After a pretty relaxed and forcibly-been-idle Monday, I unwind on the way back home ( Is there such a thing? ). Doors' Jim Morrison was performing for me and I had him loud; blaring. At the traffic light a neighbouring driver slowly rolled down his side window and peered out at me. I became a bit apprehensive. Expecting a curse and a scowl, I inched my hand towards volume control. He just looked at me and took his head back inside. His fingers started drumming to the tune. He must have started humming too. Phew! .......
Relieved, I became all courageous again. :-)
Today, I enter my home and see a letter waiting for me. I idly look at the address it came from. It's from some court of law! Everything forgotten, shit scared, I claw at the envelope trying to pry it open. My mind gallops, mining for some past incident which plausibly now requires my presence in a court. No more signs of a tired tuesday, my adrenalin racing to an all time high, I finally get my frantic fingers to open the mail, lacerating the envelope in the process. Out jumps a cheque! For five bucks! Completely bewildered now, I manage to read through the covering letter. I learn that out of 100 bucks collected from me some time ago for over speeding, I am getting a refund of five dollars as the fine had been only $ 95! That incident happened nearly 8 weeks back. It takes some time for me to calm down, and calm I become laughing hysterically. Whoa! The very sight of a court address on the envelope has shivered my timbers.
Shaken but not stirred! :-))
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Saturday, August 19, 2006
Chicken Run!
Today I found out that the keyboard has become mightier than the pen.
I had to send a mail. I could have typed the letter out and mailed it. But I chose to write as it was hardly a big one. And I discovered how worse my handwriting (it is illegal to call that; more of a scrawl) has become. My letter looked like crazy lines in sand caused by chickens running through it.
Even before, my handwriting was not something to write home about. But this was a nightmare even for me, to read back what I had written. I only hope that the person whom I sent the letter is well versed in hieroglyphics. If my letter is intercepted by someone, they will find it a tough one to crack. To my knowledge, a code is one which has a logic in its encryption. This cipher of a mail had no logic in either form or substance. The same alphabet got written in a different manner each time. Figure that out.
My letters were running across the page at a manic speed in different directions not unlike a riotous crowd scattering on being tear gassed. Or like the behaviour of the suburban train crowds of Mumbai and Chennai on reaching the terminal.
How addictive our (the plural is intended to spread the guilt) life has become to the machinations of the machines!
I believe in a future not so distant, the "hand"writing as we know would become non-existent. More and more speech recognition software makes me see a future where our fingers would be mere vestigial fixtures evolving into forks for holding objects. Without even our realising, we have submitted ourselves to the comforts of email and IM. Maybe I'll IM my friend what I wrote!
I had to send a mail. I could have typed the letter out and mailed it. But I chose to write as it was hardly a big one. And I discovered how worse my handwriting (it is illegal to call that; more of a scrawl) has become. My letter looked like crazy lines in sand caused by chickens running through it.
Even before, my handwriting was not something to write home about. But this was a nightmare even for me, to read back what I had written. I only hope that the person whom I sent the letter is well versed in hieroglyphics. If my letter is intercepted by someone, they will find it a tough one to crack. To my knowledge, a code is one which has a logic in its encryption. This cipher of a mail had no logic in either form or substance. The same alphabet got written in a different manner each time. Figure that out.
My letters were running across the page at a manic speed in different directions not unlike a riotous crowd scattering on being tear gassed. Or like the behaviour of the suburban train crowds of Mumbai and Chennai on reaching the terminal.
How addictive our (the plural is intended to spread the guilt) life has become to the machinations of the machines!
I believe in a future not so distant, the "hand"writing as we know would become non-existent. More and more speech recognition software makes me see a future where our fingers would be mere vestigial fixtures evolving into forks for holding objects. Without even our realising, we have submitted ourselves to the comforts of email and IM. Maybe I'll IM my friend what I wrote!
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Musings of the moment!
Every afternoon after 2 o'clock, I feel very sleepy. Sometimes it is difficult to just see the monitor, and having the cube in an aisle which is like a main street with everyone walking by, it is difficult to catch a shut eye. I wonder whether it is possible to have jet lag even after nearly a year of living in a different time zone?
When I lamented that I never got around to meddle with my blog template, my dear friend retorted, "you males are always lazy". !! Is being lazy a male trait? I never knew that. So are we males the weaker sex, handicapped by the "lazy" gene? Do any of you gazillion readers of my blog know of any lazy female? {Gazillion is number less than 15, I am told}. Or are lazy females actually men in drag? whoa! A simple accusation and my mind veers off into countless logical avenues! Ofcourse if laziness is a male trait, then I am the most virile and macho guy to be found! When a task is to be completed by the n'th minute, (n+1)th minute finds itself kicking me shouting, "Start on the task, yo man!".
Why the only day I decide to leave early has the manager sitting late?
