops who show themselves as the protectors of the oppressed don't help a bit in this.

There is a sound economic rationale behind the system of reservation. Here I am not talking about the reservation system in its present form. In its present form it is actually making everyone forget the reason for its being and is harming the real downtrodden. The per-capita income of our country at the time of our independence, as everyone knows was not at the present levels even adjusting to the inflation and occasional devaluations. The peculiar feature about it was that the per capita income varied with communities and skewed in favour of the "forward" communities, the Brahmins. Simply put Brahmins as a class had far higher levels of income while the communities who came into the Scheduled Castes list had abysmal income levels. In order to increase a country's per capita income, it is not enough to merely increase jobs and schools. It would have been a generic band-aid solution and certainly not one which would cure the malaise. It is easy to declare that in this country everyone is equal. Bitter it may be though, it must be realized that centuries of caste-based oppression has stunted the growth and psyche of the humiliated and kept-servile people. It was simply not a level playing field out there at the beginning.

Just opening more and more schools would not increase literacy. The very success of the noon-meals scheme is a reminder to this stark reality. A family where every new addition is another mouth to feed and hence its capability to earn, however fragile the body maybe, simply cannot be spared and provided the luxury of education, is the norm among the historically downtrodden. Just because education is accessible to say, a poor farmer's child and a middle class child it doesn't mean that both would get schooling. Harsh realities of life stand in the way of the less-affluent child. It is common sense that apart from school, the family situation, its environment and even the vocabulary of the parents play a great role in empowering the child. So certain steps designed to uplift the children, the community and thus the nation, have to be accepted and are inevitable. Country's progress is team-work, the pie is limited and the weaker links have to be nourished enough to strengthen the whole team.

Here individual poverty is not an issue. That cuts through communities. But repression of an entire class of people is a sad but very true history. That ails the country's economy and any prescription has to take in consideration the nature of illness to effect a cure. Individual poverty can be (and must be) addressed through merit scholarships.

Unfortunately, the reservation system was viewed as a god-send for unscrupulous political parties. They used the reservation system to create vote-banks. This became a tool to create and support vote-banks enmasse. Every political leader wanted to bring one community or the other into the list. It assured the leader the eternal gratitude and support of the community. At least that's what the leaders believed. With everything, one can go only so far. In their greed and intense competition of vote-bank politics, insanity and unbridled casteism played a role. A sort of reverse-snobbery prevailed with communities rushing in to declare themselves oppressed and backward. In fact many political leaders do not have a genuine interest in educating the downtrodden. The more uneducated the people are, the more rock-solid the vote bank is. This was amply exposed when the issue of creamy layer among the backward communities came about. More on that later.

Even Mahatma Gandhi hoped for a future where reservation won't be needed and every community would be in equal footing. He naively assumed that in 50 years it would be achieved. What he didn't foresee was how this economic upliftment tool would turn into a contraption of political leverage.

So the medicine has actually aggravated the illness and its side-effects have proved to be a detriment to the whole body of the nation. It was mainly because the medicine of reservation was administered recklessly and without proper thought given to it.

My two-cents worth recommendations:
1. The concept of creamy layer should be imposed. The affluent families from the backward communities should be made to compete on par with others.

2. A family who has availed the reservation for three successive generations should be excluded from the reservation process. This measure is because such families actually hinder other families of the same community to prosper

3. Nationwide merit scholarships should be instituted. This should be regardless of the community.

4. A national database should be created containing the families and persons who avail reservations and the communities who lag behind in availing the benefit. In future this would facilitate tailoring the system towards the actual needs and also would help in designing out-reach programmes targeting communities that are not utilizing the opportunities available to them.

I feel even our PM and President skirt around the issue. They advocate creation of more seats everywhere. I seriously doubt whether our country's infrastructure has the wherewithal to support that. It's a mere gimmick, however well-intended it may be, I feel.

For the people out there who would like to know my roots, I am a Brahmin by birth. And I didn't get enough marks in my school finals to get an engineering or medical seat on merit. Of course, no quotas for my community meant I was deprived of those exalted streams of education. That's one way of putting that despite an educated lineage I am a dull-head. Do I deserve reservation? Even I don't think so.


P.S: I am aware that I have not provided statistics supporting any of my arguments. It is merely because that I don't have the time and access to get them. I am lazy as well. All the same, I assure that my hypotheses would stand the test of factual scrutiny.

Sane to Insane

Have you seen the trees change their colour through the seasons? The leaves which were a lush green suddenly become a melange of red, brown and yellow hues. It is beyond belief that they could change so drastically and one wonders at Nature. If you are nodding to this, then you can understand when I describe how guys change beyond imagination over a trivial matter as love. Trivial to others, that is.I narrate the changes that I've witnessed among my pals, and even then not all of them. Only a small subset. I've seen people developing altogether different personalities, much like the leaves through the seasons.

