The Gone Fishing Book

Comic 8 - Paper Mache

2011-05-10T12:08:00.002-05:00

Comic 7 - Nickel Wise, Nickel Foolish

2011-05-09T16:12:00.000-05:00

Comic 6 - Coke Zero

2011-05-07T17:24:00.002-05:00

Comic 5 - Moral Melee

2011-05-06T15:48:00.002-05:00

Comic 4 - Beatless

2011-05-06T02:43:00.002-05:00

Comic 3 - ... and Piss Drunk

2011-05-01T18:38:00.001-05:00

Comic 2 - Petite Pal

2011-04-30T01:40:00.001-05:00

Comic 1 - Crack Addict

2011-04-29T04:47:00.001-05:00

...Pregnant Pause...

2011-03-31T21:04:00.004-05:00

I think I have only one regular reader, and I believe he is from the Hunan province in China (well actually I don’t know if he is a spammer or a reader, but I am going to go on a limb and tell you that I think Chinese people are used to expressing their appreciation of your writing by offering to sell you pills that treat erectile dysfunction and I think that is highly considerate. So...) Benevolent Sir, this article is directly addressed to you. My Willy and I are very thankful for your kind offers and persevering readership of my blog and we would like to apologize that the blog has not been updated recently. I don’t like to issue lame excuses so I would like to issue an able-bodied one.

As you may have noticed, my writing and updating of the blog of late has literally come to a pregnant pause. (By the word “literally” I actually mean “literally” and not “figuratively”. When most people use the word “literally” nowadays, they don’t use it in the literal sense of the word at all; they are literally using the figurative meaning of the word, which is “figuratively”.) This is to say that, I have stopped writing because of all the pregnant people in the world. A lot of people I know are getting in and out of pregnancy and it is out of love and concern for all these expecting mothers and the developing fetuses that I have stopped writing. I know you might already be thinking this is all bullshit but I really mean it, I can’t write if people won’t stop reproducing.

You know how they say pregnant women should not smoke, drink or consume caffeine. I think more importantly pregnant women should not laugh. It all occurred to me when I was with a cousin who was pregnant and we were watching a funny movie together and she was literally (figuratively) rolling on the floor laughing and it made me strangely uncomfortable. See, if you examine the dynamics of laughing, there is an alternating contraction and expansion of the chest cavity and the diaphragm, your abdomen goes into moderately rapid spasms. The entire upper body resonates at a funny frequency. In my head, this should in the uterus simulate the action of taking the baby and shaking it vigorously, much like a bottle of tonic. And I don’t think it is advisable to do that. I am sure that when rappers of poor quality say “Shake that, baby” they are saying it figuratively (literally). I mean they are not really asking you to violently agitate infants; and also note the punctuation.

I attempt humor and when people read my blog they laugh (whether, they laugh at the humor or the attempt is a discussion that is not relevant here.) and I don’t want to be the reason people shake babies, even if they are sheikh babies. So if I have to start writing again, I have to wait till people stop becoming pregnant. So if you like my writing, please keep your fingers (and probably your legs) crossed.

Thank you.

P.S - Additionally Sir, if you would not pass around erectile dysfunction pills, that might also help towards the cause.

Social Awareness Quiz - Answers

2010-09-16T21:51:00.003-05:00

Social Awareness Quiz

2010-09-16T16:16:00.012-05:00

Its all about saving the baby foxes and curing the incurable diseases

Bonus Question - Sooriyana suttadhu yaar?

Please review your answers carefully before proceeding.
Now go ahead and do not submit your answers, because you cant.
So, do the radio buttons do anything? No.
Is that it? Yes.
What's the point? Saving the baby foxes and all, have you even been listening?

Answers to the questions along with references can be found here

My article for an Elephant matrimonial website.

2010-07-14T20:59:00.001-05:00

I work closely with a matrimonial website for elephants. Here is my latest post I wrote for them that addresses an important social issue.

Calf Marriage - A social concern among Indian elephants

At elephant matrimony, we provide a novel digital portal for pachyderms to find their soul mates and involve in the blissful social contract of marriage. However, apart from pimping elephants we also are keen in taking steps towards addressing key social issues and project ourselves as being socially aware and a little holier than thou.

The Indian elephant (Elephas maximus indicus), more commonly known as the "Elifend (or Yelifend)" in the southern states of India, was traditionally considered to be a very conservative animal with a tenuous grip on cultural and moral values. But with the tempestuous influence of modernization, the modern elifend has transgressed all boundaries and to the point that it has been implicated in cross-border terrorism. The modern elifend is no longer chained to the confines of temples in Kerala, eating bananas and begging for alms. The modern day elifend can be found eating peanuts in zoos in San Diego and in circuses in Las Vegas. However despite this modernization, the elifend is still known to hold on to its core cultural values and does not offer pre-marital nookie to the ~~horny~~ "tusky" bull-elifends.

In this day and age where elephants have progressed to ocean swimming and using guns, it is quite sad that we are still plagued by social stigmata from our past. One such social issue is that of calf marriage. In jungles of India, many calves are married off in a tender age even before they have started tusking. Some wedlocks are made when the animal is still in the womb. Given that elifends are pregnant for about 2 years, pregnant cows are made to participate in cruel "swayamvars" where all other elifends have fun at their expense. Given that pregnant elifends cant drink or smoke already, it would be a mammoth torture for them to tolerate all this.

(Baby elifend Surulirajan distraught after calf marriage)

Calf marriages are even often rigid business contracts and violation of such contracts bonds the offender to cruel punishments such as offering the partner's family a lifetime of free back-rubs during afternoon mud baths. Conditions are even more difficult for she-calves who have to also provide dowries to the male elifend's family. Dowries can range from the nominal comb of bananas to exorbitant gifts such as fancy vehicles.

(Bridegroom elifend Manmadharajan enjoying new found wealth from dowries)

We at elephant matrimony are strongly against calf marriage. Which is why we demand age proof to ensure that every elifend, registered be of legal age of marriage. We also mail pink elifend underwear to elifend swayamvars and as gifts to calf-marriages. But strangely little baby elifends seem to like the pink underwear. (A German expert suggested that we mail them bananas with needles stuck in them, but before the plan was consolidated he became busy on a mission to kill an octopus.) Our steps may be slow, but they are steady (much like that of an elifend).

Not to blow our own trumpets but we would like to encourage every other animal matrimony site to also be aware of such social issues in the animal kingdom. Which is why we urge our sister concern Spider Matrimony to swiftly address the issue of Black Widow remarriage before it spins its vicious web around all other animals in the animal kingdom.

Lets encourage poaching, but only poaching of eggs. (well it is a healthier option!)

Bon Ap"pet"it...

2010-06-08T17:10:00.000-05:00

When your social skills are as limited as mine, you would at some point come down to pets. Eventually, you would have asked all of your friends to piss off and they do have the constitutional freedom to oblige. On the other hand, animals don't have a constitution, they can be caged and no matter how mean you are to them, they have no choice but to stay. You have to realize that creepy old ladies don't just smell of cats, they sometimes actually have cats. The problem however is, I have not grown up with pets. It was my mother's opinion that my sister and I were already like filthy dogs, so she didn't see the point in having a third one. This leaves me with a problem, I don't know how to grow pets*.

The problem is these things don't come with an instruction manual, there is no check engine light or oil pressure gauge and unlike in the cartoons they don't turn green when they are sick. So, how do I know if my dog is diabetic or has acid reflux. How do I find out if my cat is manic depressed or suicidal. So given my luck and ineptitude, I will end up with a diabetic suicidal dog that I will manage to kill before it kills itself. The only logical way conceivable, to come out of this predicament gracefully, is to buy a pet that is edible. Like a rabbit. That way, when my pet dies, I could continue eating my Rabbit Scallopini or Muyal Biriyani and just say " Yeah, I meant to do it."

But that is simply not a feasible solution either. I cant just have a rabbit as a pet, the "Macho man Randy Savage" in me would just stick his head in an oven and turn it to 500 Fahrenheit. My pet has to be cool, should have something like a prehensile tail, or a forked tongue or should come with guns and explosives. So obviously, my ideal pet is an Iguana. It has more vowels in its name than consonants and that already is worth a million cool points. And, nobody will feel bad when the Iguana dies (eventually), so I wont look like a beast. No pretty girl has ever gone "awwww" for a dead Iguana, so I can just throw it in the trash and that will be that.

So now that it was certain that I am getting a pet iguana, I had to think up a name for it. Again the problem is, the convention of naming your pet after the pigmentation or texture of the skin doesn't work very well, like "Spot" or "Fluffy" unless you think that "with spiky tuberculate scales behind the neck" is an appropriate name. In fact none of the conventional pet names would work, a cool pet really needs a really hot name. So again obviously I had to name it after Korean Food. So I decided my Iguana was going to be called "Jjajangmyeun", sounds like the name of a nuclear powered ninja.

Just when everything seemed to be coming together quite well, I realized something and everything just fell apart. Sadly, Korean food names are not appropriate for iguana. That's because Koreans don't eat Iguana, but you very well know what they do eat... DOGS. (Now here is where the train of thoughts gets derailed, hundreds get killed, Crores of rupees worth of goods are destroyed, the railway minister issues a press release etc.) I mean its a fantastic idea to name your dogs after Korean food. That way when the Koreans eventually get your dog, they will know what to cook with it. Think of it, Bull-terrier Bulgogi or Poodle Noodle with Collie-flower in Terrier-ki sauce**. Doesn't that just sound too perfect to pass? So please name your dogs after Korean food. I know the whole iguana plan has been jeopardized, but nevertheless, Bon Ap"pet"it.