I am trying for a full page post, but thoughts dry up as soon as they start. It is not that I don't get topics to write on. But the topics that come to my mind, come very shy, limiting themselves to one or two paragraphs at the most. Can this be the writer's trickle, the precursor to the much abused writer's block?
When I lamented that I never got around to meddle with my blog template, my dear friend retorted, "you males are always lazy". !! Is being lazy a male trait? I never knew that. So are we males the weaker sex, handicapped by the "lazy" gene? Do any of you gazillion readers of my blog know of any lazy female? {Gazillion is number less than 15, I am told}. Or are lazy females actually men in drag? whoa! A simple accusation and my mind veers off into countless logical avenues! Ofcourse if laziness is a male trait, then I am the most virile and macho guy to be found! When a task is to be completed by the n'th minute, (n+1)th minute finds itself kicking me shouting, "Start on the task, yo man!".
Why the only day I decide to leave early has the manager sitting late?
I am trying for a full page post, but thoughts dry up as soon as they start. It is not that I don't get topics to write on. But the topics that come to my mind, come very shy, limiting themselves to one or two paragraphs at the most. Can this be the writer's trickle, the precursor to the much abused writer's block?
Friday, August 04, 2006
Signs
Today out of curiosity I walk to the ATM in my office. I swipe my Debit card and check my bank balance. A rude shock. My balance is less than $ 10! Not enough for even a tank of gas. Ofcourse tomorrow is pay day but still, I've never fared this worse before.
It's a languid afternoon and I crave for a coffee. Starbucks depletes me by another dollar and 39 cents. Praying that no misfortune should happen on the long drive home, I start from office. Safely I reach home. I have a mail. A credit card waits for me! I am informed that my application has been approved and after performing the necessary security ritual, I am bestowed with credit!!
I doubt whether this is a good omen!
:-)
It's a languid afternoon and I crave for a coffee. Starbucks depletes me by another dollar and 39 cents. Praying that no misfortune should happen on the long drive home, I start from office. Safely I reach home. I have a mail. A credit card waits for me! I am informed that my application has been approved and after performing the necessary security ritual, I am bestowed with credit!!
I doubt whether this is a good omen!
:-)
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Strategic Offense Initiative (ishtaar vaars!)
For a very long time, I've wondered about the visa regulations that the US has. Why should they go to great lengths to restrict such apparently peaceful, hardworking Indians to their country,thought I. Even Bill Gates opposed the restriction in H1 visas last year and I was as puzzled as he was. But recently I found out the reason. Rather, I witnessed the reason. It is to protect its national monuments and landmarks that the US has adopted this strict visa quota regime, but I should report that they are miserably failing in that. One reading this logic might not believe me and might even think that in my absence from blogging for some time now, I must have gone cuckoo! But it's true! I know we Indians are incredibly brainy but never believed that we could invade and occupy a country far removed from our shores. One has to see it to believe the Indian offensive.
Whichever American touristy place I vist, I see only Indians. And not just individual Indian visitors. While the other countries go to war with armies, We always invade in families! Every monument, national park, museum, casino I visited so far was teeming with Indians. Ofcourse i could see some stray Americans around but they had the look of the occupied. And this, with me yet to check-out Niagara falls!
Every Indian invading family (IIF, for short) essentially comprises of a husband, wife and their parents. Sometimes kids also are a part of this army. The guy leading the IIF charge is always armed with various gadgetry hanging from all sides. A digicam, a handycam, a phone are the essentials. Then the wife would follow. She will be either happy or sulking depending upon whose parents accompany them. The most important of the IIF battalion are the parents. Be it their son or son-in-law who is leading them, they will be demure and self-conscious. As certain is that the guy and his wife will be in trousers, the parents will always be in their Indian attire. They will be stiffly marched in formation before the unfortunate monument/statue/musuem/casino and the IIF leader will whip up one his gadgets and proceed to film them. It would all seem natural to the natives that tourists are taking photos. But actually the IIF is on a surveillance and reconnoitering mission.
Be it Sears tower, Statue of Liberty, LasVegas casinos, Golden gate Bridge, Universal Studios, they all have been invaded and continue to be under the occupation of the IIFs. Infact the United States tourism department identifies places of interest by first checking whether any Indians are there. "No Indians here? Nah, this place is worthless" go the department officials.
The only way that a place of interest can be identified that it is not part of India is there won't be any hearts pierced by arrows sculpted on the Golden Gate Bridge, there won't be any guide introducing the Hoover dam as the place where the film, "Fools rush in" was shot which by the way happens to have a dam and there won't be any broken beer bottles in the Pacific Ocean beaches.