1. The dude would have been a loud talker on the phone. He would never mind swearing at some friend for all to hear. But you will find suddenly him whispering to certain calls selective while remaining his usual booming self for others. It's a 110 % certainty that the guy is in love.

2. As a gang we would have seen all movies till now. But if our bub suddenly says that he cannot come as he has already made plans to "just give company" to someone else, all you can do is praise Cupid's aim which results deserting friends for some new found "company". Ofcourse all while blotting the blood from your ears.

3. Our dandy would have worn decent shirts till now. Suddenly he would be sporting bizarre styles not in sync with his usual nature. Not only none of the other guys would know when he makes the purchases, but the new-shirt-wearing frequency would also zoom up. Trust the card companies to dream up for their sales, of some-day or the other which would result in increase in business for funky clothes, trinkets, flowers and many other useless items.

4. The gentleman who has never hid his passwords from his friends for various accounts would suddenly change his passwords and keep it real secure. If any friend of his with tenacity manages to crack the password, he can very easily see where it has been derived from, usually a girl's name and her birthdate.

5. Our romeo who till now was a fan of all noise that goes for music and hip shaking (Shakira! Hint, hint!! Hips don't lie!) that goes for dance will be suddenly crooning his version (ghastly) of "Nothing else matters". Or he'll choose some melody in his mother tongue and proceed to murder it.

6.Our chap's mobile will become an attachment to his arm. Either he'll be talking on it or checking for sms. Pretending to listen to all the talk going around, he would be furiously punching out smses. And he'd single-handedly (the other hand will be clutching his mobile) aggressively fend off even two guys trying to grab his mobile and read the sms (No exaggeration, believe me).

7. The macho-guy for whom wishing his mother on her birthday is a sissy thing will suddenly begin a countdown for somebody's (Not for him, that somebody) birthday one month before.

I can go on and on. Infact points that I have observed rush at me faster than I can type. But I need my friends to be my friends. So I stop here.If you had observed the same things happening with your friends at one time or the other, go check-check-check! Additions to these pointers are always welcome!

And I've also seen the cure for such MPD. Marriage!

Chennai Chef in Chicago!

Once upon a time, there lived a guy with no cooking skills. He used to happily devour his mom's cooking without a worry. He never gave a thought to the process that went behind the screens to make up the heavenly food as he swiped clean plate after plate of delicious mom-cooked food. He imagined he'd happily live like this ever after. Sadly that was not to be.

He made a job change which landed him up in a distant place. That place was so inaccessible that he could visit his home and taste his mom's cooking only once every 3 months. We would have thought that'd have landed him in misery and he'd have learnt how to make delicious food all by himself. No! He found out a mess that catered to his palate, it's cooking almost similar to the place he hailed from. And the office he worked, offered subsidised food and him being in the office the majority of his waking hours, he had no problem. Just that he had to adjust his tastes a little bit but adjust he did. So he and his tummy flourished like before.

One'd think this is a happy story all the way through. No. Many a time the mess dished out food that was a mess and all the kitschy stuff he got elsewhere finally sickened our guy. The guy was not alone. He was staying in an apartment with 3,4 other guys. One of them was kind enough to buy a kitchen (yes, a full kitchen, from stove to all utensils with a gas connection to boot!) and so our guy and his friends had their own lab to experiment. Oh I forgot to tell you, our guy was a coffee addict. So for starters he stirred up his coffee by himself. This guy may have been a novice, but his roommates were a little bit more experienced in the art of cooking having moved out of their homes a bit earlier in their lives. And with a kitchen available, our hero and his friends started trying their hand at cooking atleast twice in a month. And one person among the roommates suddenly found it necessary to learn North Indian cooking. He was good at sambhar and curry before, but now he started making parathas too! One can never tell when a man will start doing odd things but why he does some thing out of his nature is much easier to figure. Oops! I am digressing here. Anyway coming back to our story, good home cooked food was not a once-in-three-month rarity anymore. Also our hero got to start learning the art of cooking, eventhough it was nothing much. He knew how to boil rice, make coffee and stir up an odd sambhar ("vathakuzhambu"-tangy as they come) before, but he got to learn something more. He became a sous-chef in the kitchen, cutting vegetables, boiling rice,washing dishes and the odd stuff.