*You don't "grow" pets do you? Its not like they are plants or bacteria. What do you do with pets anyway? Raise them?? Nurture them?? whatever it is you do with pets, I don't know how to do that.
**I know that is not Korean but you sometimes have to roll with it.

The Hamiltonian

2010-05-12T16:12:00.000-05:00

If you called Lewis Hamilton - A Nigger who cant drive; would you be racist in more than one way???

Sheer Brailleance!

2010-04-28T20:42:00.000-05:00

I just invented "Fine-print Braille". Its just like braille but the dots are not raised enough, so now blind people can also be cheated into buying useless and terribly expensive cellular phone contracts.

Men are from mars??? No wait, thats for fat people!!!

2010-04-24T19:25:00.000-05:00

Have you ever been in a situation when you wanted to just sprint a few yards, just to catch a bus or to get to a meeting on time but you havent been able to because you were too fat? Are you a bloke who is 250 pounds, and you want to lose 150 pounds, with just minimal effort? The answer is simple, go to Mars. I am not joking, this is a scientifically verifiable truth. If you are 250 pounds now, you will weigh only a shy short of 100 pounds in Mars. Which is why I tell you fat people should be sent to Mars and much for their own good.

You see life is all about survival. Imagine if you are fat and being chased by a pack of hungry wild dogs, and you need to run for your life. You cant do it cause there is too much friction between your thighs, and the fact that your heart trying to pump oxygenated blood through your jupiter body is somewhat like trying to fill a bucket with an ink-dropper. But on the other hand, that wiry thitch whom you can break in half on a given day can easily outrun you. Wild dogs are typically not on diets either, so they will be happy with a big wad of adipose laden bacon rather than chewy lean meat. But the wild dog situtation can also be seen metaphorically, it is a dog eat dog world. Thin people are always beating you to the restrooms, to the line at the bank, they are moving places faster. Life is about the survival of the fittest and if you cant get fit soon enough, it is time to migrate. And what place to go better than Mars.

Fine, I do agree that I havent thought this through completely, there are some difficulties, with little things like food, oxygen and things like that. But the more I think about it, I find that this option is becoming more realistic. Like food for example, most fat people have enough adipose reserves to last a few years maybe, so if you can just keep hydrated, urinate infrequently and derive some minerals from martian rocks that will give you time to figure things out.And guess what martian rocks are rich in iron, you will never have anemia and that is a good thing. What about temperature, it is colder in mars, no problem fat people are so well insulated all you need maybe is additional body hair, some hair implants on the body to begin with and in a matter of a few generations nature will naturally select the hairy ones.

Life will be rosy in Mars. First, there are no wild dogs in Mars. And as all the thin people will be busy chasing each other on earth, 60 60 72 will be the new 36 25 36. You will be happier because there will be no more "fat" jokes because of the pot and kettle predicament. You dont have to use a motorized cart in WALMART to procure your daily supply of hot-dogs. All of physical activity will be so much easier, that your hearts will be quite relaxed and the capillary thin clogged arteries will be more than sufficient. You can run your heart's content without breaking as much as a sweat and for once you can get off a couch in less than a minute without the use of a forklift. There are just many martian records just waiting to be shattered, there is a Usain Blob in each of you just waiting to do what you are destined to do. So listen to what I have to say, get your martian arse off the couch, brush away the french fries off your manboobs and be on your way.

Mirror Mirror on the Wall : Which planet/satellite is ideal for my weight? Click here to find out.

PS - I am in quite an acerbic and irritable mood, so I don't care for euphemisms now. Fat people are not horizontally challenged, they are plain fat. If this post hurt you, here is my advice, try to cry yourself into losing a few pounds. I am sure I will regret this post some time later.

Credits : The idea was a brainchild of RMD and he is also going to hell with me.

The Indian mother Vs The Little red light

2010-04-09T20:55:00.001-05:00

You know how dogs go inexplicably crazy chasing the red dot from a laser pointer. My mother is a little like that too, but with the little red LED lights on electronic gadgets. For some reason this whole "stand-by mode" concept doesn't make sense to her. When you turn a TV off, she wants it to really be turned off. I mean to say that it is not enough to just turn it off using the remote control, you need to get off the couch, walk up to the television and really turn it off till there is no red light. The microwave clock ticks her off too, when the clock blinks at her it becomes like this itch that she cant resist scratching. Its the same with the laptop, the modem, the air-conditioner. Every light emitting semiconductor device has to be dealt with till they no longer produce light. And you have to absolutely do what it takes, like press that main power button on the TV (and it typically takes about four thumbs to press the button) or find that hidden switch on the modem that really is impossible to locate or pull out the power-cord from the switchboard that is hidden so far behind the desk that it requires your elbow to bend backwards in order to reach it. You have to realize that some of these demands are physically impossible and dont even get me started about getting off the couch. I totally understand why one should not waste power and I admit to being guilty, more than once, of letting the television run without actually watching it, but I don't understand why it cant remain in the stand-by mode. I tried to explain to her how the little red LED actually doesn't use all that much power and how getting off the couch can be injurious to my health, but lets face it she is incurably addicted. When my back is turned I know she still secretly goes about turning things off.

I would normally let her go about with her button pushing addiction, but the other day she just pushed the wrong buttons for me. I was trying to turn the laptop ON. Now, the LED predicament means that I couldn't leave the laptop in suspension. This meant that I had to resurrect my laptop again from its death, electrons had to move about in the system and reach a state of dynamic equilibrium before I could use it again. And this only takes about 15 to 20 years. So I thought I could turn it ON, go check the scores of the cricket match and come back. Then my dear laptop will be waiting for me ready to use. I turn on the laptop, go watch the cricket match till the advertisement comes on (which nowadays happens every time you blink). So I go to check if the laptop is turned ON and quite irritatingly it was turned back OFF. Why on earth would you turn a laptop off before it even booted up? And how in the 3 milliseconds that I was away, did my mother find the time to come and turn my laptop back off.

Now this was simply getting out of hand so I turned it back ON and went to go give her a piece of my mind and tell her to keep her hands off the laptop. I marched into the hall furiously rolling my cuffs up only to ironically find myself in the receiving end of a tirade for having left the TV running.... and the laptop running... and everything running. What ensued was a well rehearsed commentary about how I leave everything switched on, with an emphasis on how precious electricity is, and with side-notes mentioning my lack of concern for the economy and the environment and how education has completely failed me. I hunched into a ball in one corner of the room and cried myself to sleep.

The Ultimate Guide to Driving on Indian Roads – Part II : Knowing your enemy

2010-04-07T15:14:00.000-05:00

In India, driving is like warfare. You have to fight for your right of way, your life, your vehicle and sometimes even your personal belongings. The key to survival lies in understanding the enemy, you need to know what you are up against. Here are some typical ranks among the enemy lines.

The Scooby-Doos - You dont mess with the Scooby-Doo. You never ever mess with the Scooby-Doo. If someones has a horn that goes Scooby-Dooby-Dooby-Dooby-Dooby-Dooby-Dooby-Dooby-Dooby-Doooo, you dont ever want to mess with them. Just step aside and watch with sheer glee as they self-destruct themselves by running into a derelict India Mark II water pump at a blinding speed. Then you do the customary “Haha... serves him right, God bless his poor soul” thing and be on your way.
The Murungakka maamas (Ze Drumstick Uncles.) - they are found on motorcycles, dressed in a sober full sleeve shirt. There will a portly lady in the rear seat unbalancing the vehicle by sitting with both legs hanging on the same side of the bike. This imbalance is countered by hanging a bag of groceries containing 2 murungakkas (drumsticks, the ones that are eaten) sticking out of the bag on the handlebar on the other side (hence the nomenclature). They are the low-life of indian roads, the bottom feeders. They get the least respect. If one of them is in your way, just blare the horn or start cussing out loud and they will dig a burrow on the side of the road and go into hiding.
The flag bearers - typically Ambassadors, Qualises that have a flag fluttering on the bonnet (The hood is for Yankees, we have bonnets.. and Dickeys… and Stepneys). They are generally people with loud political affiliations (read thugs). They make the laws and uphold them too (the unwritten ones of course.). Just don’t mess with them. In fact, there is this story of a man who once tried to fight with these people, they say he mysteriously vanished.
Men in uniform - No, I am not talking about the police or the defense forces, they don’t count. Auto-rickshaw drivers, bus drivers, tourist cab drivers (now why all these guys wear white, is something that I can’t explain, but nevertheless). Now here we have a symbiosis. They drive like imbeciles but perfectly understand if you do the same.
The Edentates - Long thought to be a myth, sightings have reported that there are some vehicles in India that have not yet been dented by some freak collision. These guys will try hard and try very hard at that to keep up to that status. They will be very careful and cautious, so we can take advantage of their meekness and force them into yielding for you at the turn. But if you push it too far, and they end up losing their dent-free status, just try to evaporate from the scene or something to that effect. You don’t want to be there.
The Geriatric-Seizing-Magnets - The old peoples, the ones with the under-arm cobwebs. The ones that died a few days ago, but then their family didn’t notice it and they just sent them out to buy some kerosene from the ration store. They just crawl along at a gastropodan pace. If you get any closer than 3 feet from them, they go into a major epileptic fit, convulse wildly and develop this intense magnetic attraction that gravitates towards your vehicle. And before you know it you are being blamed for killing a person who was already dead in the first place.
Bonus-points – cyclists, pedestrians, sitting ducks etc.
The Vegetable Express - All hail the glorious "Vegetable Express"!!!!!!!