Infact IIFs have already achieved success. When Pokhran nuclear tests were conducted, the US first went into hyper-criticising mode and threatened to sanction everything from India. But they were bolting the coop after the fox has come in. The Indian Prime Minister had only to call up the US President and politely tell him that all the US monuments and other attractions are being held hostage. US had to relent and for a face saving measure was allowed to ban the export of nuclear weapons related materials to India and the visit of scientists fro m India to US. Even then they didn't realise how much India's strength lay in software engineers and not the nuclear scientists. No, not in their code but in their inlaws and parents. Not only they bug the code (and later debug) but they also bug the Americans out of their own national treasures. And I am proud of them, every single IIF unit which bravely led and continue to lead the invasion. I salute them.
Belatedly the Americans are trying to salvage a losing battle. Jai Hind!
Whichever American touristy place I vist, I see only Indians. And not just individual Indian visitors. While the other countries go to war with armies, We always invade in families! Every monument, national park, museum, casino I visited so far was teeming with Indians. Ofcourse i could see some stray Americans around but they had the look of the occupied. And this, with me yet to check-out Niagara falls!
Every Indian invading family (IIF, for short) essentially comprises of a husband, wife and their parents. Sometimes kids also are a part of this army. The guy leading the IIF charge is always armed with various gadgetry hanging from all sides. A digicam, a handycam, a phone are the essentials. Then the wife would follow. She will be either happy or sulking depending upon whose parents accompany them. The most important of the IIF battalion are the parents. Be it their son or son-in-law who is leading them, they will be demure and self-conscious. As certain is that the guy and his wife will be in trousers, the parents will always be in their Indian attire. They will be stiffly marched in formation before the unfortunate monument/statue/musuem/casino and the IIF leader will whip up one his gadgets and proceed to film them. It would all seem natural to the natives that tourists are taking photos. But actually the IIF is on a surveillance and reconnoitering mission.
Be it Sears tower, Statue of Liberty, LasVegas casinos, Golden gate Bridge, Universal Studios, they all have been invaded and continue to be under the occupation of the IIFs. Infact the United States tourism department identifies places of interest by first checking whether any Indians are there. "No Indians here? Nah, this place is worthless" go the department officials.
The only way that a place of interest can be identified that it is not part of India is there won't be any hearts pierced by arrows sculpted on the Golden Gate Bridge, there won't be any guide introducing the Hoover dam as the place where the film, "Fools rush in" was shot which by the way happens to have a dam and there won't be any broken beer bottles in the Pacific Ocean beaches.
Infact IIFs have already achieved success. When Pokhran nuclear tests were conducted, the US first went into hyper-criticising mode and threatened to sanction everything from India. But they were bolting the coop after the fox has come in. The Indian Prime Minister had only to call up the US President and politely tell him that all the US monuments and other attractions are being held hostage. US had to relent and for a face saving measure was allowed to ban the export of nuclear weapons related materials to India and the visit of scientists fro m India to US. Even then they didn't realise how much India's strength lay in software engineers and not the nuclear scientists. No, not in their code but in their inlaws and parents. Not only they bug the code (and later debug) but they also bug the Americans out of their own national treasures. And I am proud of them, every single IIF unit which bravely led and continue to lead the invasion. I salute them.
Belatedly the Americans are trying to salvage a losing battle. Jai Hind!
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Vanity, Thy name is Jinguchakka!
Somebody tell the Indian government that I'll continue blogging.Just because I went away for some 10 days they need not shutter down blogspot.There are other bloggers too!
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Paradise Found!
Once upon a time, Mother Nature decided to deck herself up. She chose a ocean's shore for that. She had a range of mountains end right at the ocean. She added her usual greenery on the mountains. At some places, she let the mountains slope gently into the waters. At others she made it a sheer drop from the heights to the waters.
Then in a gracious mind, she let the human beings build a road right at the cusp. Travelling through the road, with mountains staring you down on one side and waves rushing at you on the other is an amazing experience. The only road (atleast among I've seen) which has a sign cautioning about the surf coming onto disturb your travel. The road, which you can stop on your way through, to frolic in the beaches (which I did). The road which is panorama personified. It is like living through a series of those beautiful picture post cards which you get but wonder which place it is. No photo can justify the actual beauty. No digicam can capture the beauty drunk by your eye. An early morning drive in which Nature plays with you by rolling a fog from the ocean blocking your view momentarily then revealing herself in all her glory.
Paradise on earth!
Pacific Coastal Highway!
Also called Route 1 or Cabrillo highway, I took the stretch from Los Angeles to San Francisco. An out of the world experience.
When talking about Colorado's beauty Teddy Roosevelt said, “The descriptions would bankrupt the English language.” My vocabulary fails miserably when I strive to capture the sublime beauty of the Pacific Trail. I consider myself fortunate to have had the chance to travel along it.