Ofcourse it is not to say that all his other room mates were more experienced than him. One friend's experience was limited to calling up his parents and informing them, "We cooked X,Y & Z today". Here the stress is on "We". Very much like a leader who takes up the credit and leaves the dirty stuff to the troops. Oh! Again I have moved from the main story. Coming back, our hero never shirked learning and when a willing group was available, he did experiment. In the process, he learnt a few dishes, all South Indian though. He didn't cause himself the need to learn other styles of cooking! ;-)

The story would have ended here, but for the fact that he was again moved from his abode and had to go abroad. There left all alone he began his own practice. He had another person with him who knew very little about cooking and thus became our guy's own martyr. So our guy became a Chef on his own and had enough opportunity to hone his skills. Limited by the boarding amenities provided, his cooking nevertheless became a grand success. Such a success that he didn't have to use the ready made pickles and "mix-it-and-eat-it" stuff at all! Sometime after that he was asked to stay in the new place, a bit longer than was originally perceived. So he had to move out of the existing accommodation. The chef found an apartment which the existing person was willing to share, which is where he now is. So the new person has become our chef's lab rat. The only difference is the new roommate is an expert cook by himself, in North Indian varieties, though. So our Chef is learning some North Indian ishtyle cooking from him.

But the good thing is now the Chef (we can't refer him as a mere 'guy" anymore) has become proficient in south Indian dishes with the help of repeated trials and a willing accomplice in his roommate. He having mastered the basic cooking has passed on to conjuring up exotic dishes, with elan and panache. He makes a call to his mom back in India, gets the recipe, and starts his experiment. The results are invariably met with praise and applause from his room mate. The good roommate sometimes weighs in with a facial expression not unlike the title winning model contestant in a beauty show. This well deserved praise and appreciation from his roommate makes the chef look over the fact that the roommate occasionally scurries elsewhere for dinner after tasting (and praising) the latest concoction of our beloved chef! And the Chef cooks happily ever after!! The only gripe he has is no matter how good he is, he still cannot replicate his mom's cooking.


"mOrkuzhambu" in this picture!

Thus ends the ungarnished saga spanning three cities in two continents. From Chennai to Chicago! The path may have been arduous with many wasted dishes and fallen tasters strewn along the way. But glory has been attained now and the Chef continues in his ventures of trying out more exalted recipes!

Necessity: Invention's mom

I like my Coffee.
I love the "Filter coffee" as South Indians call it.
I have to have my daily fix to kick start my day.
Today morning, as usual, I have the decoction in the glass, add sugar while waiting for the milk to boil.
The microwave beeps, I take the milk out only to find it curdled.
I become a bit nervous wondering whether I'd survive till I reach office and grab a starbucks.
I try a taste of the decoction, but it's too thick and strong to be taken as it is.
It is a crisis situation.
I rifle the fridge. No milk other than the can which is past its due date.
I spy upon a can of Pepsi.
What the heck, my coffee-deprived brain thinks and I pour a large dose of Pepsi into the decoction.
I mix it well and gingerly take a sip.
Mama mia!
It is as if a fuse is lit in me.
It rocks me into life as I slowly take in the quirky taste.
I skip my morning starbucks in office as the taste still lingers.
Try it. You may love it.
Even I will think twice before trying it. It will suit evenings better. Morning, I need my brew to be hot. And how!
An acquired taste, though.

Ennui...

I am bored.
I am sick of waiting forever to do something, eventhough "forever" means maybe a day or two.
I do not enjoy being relaxed. I turn paranoid and think that there must be something I missed.
I am not able to sleep for more than a few hours but feel sleepy all through the day.
And I don't like it.
I have difficulty in focussing when I do not have a deadline. Without a goal, it's very difficult to do anything.
Lethargy in one area affects everything. I become languid in all, working, eating, having a life after-work, everything.
When the fire is gone, the drive is gone.
When the drive is gone, I am gone.

Pearls before a swine!

Last Sunday, I got a chance to hear a Carnatic music concert. All the time I was in Chennai, but for once, I have never been to a concert. And it's the mecca of Carnatic music where in December all the "Carnatic music inclined" people congregate for a festival of music. One never realises the value of a thing when it's nearby.
Anyway Mrs.Sudha Raghunathan was on a tour of North America and gave a concert at Aurora, IL.



I went with a hope that she would sing more songs rather than spending more time for elaborate exposition of a raga, which is the done thing in Chennai concerts. My reasoning was here the audience would be more diverse ranging from swines like me to savants of Carnatic music and she'd aim to please us all. To my mild surprise, the audience were knowledgeable (not counting myself) and demanding as well. They wanted the detailed rendition of a raaga more than once. They called it the "RTP" meaning ragam, thanam and pallavi. Even the world of carnatic music doesn't escape the acronyms!! "RTP! RTP!", many in the audience cried.

Per audience demand, Sudha did a detailed rendition of two raagas and added to them, some kritis, bhajans and before one knew the concert went for 4 hours.
To my big surprise I enjoyed the entire concert. I can't recognize a raaga for the life of me. Still I was in thrall to the divine music.



Sudha brought the concert to a close with a very moving "Kurai ondrum illai". Ofcourse I have not heard M.S' version of this song.
It was Sudha's birthday. So at the end, the audience in one voice (very strong voice) sang "Happy Birthday" to her and also provided a strong proof as to why she is the singer and the audience are , well, the audience.