The Ultimate Guide to Driving on Indian Roads – Part I : The (f)Law

2010-04-06T21:13:00.001-05:00

There is only one way to say this, "Driving in Indian roads is an incredibly difficult ordeal". I know that I managed to do this in the past instinctively and effortlessly for about 8 years. But that fact was immediately rendered completely irrelevant by my attempt to drive in India for the first time after 2 years. Not only was it utterly embarrassing but also upsetting that I had failed at my first test of "Indian-ness" amidst my friends. I had now become a Yankee who was looking for "Stop" signs. Nevertheless, it took a few heart-attacks, a "navagraha homam" and a nearly fatal trip to the cinema theater, before I learnt to drive again and now I could salvage whatever was left of my pride and reclaim an important social passport for being an Indian.

This has made me realize how terrifying commuting in Indian roads could be for a foreign traveler. My specific experience put me in an excellent position to document what I would like to call The Ultimate Guide to Driving in Indian Roads. Many people are anxious about driving on the left side but I think it is a trivial deal, because as you will see soon, you can pretty much drive wherever you want. Road rules mandated by the law in India are completely optional. They are just polite requests or guidelines if you may. In fact, the road rules and laws are exactly the same as in the rest of the world, but with a small difference. You just have to ask yourself, “What would I do if I was incredibly high on hallucinogenic drugs?”

The Law

Right of way - There is only one right of way in India and it is your right of way and you have to fight for it. Depending on your personality, whether you are the Gandhi types or the Bhagat Singh types, you can go about doing this by either honking your horn wildly or by wiggling your way along meekly. It’s perfectly okay to gently bump onto and dent the vehicles of other road users in this process, just as long as you can manage to squeeze out a stupid grin. It is also acceptable to do the same in incredible velocities and inflict tremendous damage if you are big, burly, hairy, have stained teeth from years of chewing tobacco and are reasonably proficient in profanity in the local vernacular.
Traffic Lights - A red light means you have to proceed without colliding with cross-traffic. A green-light means you have to run over cross-traffic if any. Amber...??? Shhh… we don’t talk about the amber in India.
Road signs – They are mostly just fancy lavatories for stray dogs. One-way and No-entry signs mean you can proceed through these roads clumsily and cause huge traffic congestion because of your stupidity. All other signs mean that you have to just power your way through at break-neck speed.
Yellow and white lines – They are innovative games to entertain you while you drive. The yellow line is for you to try to drive right over it without veering to either side. It is a test of your sense of direction and balance. The disjoint white lines are just like a slalom, you just zigzag your way across it.
Barricades and medians – Barricades are again for entertainment only, disembark from vehicle, move the barricade and proceed as usual. Medians are tricky as you can’t as much move them as destroy them completely through years of disabuse. But nevertheless you can drive on either side of, atop or if you are one of the more talented types, even across the median.
The Zebra-crossing - it is marked by a set of parallel white lines on the road. As the name suggests, it is a provision used to help zebras and other related equids to cross the road. Pedestrians, humans and other mammals may however cross the road wherever they desire.

Now, since most of us are not Union Leaders, all these laws are completely useless. What is useful is a good understanding of the unwritten and unspoken rules. The ones that you are generally better off abiding by. The thing is, all of justice in Indian roads is meted out by an impromptu extra-constitutional outfit that is amassed at the scene of an accident. This outfit includes many qualified representatives like people going on casual evening walks, chai-drinkers from adjacent shops, students who have sneaked out of college and are loitering in the streets and almost always there is an auto-rickshaw driver involved in some manner.

The Unwritten Law.

The names of these laws mentioned are specific to Chennai and Tamil Nadu but thier spirit is upheld pretty much everywhere in India.

"Enna speeding patheengala saar Law of 1902*" - If you are faster, you are at fault. If you are hit by a driver who is going the wrong way, with his headlamps turned off, while he is blindfolded, juggling bowling balls and driving all at once; and you just happened to be driving fractionally faster than he was, you are immediately at fault. So the victim, auto-rickshaw drivers and other casual passers-by will gang up against you, beat you up and hustle a few bucks from you.
"Cha Periyavara poi.. Law of 1907*" - If you are young, wear a t-shirt and have a fancy hair-cut you are at fault. If you are in a road accident and happen to be a teenager, you are automatically a maniacal driver. So if you hit an elder person, you are at fault. Of course the victim, auto-rickshaw drivers and other casual passers-by will gang up against you, beat you up and hustle a few bucks from you.
"Enna Pa Ladies Kitta... Law of 1942*" - If you are a girl (you don’t even have to be that pretty), you are never at fault. The girl is never at fault, despite a well-documented history of YouTube videos that suggest otherwise. So if you end up hitting a girl, you are at fault. Of course the victim, auto-rickshaw drivers and other casual passers-by will gang up against you, beat you up and hustle a few bucks from you.
"Aiyoo aiyoo aiyoo aiyoo Law of 420 B.C.*" - If you are louder, you are not at fault. If you are loud enough and can rally enough support from by-standers and get the people who are buying fruits from a cart nearby to join you in the chorus, you are not at fault. So if the person you hit has vocal cords made of phosphor bronze alloy, you are at fault. Of course the victim, auto-rickshaw drivers and other casual passers-by will gang up against you, beat you up and hustle a few bucks from you.
"The Aiyoo Paavam Law of 1967*" - If you are hurt, you are not at fault. Sympathy waves are cliché, Indian crowds are more into "sympathy tsunamis". If your victim has bruised his elbow a little, teary eyed onlookers will hold hands in riotous protest against you and declare with oohs and aahs that you are at fault. So if your victim is injured ever so slightly, you are at fault. Of course the victim, auto-rickshaw drivers and other casual passers-by will gang up against you, beat you up and hustle a few bucks from you.

*Translations for the names of the laws in the given order

Did you see how he was speeding Law of 1902.
Alas! An elder person... Law of 1907.
What? With a Ladies(in plural for some reason)... Law of 1942.
-Exclamation with no English equivalent- Law of 420 B.C..
-Exclamation with no English equivalent- Poor thing Law of 1967.

Exponential Decay

2010-01-29T22:48:00.000-06:00

Statistics indicate that I will be posting about 2.27 times this year. So I guess I will be posting again sometime after summer. Thank You.

Regressive metal...

2009-10-22T20:48:00.001-05:00

I take pride in being a simple man. I hate progressive metal with the same passion that I hate Quantum physics and for a similar reason too. Its just too complicated. Quantum physics is complicated to begin with,because all that science is really difficult. But on the other hand, progressive metal is complicated because we made it complicated and after a point all this complexity becomes deliberate and excessive. I already like my quantum physics better and this is exactly what progressive metal has done to the earth. This is what it has done to music. It has put the textbook edge to something that just gives me sheer joy. It has made geeks out of the freaks. As we all know that the freak shall inherit the earth, and I intend on keeping my share.

Back in the day when progressive rock (differentiate from progressive metal) evolved, we had bands like Pink Floyd, Jethro tull and Atomic Rooster. I love and worship these bands, because as progressive as they were, they maintained the end in sight, which is to make good music. When this purpose fails, all the unorthodox time signatures and "boutique" scales become pointless. Progressive metal is defined as being experimental. But every experiment should have an objective. If your objective is to make good music, then it is fine by me. But if your objective is to write a song in latin which when read backwards is the chinese national anthem, and is set to a scale in which the tuning of the strings are in a logarithmic progression and played on a time scale that is in fibonnacci series and with a lead solo by a monkey with a ukelele, I am sorry I am not the guinea pig for that experiment.

It is perfectly appreciable if a good song demands an unorthodox musical structure. Pink Floyd and Jethro tull have many good songs, a lot of them in simple time signatures and scales. But when the song demanded the use of an unorthodox method, they would use it bravely. The quality of the music is not indexed by its complexity. The way progressive metal has progressed, I feel like it is a direct disabuse of the power that complexity of musical structure affords you. I would like to restate the words of a certain wise music critic "Even three-chord-trash is sheer aural ecstasy if it is done the right way"

I dont completely hate progressive metal bands. Lot of their work is really excellent. The others I think they are like confused teenagers, they just need more direction and focus. However, what I do absolutely detest are progressive metal fans. Among self-proclaimed rock fans most are posers and pretenders, but with progressive metal fans all of them are. Here is the point that I dont get. Progressive metal is defined by its use of complicated and unconventional music structure. How can you like something just based on the fact that it is complicated? Why does complexity make something cool? If you like complicated stuff why are you working in a meth lab rather than in a rocket science lab?

An average progressive metal fan knows as much music as I know Yiddish. That screws up things even worse, because when a purported progressive metal fan tries to head-bang, he cant do it! That is because the time signature is so complex and our quintessential progressive metal fan is so musically challenged that he cant keep up to the rhythm. When you headbang, you go
with the rhythm. That is the first and only rule of headbanging. They cant follow the singing because its too tough and the lyrics are in Sanskrit, so eventually there is not one element in the song that they can actually relate to. They probably will relate better to the chattering of chimpanzees.