Then in a gracious mind, she let the human beings build a road right at the cusp. Travelling through the road, with mountains staring you down on one side and waves rushing at you on the other is an amazing experience. The only road (atleast among I've seen) which has a sign cautioning about the surf coming onto disturb your travel. The road, which you can stop on your way through, to frolic in the beaches (which I did). The road which is panorama personified. It is like living through a series of those beautiful picture post cards which you get but wonder which place it is. No photo can justify the actual beauty. No digicam can capture the beauty drunk by your eye. An early morning drive in which Nature plays with you by rolling a fog from the ocean blocking your view momentarily then revealing herself in all her glory.
Paradise on earth!
Pacific Coastal Highway!
Also called Route 1 or Cabrillo highway, I took the stretch from Los Angeles to San Francisco. An out of the world experience.
When talking about Colorado's beauty Teddy Roosevelt said, “The descriptions would bankrupt the English language.” My vocabulary fails miserably when I strive to capture the sublime beauty of the Pacific Trail. I consider myself fortunate to have had the chance to travel along it.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Have you had this happen to you?
It is almost six months since I took any kind of leave.
I, having planned to make the coming long weekend a longer weekend, broach this topic with my client and my own managers.
I tell them that I plan to skip office for 2 days.
Client says "No problem".
Then I approach my onsite manager. A pretty senior manager this one, heads the entire delivery team at the client end.
She asks me to shoot a mail, just in case she forgets about it.
About to leave, I blurt out the reason for my planned absence. I plan to go on a long road trip, I tell her. I also tell her the places on my plan, the routes I'd take and so on.She just nods and wishes me well.
Next morning, I get a mail from her, asking me to have fun.
Also attached to the mail is a document generated out of a software detailing the routes I told her I'd take, the times, places to stay, map etc.
This doesn't fit in any Dilbert strip, right?
It's a warm and sunny day out here.
I, having planned to make the coming long weekend a longer weekend, broach this topic with my client and my own managers.
I tell them that I plan to skip office for 2 days.
Client says "No problem".
Then I approach my onsite manager. A pretty senior manager this one, heads the entire delivery team at the client end.
She asks me to shoot a mail, just in case she forgets about it.
About to leave, I blurt out the reason for my planned absence. I plan to go on a long road trip, I tell her. I also tell her the places on my plan, the routes I'd take and so on.She just nods and wishes me well.
Next morning, I get a mail from her, asking me to have fun.
Also attached to the mail is a document generated out of a software detailing the routes I told her I'd take, the times, places to stay, map etc.
This doesn't fit in any Dilbert strip, right?
It's a warm and sunny day out here.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Narcissism
Usually I avoid writing about myself preferring to write what I observe. But Casa has asked me to fulfill her tag and here I go. Still I tried to frame answers that are true but don’t focus on me. A difficult thing I found that to be, as I re-read what I wrote.
I am thinking about..
....my oncoming road trip (an arduous one) this long weekend and wish it should be a success.
I said...
....I should buy a home, but yet to do this.
I want to...
....pilot a plane (at the least, a hang glider)
I wish...
....for peace in my mind. (whoa!)
I miss...
:-(
I hear...
....Apple’s gonna release a 100 GB iPod
I wonder...
...why money never stays with me
I regret...
....not doing well in my school finals
I am...
....brutally frank
I dance...
....to no one’s tune
I sing...
....my own meaningless lyrics to popular tunes
I cry...
....unshed tears
I am not always...
....happy. But who else is?
I write...
....to improve my writing. Very little success so far!
I confuse...
....myself when it comes to balancing relationships
I need...
....heavy doses of self-confidence
I should try...
....to clear CAT!!
I finish...
....idlis, dosas and all food in general very fast (of course with appropriate side-dishes)
I tag...
....Paravai
....Janani
I wanted to tag some more of my blog friends but I decided to save them for my future tags. Yeah, I am yet to honour some more tags. Watch this blog for more!
I am thinking about..
....my oncoming road trip (an arduous one) this long weekend and wish it should be a success.
I said...
....I should buy a home, but yet to do this.
I want to...
....pilot a plane (at the least, a hang glider)
I wish...
....for peace in my mind. (whoa!)
I miss...
:-(
I hear...
....Apple’s gonna release a 100 GB iPod
I wonder...
...why money never stays with me
I regret...
....not doing well in my school finals
I am...
....brutally frank
I dance...
....to no one’s tune
I sing...
....my own meaningless lyrics to popular tunes
I cry...
....unshed tears
I am not always...
....happy. But who else is?
I write...
....to improve my writing. Very little success so far!
I confuse...
....myself when it comes to balancing relationships
I need...
....heavy doses of self-confidence
I should try...
....to clear CAT!!
I finish...
....idlis, dosas and all food in general very fast (of course with appropriate side-dishes)
I tag...
....Paravai
....Janani
I wanted to tag some more of my blog friends but I decided to save them for my future tags. Yeah, I am yet to honour some more tags. Watch this blog for more!
Saturday, June 24, 2006
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.
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.
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