When I look at a progrssive metal song I would look at it with the sense of amusement with which I would look at a towering skyscraper. But a kicking good rock song is like the Eiffel tower or the pyramids or something like that, it is monumental. Which is why I think that I'll rather stick to the classics.

The Immig-RANT Song

2009-06-23T15:25:00.000-05:00

A friend recently asked me to help them compile a list of guidelines for graduate students from India coming into the US for the first time and here is some advice I could come up with.

The reasons are only as diverse as the crowd themselves. There are the truly aspiring ones, the ones with nothing better to do, the greedy ones and the ones pecked into the decision due to pressure from parents and peers. But nevertheless, as every fall dawns, they all join the “August Rush” in pulling the same end of the tug-rope trudging onwards towards the shores of the glorified “Land of the free and home of the brave”. They all come in carrying porcelain dreams as big as their oversized baggage.

The westward march is much akin to a military operation with complicated strategies and intensive planning. The troops are prepared and trained to be able to survive for a year with nothing but their cabin baggage, they are trained to lie to, cheat and scam border security officials and customs officers alike. It is a rather scary thought, but if all these strategic minds are put together on a single drawing board, we could invade the entire world.

The big problem with the entire westward exodus is that it a comedy of misinformation. As a responsible servant of my homeland, I really think it is my duty to ameliorate this situation. So I should clarify certain myths surrounding this glorious country.

Myth #1 : Terrorists and illegal immigrants do not cut their hair.

When they showed the photographs of terrorists on TV the other day, I was shocked. They all had very decent hair-cuts. I also saw illegal immigrants pumping gas at the station, again clean shave and clean haircut. To think of it, I was somehow tricked into believing that a proper shave and a haircut was a highly imperative factor towards getting a visa. In fact without my fancy long multicolored hair I looked more inconspicuous, I looked like a face in the crowd. Why would I try to look inconspicuous? Well, unless I was a terrorist.

There is no trick to acing the Visa interview, they know you are lying and for god’s sake half of us don’t even know to lie convincingly. Try to present a genuine case.

Myth #2 : The baggage check-in counter is a black hole.

My highly vocal aunt is very assured of her opinion that the check-in baggage counter at the airport is a miniature black hole and that anything put in the check-in baggage is lost forever. So it is very important to squeeze my entire house, refrigerator and kitchen sink included, into the cabin baggage. But it was mildly amused when at the airport, I did receive my checked in luggage. As ridiculous as it may sound I do have anecdotal evidence that checked in luggage do make it to their destination once a while.

Myth #3 : This is a land inhabited by carnivorous animals that do not brush their teeth.

I was really surprised when I went to the store the other day. But despite my initial disbelief, it is true, there are civilized human beings here too and they really sell toothpaste in the store. . If I knew earlier that they sell soap, shampoo and toothpaste in this country, I would not have brought 7 tubes of toothpaste, I would have brought only 5. That way, my last 2 toothpastes would not have cost me 60$ for the enormously overweight baggage that I was carrying. Talk about being penny wise and pound foolish

Myth #4 : Infants older than 3 yrs are not permitted to attend graduate school.

This myth is prevalent especially among parents. Well, my suspicions were confirmed but most students coming to graduate school are generally full grown adults. So mothers triple sealing packets of mango pickles in India, please rest your ladles for a moment and listen. Your sons and daughters are full-grown adults, they can talk, they can walk and they can feed and clothe themselves. They are not “struggling”. “Struggling” is what you do with your full time job, without a washer/dryer, without a dishwasher and without the luxury of pre-cut vegetables and meats.

(voice from the audience)

Best Mom Award winner : “But my son is just a baby, what do you expect him to do at this young age”

Sarcasm Guru : “How old were you when you got married and started running the home by yourself?? Think about it…. And I love you mom!”

So, if your kids complain about doing their own laundry and throwing out their own trash, please ask the whiny idiot to suck it up and start acting like an adult.

Myth#5 : Food is a scarce commodity here, and vegetarians are stoned to death by the carnivorous animals.

If this country is good at one thing, it will be its ability at making people obese. This is the fattest country in the world. No one and I mean no one has ever come to this country and lost weight. No one has ever gone malnourished, including vegetarians.

(voice from audience)

Grass-chewer : No! No! NO!... I am vegetarian, I don’t get any food here.

Sarcasm guru : That’s wrong, you are either narrow minded stupid who refuses to try the new vegetarian special on the menu or you are a cheese pizza hogging, veggie burrito gorging, alfredo pasta with zucchini and Portobello mushrooms devouring liar.

I really agree that the hundreds of condiments bundled in delicious parental love make edible, the monstrosities that these inglorious idiots cook for dinner (unless you are the guy with most friends… because you can cook). But nevertheless, the beer and Chinese food that are dialed in are still doing their part in making sure that they will need new clothes when they come home for Christmas. Reminds me of which they don’t need 45 jeans pants, 40 would suffice and they will be going up one pant size pretty soon anyways.

Myth#6 : All graduate students are overworked, homesick and depressed

Here are some pointers parents, sometimes your wards might not call you or attend calls on weekends or when you call on a Sunday morning they might sound very dull and diseased. This is generally because they were working very hard as a part of the “keg-floating-committee” the previous night. Also hangover is not a sickness or a disease, they will get over it. Please don’t advice them to take Crocin or other related analgesics it will only add to the acidity that they have from all the tequila shots.

Also, when in doubt, blame the kid. If he says he is overworked, he is lazy. If he says he is underpaid, he is greedy. If he says he feels tired, he is drinking too much. If he says that his life sucks, tell him that the old girlfriend was not worth it and that you will look for a beautiful alliance from the same caste for him.

The mind of a graduate student is a colorful salad of various emotions. Anxiety of a job hunt, tiff with the girl friend, victory over the rival school in football, speeding tickets, room-mate’s new play station, acing an exam, bungee jumping, maxed out credit cards, the Sunday barbecue to which the hot girl next door is coming to… Everything adds spice to the salad

P.S – Talking of salads, salads in this country can constitute an entire meal.

Myth #7 : Life will be the exact same here as it was back at home

They say this is the land of opportunity and damned right they were not kidding about that. Most people miss opportunity because it is dressed in overalls and looks like work. Opportunity is there for the taking, but it never comes free. You chose to grab the opportunity, so now you have to prepare to work for it. They are paying you almost 3 times what they would pay your sorry ass in India and if you thought that you could get away with doing lesser work than before you really and truly are outrageously illogical. You thought moving to the USA will help you progress in your career, and simple laws of physics tell you that you need to do more work in order to scale the heights

A corollary to this myth is that life is mechanical over here, or that is what has become fashionable to claim. But however, the last I knew, machines did not go scuba diving in Florida. Nevertheless, it was you that decided to sit at home on a Saturday, eat your Dhaal fry with rice and watch a movie in Indian vernacular over online streaming when you had the opportunity to paraglide over a lake. Life is all about the choices you make. If you decide to make it mechanical and slip into the routine, that is a choice you have made. It is easy to blame circumstance, but in the end the opportunity was always there for the taking.

So wrapping up, its not that bad here, it is a different place, nevertheless it will be a different life, just be ready for it and try to embrace the change gracefully.

Why the dictionary should go to hell.

2009-02-12T18:12:00.000-06:00

Full of words, but the meanings make no sense,
Its where the eggs always come before the hens.
Deaf dog ears and a hard-bound shell,
That's just why the dictionary should go to hell.

Plain black and white from cover to cover,
Why describe 'blue' than to just show the color.
How do I look up a word that I don't know to spell,
That's just why the dictionary should go to hell.

Five centuries of complicating crossword clues,
94.3% of the words I would never care to use.
Stacked up in shelves, not one copy does sell,
That's just why the dictionary should go to hell.

Pseudopseudohypoparathyroidism,
Is actually a real word in one of them.
Am allergic to dust and don't like an old book's smell
That's just why the dictionary should go to hell,

There are more than 400 meanings to the word "SET"
Everyone here probably has used one I bet
Why I own one myself, I just cant tell,
That's just why the dictionary should go to hell.

Sleeping Sickness

2009-01-12T17:45:00.000-06:00

I haven't been reporting to work for two full days. I had called in sick but I havent been sick at all. The reason why I had stayed home was that I felt like sleeping. This was not plain lethargy, but a real desperate need to sleep, but my idea had been defeated.

It was a bad time for me to have guests in the house, because I had to now share my room with a friend who snores with the sound of a concrete mixer. I believe the concrete mixer was working well over time through the night because I was still tossing in the bed at 7 in the morning. My head and back felt as though they were completely cast in concrete, my bedding and pillow felt like they were made out of concrete. If only my ears were rather filled with concrete. I had gone to bed in my cosy apartment bedroom, which had all of a sudden transformed into a concrete jungle.

The other friend was sleeping in the couch downstairs and I should tell you he is such a sadist. He brought along with himself 2 puppies. I am sure he wedges the puppies' tails between the toilet door, waits for me to slip into the slightest of stupor and then slams the door shut. The howling retrievers bring me back to rapt wakefulness. I was wondering if he would believe me, if I told him that I was trying to just push the puppies back into thier crate using the barbecue fork.

It was about this time that the concrete mixer flipped over to his side and the snoring stopped. I was going to pop champagne in celebration (trust me a bit of bubbly wouldnt have been such a bad idea if it would knock me off to bed.) , but the joy was shortlived. He was snoring again but his pitch was slightly different, this time like a blunt saw rasping through fine redwood. Just hearing the sonorous depth of the snore, you could almost trace the wind through his pipes. With your eyes closed you could see his epiglottis and uvula reverb in violent cacophonous protest to the flow of air, like they would be happier if he choked and died.

It is a complete misnomer that sleeplessness makes you drowsy and groggy. To the contrary it heightens all of your senses. Every nerve ending and synapse works with sheer electricity. When you are unable to sleep, you are aware of everything, every smallest discomfort is magnified as though under a huge lens. My pinky toe was hurting, my throat felt dry as though I had a spoonful of dry plaster, the room was getting too bright, the air was getting heavy to breathe, and despite the riotous snoring I could hear the floorboard creaking as I turned in bed and my beard was feeling itchy even though I had no beard. I wished I was hermetically sealed in something like a ziploc bag.

Now that sleeping seemed to have become a lost cause, I thought that it would be a good idea to lie awake in bed and perfect my coughing technique. I tried to come up with a convincing "cough" which I could use in front of my boss when I reported to work in the morning. I was contemplating between a gentle tuberculosis wheeze, a dry throaty cough, or a wet phlegmatic chesty one. The trick was to strike the appropriate balance of believability and drama. It was among one of these congested wheezes that sounded like the batteries had died on an old taperecorder that I had finally and gently slipped into sleep.

In almost cinematic climax as I was typing this down, my boss shows up to ask how I was doing. I was in brief shock making frantic efforts to minimize the windows. My voice box failed me as I tried to reply and the bewildered and speechless vocal chords rang an empty dissonance. It was like my throat had gone sore from 3 days of flu. In afterthought, I must have sounded convincingly sick.

Snuffed up and snuffed out....

2008-09-16T21:32:00.000-05:00

I was walking down the road, my usual dorky self with my "geek-pack" strapped on my shoulder with nerd written all over my disposition because I was walking to work cheerfully on what was a university holiday due to predicted inclement weather. I was waiting at the lights for a signal to be able to cross the road. This typical "stoner" car pulls over next to me. (Well if you dont know what a stoner car is, It is typically a 1972 Cadillac DeVille, in aquamarine color, with 21" alloy rims, no airconditioner and equipped with a very loud stereo reconstructed from a broken down amplifier, it also is lored to be fitted with a air-freshener that smells of a certain popular "recreational" herb.) The guy driving it was a Caucasian male, around 25 years of age, brown curly hair, blue eyes, wearing a white printed tee-shirt. (Hi there! at the FBI in case you are reading this.) He hollers out from the window "Dude, do you have some stuff on you???" I am the retard and I didnt understand what was the "stuff" that he wanted, but I thought it would be more graceful to pretend that I was hard of hearing. "Dude, do you have like some stuff?? You know... weed, gaanja, coke". I wanted to tell him, "Maybe you can try the gas station" but like all my comebacks this one was also lame and late. So all I managed to squeeze out was a weak "No", as he snaked away at a surprisingly high speed across the red lights. This was the first crazy thing. Now, of the 20 odd people on the road "Why Me???", this is the first question.

Well this question kept me preoccupied all the way up to my building. When a stolen car pulled over next to me. I knew it was stolen because it was a spanking new, totally maxed out Ford Mustang GT and the guy driving it had absolutely no control over the beast. The car tottered to a halt next to me. The guy lowers the window and asks me "Habla Espanol???" (Now you guys are convinced the car is stolen, arent you?? You racist bastards!!!) Anyways, I said "No Espanol" and clearly the guy was lost. I asked him "WHERE???" and I yelled like we all do, as if yelling it louder would magically translate it to Spanish. He replied "Houston". I was mildly surprised and I clarified "Houston???" "Houston." he replied again. We did the same thing a couple of times like it was a game that was not so much fun. But the reason why I was surprised was because, why would someone be asking for directions to Houston from the middle of the university. My guess is someone got completely lost during his get-away run. Anyways a little bit of calisthenics and dumb-charades later, I gave him directions the best I could. But I bet he is not reaching Houston tonight. This was the second crazy thing. Now, "Why would the guy think I was Hispanic?". This is the second question.

Now these 2 questions have opened out many possibilities for me.
1. What if some Columbian drug lord had a baby in Chennai and there was the famous "cradle-swap-in-the-hospital-

incident" that has been glorified and used to the fullest extent in indian cinema.
2. What if all this is a eye-wash, maybe I am the son of a Mexican drug cartel leader and I have been grown under guardians, to have a life free from all the gangs and drugs.
3. Maybe I was a drug peddler in the streets myself and then "amnesia-incident" happened. (Well the switch is supposed to be on the back of the head isnt it???)
4. What if I am actually snuffed up right now and am hallucinating.

Jeez life is scary.

Engineered to think...

2008-06-27T17:03:00.000-05:00

I have come to realize that humans are formed of 2 subspecies, that are so different that it truly amazes me that we are still able to cross breed, namely the scientists and the engineers. If you were thinking as to whatever happened to art, business, medicine, humanities etc. BAH.. HUMBUG! Every person, even if their job is to knock doors and sell soap, eventually falls under one of the two categories. Take a look at the big picture**, there are 2 ways to lead life. One is to search for the truth. The other is to take the truth for granted and try to work out an optimal path towards it. There is a sense of neo-dwaitha about this whole thing.
Being the scientist that I am, repeated observations have led me to the conclusion that not only are the two absolutely incapable of understanding each other, but are also incapable of having a sane conversation together.

Experiment No. 244356.
Aim – To teach an engineer scientific principles.
Procedure - My friend of the other kind was working towards improving the lubrication efficiency of serum using gold nanoparticles***. Since I am a biochemist ( a sorry unsuccessful subdivision under "scientist"), engineers assume that I have absolute knowledge in anything remotely biological in nature all the way from cardiac surgery to agriculture. She had a very simple question for me. She wanted to know the chemical structure of serum. Engineers generally leave me lost for words, but this time I did have a comeback. "Rather simple question, which I will answer right after you tell me the chemical formula of coffee"****. She did not get the joke, alarm bells should have been screaming red alert in my head and this should have been the point when I should have prudently ended the conversation unless I had a sheer sense of vengeance over the few valuable strands of hair that research had been kind enough to spare. But, fate had it that, I took it my responsibility to spend 3 hours trying to beat in elementary biochemistry into her head. But proteins still decided to remain the 'body building nutrient' as the 2nd standard science book had emphatically proclaimed.
Result – I am unable to chose between disaster and failure.
Inference - A totally futile effort at teaching, precipitates the necessity to conduct further experiments.

Experiment No. 244357
Aim – To help an engineer think scientifically.
Procedure – based on the results of Expt No. 244356, I decided to instead try to solve her problem by using the scientists’ two favorite tools; logic and rationale. I was quite impressed with the level of detail she had to offer regarding her method and experimental set up. But however I asked the question that every engineer dreads, and none of them has the answer for. “What are you trying to find or prove?” Now I had no clue that this question was the play button for engineers, because every engineer ever faced with this question first tells what parameters they are measuring, and then they go about telling their entire method all over again. At this point a scientist has to understand that this can go on forever. The only way to jump out of this loop***** is when the engineer either admits that his boss is mad or that they really are not trying to find out anything at all. For me it was a “I really am not tiring to find out anything, infact I don’t care what I do, I just need to improve the efficiency.” For a scientist really this is not a helpful target, because that is where we get cranky and suggest they use some grease on the hinges. We tackle specific questions, prove specific hypothesis. Engineers try to get a positive result, but we don’t have a concept of negative result at all. An experiment either proves or disproves a fact, and we have learnt to embrace either with equal grace. Engineers do objective driven research, we do hypothesis driven research.
Result – Like an engineer would aver, “Negative result”.
Inference – Stick to scientific experiments, trying to improve or optimize anything is not your forte at any level

The two attempt above are what engineers call ‘Experiments’ and are just a standing example and warning for all scientists who plan on attempting to do anything that has to do with optimizing or improving a system (like teaching an engineer some science). We are just not made for that kind of work.

**I really am not qualified to use phrases like "the big picture", "keep me in the loop", "the wholistic point of view" because I dont have an MBA, but my limited vocabulary has left me wanting.
***At this juncture, if you dont understand that part. If you are a scientist, it is only because it is something stupid that them engineers are doing. If on the other hand if you are an engineer, it is only because a scientist is telling you this.
****False sitcom laughter from the scientists. Damn you geeks, come on!!!
*****Has no relation to the phrase “Keep me in the loop”. This is a different loop, a real loop.

Cookie's Fortune

2008-04-23T17:03:00.000-05:00

I was having Pho at this Vietnamese restaurant last night and I tried to open the fortune cookie. When it comes to luck, I often end up having quite a few scores to settle with my stupid stars. This time yet again my reputation (and my clumsiness) preceeded me and I dropped the misfortune cookie on the floor, shattering it. The fortune read, 'You will meet someone special at a social gathering". Now this would have been a great one if I had opened it myself. But technically it was the grimy floor that opened it. Now all I can do is to hope with a heavy heart that the floor finds a good carpet at a vacuum cleaner sale. Hmph. These people who write stuff that go inside these cookies are so unimaginative. It is disappointing each time I open a cookie with great enthusiasm, only to find some cliche like "Opportunity is knocking on your front door". I always think they should put in more peppy stuff like "You will spill your desert on your dress." "The gelatinous thing in your soup is the waiter's saliva." or maybe they should give relationship advice like "Your boyfriend is too dorky for you" "Try to get lucky with the waitress" "Cheapskate, take your girlfriend to a better restaurant" . These places serve terrible food as it is, and then they top it up with a good serving of a pungent bromide in your fortune cookie. With snappy messages, they could spice up your day at the very least. The rear side of these cookies should also be put to better use. Who ever would remember the chinese word for "Sun" that they read at a restaurant, when feeling flatulent and bloated. Rather they should teach guys to hit on girls in chinese. Now that is something guys will remember. The other reason I hate fortune cookies is because I feel disappointed when I eat them. They taste like ice-cream cones, only without the ice-cream and then I feel like eating ice-cream. But then, ice-creams at Asian restaurants invariably taste like trash. All the cheer that the prophesy inside the cookie instilled in me gets neutralized by the bad taste from the artificial flavors in the ice-cream. I suggest these people serve chocolate cakes with interesting messages inscribed on them with icing. Now that would make my day!!! Hope this ones make yours.

Am I ask????

2008-04-13T22:49:00.000-05:00

The gravely soporific nature of my protein chemistry class is only rivalled by the instructor's brutal ability to butcher a language, which due to severe mutilation can barely be recognized as English. Until then, I was greatly convinced of the supremacy of a certain proprietor of a private engineering institution at his ability to make Wren and Martin turn in their graves. But along came our protagonist to just give them that extra turn.
Every educational institution in our country seems to have a subterranean secret Department of Linguistic Molestation. However, there is a great deal of myth and lore that fogs up real facts. Many people patriotically and vehemently lay claim over certain "Quotable quotes" which have been supposedly coined by pioneers in Linguistic Molestation from their institutions. In fact, many of these quotes have become so cliched that one has come to realize that the "Miss under standing" never stood there in the first place. In order to secure the interests and to document the efforts of our protagonist I would like to share some valuable excerpts from my active, passive and stuporous interactions with him during my course of study.
Our instructor is very aware that each student has their own distinct learning pattern, so a typical class involves many activities on the part of the students. Some students learn better when they read, so they read "Playboy". Some are visual learners, and they like to make doodles of the instructor in action. Some are aural, hence the walkmans. The kinesthetic learners involve in many activities like shooting rockets, having pen-fights. I personally write poetry.
One day when I was writing something along the lines of "Up your ass Up your ass... Nobody ever listens to your class" my rapt inattention was broken by a spark of brilliance on the part of my instructor. He had just asked one "sleeping bai" to "Face the wash and come". What ensued I guess was a ferocious battle between sleeping bai and the water faucet. I think the sleeping bai prevailed because he came back to class after a few minutes his face dripping with water and his breath smelling of Pan Parag. "Horrible water closet monster... Thou art toast!!". The sleeping bai has only the instructor to thank for inspiring such valiance in him, who in all modesty and simplicity casually continued his highly arcane talk about "Actually, that type of thing is a structure is going to resemblance that".
His clasrooms were always a disciplined environment. "Some of you, all of you, most of you.." always had to "Take it as a serious..and hope they are awareness of him" else "No matter what he will not give it as a present". Which means that you will have to pay for it. He "wants this kind of business only" other wise "you wont get sign for next week" .
He has a distinct teaching style. He veils his material in a fine cloud of mystery. He tickles our fantasies and imagination. Like this great speculation that he is also doing research in time travel. He once shared some of his concepts with us. A certain "green fellow" was told "Don't talk while I am marking in the present" I imagined if he was also marking attendance in the past and future also. I also wondered why our instructor demands us to write assignments without ever bothering to collect them. I believe that he would travel to the past and collect them later. I hope, sometime in the future he comes back to the past and does his job of teaching us something worthwhile. This also explains the time when he asked us "Why so many less absentees?" when to the contrary more than half the class was empty. Maybe these students in the future will come back and attend the class.
If only teaching was a one man show. He also expected his students to deliver the goods when put to the task. Yet another "Enna pa" was asked "Who this book? Tell Pa, who is this book?" Posed by such a difficult question, Enna pa was rather dumbfounded. After stifling a nearly insurmountable feeling of nausea, fear and possibly giggles too, Enna pa delivers. "Yes sir, I am this book". It certainly was a day to remember for Enna pa, in an instant he had become the hero, the talk to the town and he had lived up to the reputation of his instructor who was now the butt of all jokes.
It was definitely the most fruitful experience being his pupil. I, often called by him as the "What man", still live by his golden advice "Be contact with yourself" and then "You will be the king of yourself". But one nagging question still prevails "Am I ask all this? Am I ask?"

As old as I am told.....

2008-04-02T17:20:00.000-05:00

Despite my desperate cosmetic efforts to stay young atleast at heart, I am steadily being beached to the shores of what is called the "older generation". I have started losing grasp (in both senses of the word) over what the people ashore call the "younger generation". It is difficult being stranded midway and the throw-rope that connects me with the newer generation is getting frayed rather quickly. I think I am bolting towards senility.
I realized that when I was hanging out at my regular bar, a very laidback and calm place. I happened to stumble upon one of my students who took great pride in the fact that she came to that place only to use the restroom, because the other happening places were filled with the youngsters like her who can hold neither their liquor nor the excretory repercussion that follows. I was asked why I was here playing pool here among people who seemed to be drinking off their pension, when I should rather be convulsing wildly to loud hip-hop songs versed about unconventional sex and drugs. I tried to thwart further conversation about the topic with the usual “I am too old for all that” reply. Bt instead of accepting my answer at face value, she decided to probe further and asked me how old I was, especially since she felt that I didn’t look very old. I told her I was twenty two and her face skewed to an expression that was a blend of surprise, exasperation and 4 shots of tequila, as she told me that she was twenty six herself. It felt awkward to be chronologically younger than a person whom you regard as a kid. People seem to be stuck in a redundant loop after adolescence. Their growth seems to slow down to a slogged progression. I on the other hand, I think I should start looking out for a good deal to buy a pair of dentures on amazon.com. I think suffer from some mental form of “juvenile geriatricism”, where one simply feels too old.
I am also increasingly convinced that I should stop trying to relate to kids. It only gets worse every time I try. I committed one such grave mistake recently, when a 9th grade student fired up a conversation with me on one of the networking websites. I thought I would be nice for a change and humor the kid for a while. The kid, from dear old motherland, showed great interest in the accessibility of internet in the USA. He asked me if there was wireless internet access on the roads. (God this is the United States for crying out load, not Utopia!!!). Just as I had typed him a reply telling him that this generally was not the case, I had another message waiting patiently to throw me off my chair. It read “I was told you could sit on the road and watch porn.” Among other things, he actually was mighty perverted for a 9th grader. I really wondered what would become of him when his hormones swung into full action. I would never understand, why he would want to watch porn, sitting on the road. There are too many things I fail to understand. Soulja boy, Guitar Hero and low-hip undie-fundie pants (and thongbirds for girls) among others. I am only glad I am too old to understand all that.

“My” Milk!!!

2008-03-24T18:17:00.000-05:00

Unlike many canines that I know, I am not habited to marking my territory with my excrement. My upbringing in a very cozy home and hostel life to a large extent have blurred out my sense of personal space and belonging. More importantly they have instilled the tendency to share comfortably and the ability to co-exist with other humans without wanting to bite their head off everyday. So it was a cultural shock for me when I moved to the US. It took a while to get used to the fact that the people here have strong definitions of their intimate zones and are not very ready in sharing. But the cultural electrocution however was ultimately provided by an Indian household nevertheless.
I was very happy with the food that was served that day except for the initial “P” that had been inscribed with a sharpie on the hardboiled egg that was on my plate. “It is only on the shell.” was the unabashed reply to my questioning glance. “The initials are to mark out my eggs” she added. “Well, we label our stuff in the fridge” she said nonchalantly when the questioning glance refused to wane. To my dismay, she was not even joking. Every egg in the fridge had individually labeled with one of 4 different initials. Milk bottles had been marked, with level indicators to ensure no one was cheating. “Well, that is “My” milk” (But of course with the M in capitals) she offered me a glass to drink, and coming from a girl’s mouth, it sounded funny in more than just one way.
The rest of the kitchen was no better. One tray in the refrigerator was teeming with groceries, whereas another, had a lonely yoghurt can crying for company. But then things could not be moved to that tray because that was her “My” tray, and it was forbidden territory. Crossing the line of control would cause unimaginable political turmoil. There was already great tension due to the infiltration of a “Your” chewing gum wrapper from one tier into an open vessel of 3 day old “My” dhal that was harboring a harmonious mat of “definitely not my” fungi in the tier below. Space was a big constraint; each person was allowed only a quart of “My” milk and a quart of “My” juice each and gallons were out of the question. Everything was there in quadruplicate, “My X 4” cutlery, utensils, food, spices, condiments and even “My” salt. SALT!!!
The rest of the house was not spared from the reeking of their territorial pissings either. Speakers were banned. “My” Laptops and computers were run exclusively in muted mode. The “I also paid for it, and hence have equal rights over it” television had degenerated to become vestigial. Each of the two “My by two” bedrooms was equally divided into 2 “My” parts by a nonexistent line. Each half harbored a “My” microenvironment characteristic of its resident. It amazing how half a “My by two” room can be clean, and the other half be dirty at the same time. The “Mine if clean” Clothes and towels could not be left hanging in the “My by four” bathrooms and the “MY and I will kill you if you touch it” shampoos and cosmetics, as a matter of preference, were never left in the bathroom either. For no reason at all, people never lived in the “our” living room. There was no rule against this, but they simply preferred not to.
My “our” household, to the contrast was a free for all. The stuff in the “our” fridge was open for all roommates, friends, friends-of-friends, relatives, neighbors and I am pretty sure the homeless bum on the road often dug in for a bite too. I was very upset when this equilibrium was shattered one day when a can of “My” milk had stealthily encroached into my fridge. The aroma and taste of the “I can give you a sip if you want” coffee I was drinking were sucked out instantaneously when I was informed that I had used “My” milk instead of my milk.
I could do nothing but stare with utter dismay when what started of as a small isolated hut of “My” milk, gained fortification and grew into a huge ugly slum filled with all kinds of “My” stuff, rooting themselves steadily in my fridge. Not only were new “My” stuff establishing themselves in the fridge but also things that were “our” crockery earlier were gradually deserting my cause and converting into “My” crockery. I was beginning to learn the biggest lesson in my life, a complete understanding of the concept of “My” milk.
There are 2 different things namely, my milk and “My” milk. My milk can be consumed by me, us and “ME”. But “My” milk can be consumed only by “ME”. My milk can be in my house, our house or “My” house. But “My” milk can only be in “My” house. Any inadvertent consumption of “My” milk by me, immediately pushes “Me” into the brink of starvation and puts “Me” in a life and death situation. This subsequently puts me in a would-love-it-if-you-drop-dead situation. On the other hand, my milk can be freely consumed by “Me” because sharing is a virtue that is expected of me, but certainly not expected of “Me”. In essence, my to a certain extent translates to “our” but “My” can only translate to “My”. The difference between my milk and "our" milk is only a matter of perspective.
Furthermore, “My” milk comes in “My” milk bottles. But however once the “My” milk is consumed, the “My” bottles immediately change allegiance and become “Its not my” or “I don’t know who’s” bottles. Also in case growth of any unidentified bacterial species occurs in the “My” milk, it immediately baptizes it and changes it to “I swear its not my” milk. On the other hand if any such unfortunate disaster occurs to my milk, it suddenly becomes “YOUR” milk. There have also been isolated observations of “My” milk converting to “Your” milk under similar conditions.
I really am beginning to hate this “My” game with all my “My” blood and “My” guts. If I don’t share, it is because I am cheap, but if “I” don’t share, “I” am only being fair. “My” milk has simply walked into my “MY” life and turned sour, as does milk.
When I wrote this article I wondered what if “I” read this article. But then I don’t really care and that’s just “:M.E:”.

Ambigram - Ravi

2008-01-15T16:25:00.001-06:00

Like a stone

The Mirror

2007-11-03T15:21:00.000-05:00

A friend's eye is a mirror,
A mirror in which I see.
I see the images it shines,
it shines refections of me.
I see through the times,
times of glee and sorrow.
I see vivid mirages,
mirages of what might be tomorrow
Mirrors they are shattered,
shattered i see my face.
Wounds they leave their scars,
scars i can not erase.

Ambigram - Jhansi

2007-08-20T18:17:00.001-05:00

Jhansi in jeans

Ambigram - Vidya/Alice

2007-08-04T16:23:00.001-05:00

Bold and beautiful

Ambigram - Tammy

2007-07-25T16:27:00.000-05:00

The explosive TAM-BAM

Stepping stone....

2007-07-09T17:09:00.000-05:00

As I type, I am already regretting the way I am beginning this article. But I suppose it is because I have not written anything for quite a while now. This is probably what they call a “writer’s block”, when lack of inspiration spawns an inability to express. In a conscious effort, I have decided to draw inspiration from this very handicap and use it as crutch to jump over the block. I may end up writing either a parody on my parasitic dependence on some form inspiration in order to be able to write; or a tribute to the many empty “Google” windows I have opened, to frame the emptiness of my mind. Nevertheless the blue color of the windows accent the “blues” I am going through.
As I try to wade out of the murky blues, I go green with envy at people who are able to draw inspiration from small things in life and furthermore the ones who take to writing instinctively, without the need for any inspiration. Green envy blends into red rage as irritation mounts the way it does, when your ballpoint pen refuses to yield when you are signing your cheque at the bank counter. All these vivid colors fade away as I stare at the strident truth in hand, my inability to write and the truth alone remains, leaving behind a white sheet in front of me, a white empty sheet, very literally inviting me to write.
As I hastily try to wind up my article I realize that writing a bad article is like screwing up your cooking, the more you try to fix it the worse it turns out to be. It would only be easier to face the fact and eat humble pie. I may have failed to scale the block but nevertheless I have now a stepping stone which may at least help me do better the next time.

Ambigram - "Go Hang a Salami I'm a Lasagna Hog"

2007-04-01T02:05:00.000-05:00

Punish the Salami!!!!

Ambigram - No "X" in Nixon

2007-03-31T18:24:00.000-05:00

First, if you haven't noticed "No X in Nixon" is also a palindrome.

Second, I call it a "paragram" and I define paragram as the ambigram of a palindrome.

Third, It has a mirror symmetry and is also readable when inverted

Fourth, No applause please.

Shaheema - Ambigram

2007-03-27T20:33:00.000-05:00

Whats with the ducks????

Ambigram - Hafsa

2007-03-01T21:13:00.000-06:00

The small and powerful Huff-bomb

Ambigram - Ajith

2007-02-02T03:17:00.000-06:00

Made for one, gifted to another

Google Search

2007-01-22T11:26:00.000-06:00

I believe Google is the best search engine and I wondered if it would help me find Happiness. Not that it was a big gamble, but I keyed in "Happiness" and hit the "I'm Feeling Lucky" button. An IMdB page for the movie Happiness(1998) opened. I wasnt very curious and I gave a cursory glance at the contents of the page. One thing caught my eye, it was one of the dialogues from the movie and it went

"Bill: Yes, only "come" can be used as a verb as well."

I was searching for happiness, and I found a smile. But is that what I really was looking for???

Ash to ash

2007-01-10T20:39:00.000-06:00

Time stood still, but the clocks did turn.
Didn't age like wine, Didn't become wise.
Like cigarettes, the days did burn.
Nor from the ashes did phoenices rise.

Shackles of Gold...

2006-12-31T16:17:00.000-06:00

The room was dark as the night,
Darker men drank within.
A sweet song set the room abright,
So sweet it seemed as sin.

Silence stood humbled and ashamed,
As he sang in his mellow pitch.
Knights and lords in the room stood tamed,
Not a muscle did they twitch.

Sweet serenade embraced the silence,
In a slow crescendo the song did die.
Fiddlers four they rest their violins,
Rested the pipers five.

For a moment time stood still,
Breaths in the room were bated.
Down theirs spines shivered a chill,
The lull in the hall abated.

The crowed drizzled a mild applause,
and went back to its seat.
Voices began to fill the house,
But one man still stood his feet.

He was big black bearded and bald
and he stood beside the ornate wall.
"Come here" his voice had called,
His baritone filled the hall.

The singer eyed across the hall,
searched for the booming voice.
He saw the man whose voice did call,
Now he knew he had no choice.

The man was dressed in red and gold,
By his waist, hung a crafted sword.
The singer bent his knees and bowed,
And said, "Yes , Milord".

The man spoke with no prologue,
with an air that was fine and rich.
"I have been shackled by your song,
I am the Grand duke of Grimwich".

"It was indeed a great pleasure",
The singer said with a bow.
"My joy for now knows no measure,
Milord, I’m glad to know".

"Your carriage waits", the man said.
"In my court hence you shall be".
"Grimwich will welcome you with carpets in red,
Pride and fame beckons thee"

The singers face shone like gold,
Like the gold he shall receive.
"Milord, its an honor" he told,
"Forthwith, I shall leave".

"Cheer the day" the duke had told,
"Let us dance drink and dine".
He handed the singer a goblet of gold,
Brimmed with sweet red wine.

Before the cup and lip did meet,
There erupted a laughter raucous.
Not a titter so gay and sweet,
The brute's sneer was vicious.

Like a windy gust, stirs up the dust,
His words were sharp and fine.
"Raise your glass if you must,
But there is poison in your wine".

The Duke here with rage grew red,
"Dare you say such a word".
"On the floor shall roll your head",
His hand he gripped his sword

All heads in the hall did turn,
To see this drunken brute.
Their glances were cold and stern,
Dare the duke he disrepute.

The glow on the singers face did fade,
As the duke he drew his sword.
"Pardon him for my sake" he said,
"I beg of thee milord".

The duke he put his sword to sheath,
But his anger had not die.
He spat the words through gritted teeth,
"Why did you say such a lie"?

"In the court of Darkmoor", the drunk uttered,
"Was a painter grand and great.
Four bags of gold he was offered,
To make the king's portrait".

"Stop it now" the duke told the bum,
"Or I shall whip your hide in prison".
The bum resumed with unfazed calm,
"Pride is viler than poison".

"When she was done, she shone like the sun,
She hung at the courtroom hall.
Commanding awe from everyone,
The king deared her than else all.

The duke's calm grew thin with time
"Aaah" in wrath he cried
The brute ensnared him with his eye
The duke at once complied

The king, one day saw a thing so strange
In her, he had never seen
His pale white face reddened with rage
His blue eyes, in her, were green

The king took him to court and asked him "Why?"
"Why are her eyes so green"
He replied " It s not just the color of your eye"
"Green eyes are what I have seen"

The king said "I dont get your verses witty"
"What was it that you have seen"
He replied "Other man's wives are ever so pretty
"Oh, I see your eyes are green"

The king threw him in prison and called him liar
had him whipped till he was numb
The king in ire set her on fire
and cut his right hand thumb.

The painter could not weep or cry
He know not what made him so cold
was it to watch her burn and die
was it the brush he could not hold

Left with no reason to be alive
He wished death would knock at his door
But one wish, made him survive
If only he could make one more

The singer now he saw the light
He said "I have to make a choice
shackles of gold or wings of flight";
"The skies await my voice."

The duke gripped his blade in wrath
"Dare you do me such disgrace
Brace yourselves to meet your death
My anger you shall face".

In the eye of the storm the brute stood calm
He walked with a rude swagger
He said "You shant do no harm".
His left hand held his dagger

The rogue fend the singer with his right.
"Run my friend, have no fright,
spread your wings and take flight
for your freedom this brute shall fight".

Like a drop of venom in wine does spread,
shock spread through the hall.
Dames in the room, shut eyes in dread,
Death had cast its pall.

The brute he fought with a blazing zeal,
but till the singer left the hall.
Sparks flew as steel hit steel,
he smiled, as his head did fall.

Eyes in bloody horror stared wide,
as though turned to stone.
On a galloping horse a man did ride,
To lands still unknown.

Miles away in time and space,
Songs sweet are still heard.
Thier mild melancholies revere and grace,
Some silly and old drunkard.

Vegas Vacation...

2006-12-30T02:22:00.000-06:00

Her golden shawl glittered in the darkness, i groped in the darkness to reach beneath the sheer veil of gold. As though a gust of wind had blown the shimmering fabric on my face, our car sped along into the city of sin. I was not blinded by the brilliant lights, because i was too inebriated, by and excitement and anticipation. Las Vegas, where duplicity was larger than life and cheap replicas dared to challenge the genuine. I shall refrain from desecrating the city anymore, as the saying goes "WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS STAYS IN VEGAS."

Ambigram - Soumya

2006-12-22T02:03:00.000-06:00

What a devil.....

Ambigram - Zeenath

2006-12-18T02:11:00.000-06:00

Wats with the color??? She reminds me of the stuffed toy of a tiger... No matter how they try to snarl and roar, they still remain cute... A very nice person

Ambigram - Thunder

2006-11-29T16:20:00.000-06:00

Taste the THUNDER...

Down Downtown...

2006-11-25T19:01:00.000-06:00

No, it wasn't Manhattan, but the trip to Houston Downtown was certainly special. At first sight, it was ironical why they were called "Downtowns"; after all they had the largest buildings in the city.

Through the Perspex glass of the car, my vision being refreshed by the passing headlights of vehicles on the interstate highway, I saw the skyline bejeweled by man-made wonders, although they may have been unintended to be so wondrous. I pondered if the poor accountant who left the lights on in his 46th floor office had any idea that he had just painted a faint brushstroke in the huge masterpiece of the downtown skyline.

It was funny that such beauty arose out of sheer randomness. Each building erected in its own accord, the millions of drafts rejected in board meetings, the limitlessness of technology, and the unchoreographed array of lights. I almost see the sleight of hand of nature in this magnificent skyscape. I respect each building as a structural wonder in itself. But did the architect who drafted the design, keep in mind as to how he would be filling the skyline as seen from 2 miles away.

As the glittering skyscape approached closer, blocks of concrete gained contrast over the dark sky, as if they were gradually painted with the colors that the builders intended. We took a walk between the shoulders of giants, the car rolled down Smith Street. I mused; Downtown must have been named at night. It was as though this part of the city was “SHUTDOWN” by some mysterious switch. The streets were so empty that, it felt almost criminal to drive through them at night. It was ironical that the glittering skyscape which symbolized, the busy commercial and industrious face of the city, the skyscrapers that personified the giants and tycoons of the industries, stood so lifeless and empty. The energy corridor, with all the powerful “power” companies stood lifeless and enervated. The atmosphere was like inside a monument and I wonder for whom. Maybe for those who lived for the rise of technology and died for it.

As we drove away from the Downtown, the ashen painted monoliths, merged with the murky skies and I saw the illusion yet again, the illusion that the city was still awake. But I liked the mirage better, for it gave me a sense of happiness that the mill was still running, an assurance that work was going on. Work that done today, makes what we will be a decade later. The symbol of productivity stood tall.

Ambigram - Gitendra

2006-11-24T01:38:00.000-06:00

And its not my fault that he spells it this way....
Aaah spellings are killing me

The funny blue shirt

2006-11-12T17:07:00.000-06:00

It is a good thing that I am now trying to write in silico. I am getting increasingly frustrated about my inability to write and sometimes feel like breaking my pen and throwing it away. But since I cant afford to smash a computer every time that I am unable to write, I end up just looking at the white page in the word-processor, with its cursor blinking at me, in a mockery of my inability to write. If Microsoft gave me a penny every time I hit the backspace button, I would me a millionaire by now

Often writing is analogous to crime; I always look for motive and intention. When I write it is crime by itself. This time the inspiration (motive for murder) comes from my friend’s funny blue shirt. It had a fuzzy design on it. It is the kind of design that gives me a headache if I stare at it for too long. It had an array of lines slashed across it in seeming randomness. But when I squinted my eyes a perfect symmetry of checks jumped to the foreground, to console me that hidden amidst these seemingly random lines lie the beautiful symmetry of my thoughts. A lot more between these lines, and a lot more behind these words.

Ambigram - Padma / Subhash

2006-11-12T16:23:00.000-06:00

Atleast this one doesnt have a spelling mistake

Ambigram - Faraz

2006-11-12T15:36:00.000-06:00

Slashy and fast strokes like the guy himself

Ambigram Challenge

2006-11-12T15:27:00.000-06:00

My Entry

Not my entry

Oh and guess who won?????

From the devils workshop

2006-11-10T05:09:00.000-06:00

From the devils workshop, the CLASSROOM DEMON...

She shall....

2006-11-08T18:50:00.000-06:00

Eyes bleed as I look around me
All the sights I should not see
Thoughts and dreams lie raped and killed
Wise man's blood rot waste and spilled
Cold down my spine I shiver
I shudder I think of her
I cant see the day she bled
For I shall be long cold and dead
My blood my life for her I give
I'll kill this world to make her live
She shall stand as she has to be
She shall stand for me to see
I dare to create I dare to kill
I dare to fight till I have my will
Stand to fight till my final breath
In this world where wise are whipped to death
She shall stand with her shine and my pride
Untouched for all time or tide

Important Education Reforms

2006-11-08T18:40:00.000-06:00

People just don’t seem to realize that I am dead serious when I come up with my suggestions to improve the education system in India. I don’t understand how the educationists of this great nation missed out on certain crucial aspects of education. “Corporate ass-licking”, “Back-stabbing and Double-crossing”, “Nepotism”, “The Art of Plagiarism” should be indispensable part of curriculum. Education should prepare the individual to face the real world. When people around the world will be struggling to climb the corporate ladder, we can bungee-jump right to the rooftop. The syllabi can be structured in a highly interactive fashion with good emphasis on the practical aspects.

Now that basic education has been dealt with it is time to make improvements in higher education. Loans and subsidies should be offered to poor-farmers, carpenters, cobblers and other blue-collars so that they can start engineering colleges on their own. This way education will really reach the “masses”.

In order to provide more opportunity to students, engineering degrees should be offered in fields like “Hotel Management”, “Zoology”, “Sociology”, “English”, “Psychology”, and “Economics”. This is because all the mass wants is an Engineering degree mindless of what subject they are actually studying. If engineering degrees are offered in these fields, it will encourage more people to take up these fields for which there are very few takers if offered as a Science or Arts degree. Then we shall have technically qualified people in all fields who still end up working in software companies anyway.

Another plan I have for engineers is to make the Engineering program a 3-year course. After this they will automatically be promoted to a year of pre-TCS and 2 years of TCS. This is because invariably every engineer in the country seems to be working only in that company, so why not make it mandatory that all engineers serve 2 years of TCS and at the end of which they will get actual jobs with work to do.

When it is up to discussing the education system there is one very critical aspect – Examinations. It is indeed evident that the people who frame the syllabi, the teachers nor the students have any idea of what the subjects are about. So it becomes tough to set a benchmark for evaluation of papers in a fair and foolproof manner. So I have proposed a new equation to overcome this difficulty.

M = [(m/100) + a (W x l)^Ne^x] + k

M = Marks obtained

m = money taken for paper tracking

a = +1 if the evaluator likes the candidate, -1 if not

W = weight of paper in grams

l = No. of lines

N = No. of colors used in underlining, decoration and drawing boxes

e = eccentricity of the evaluator (on scale of 1-10)

x = Number between 0-1 depending on mood of invigilator

k = Arbitrary constant

There are three kinds of people. First are the ones who find faults in the things around themselves. Second are the ones who find faults crib about it and make a big fuss. The third are the ones who make a difference. I have made a conscious effort to remain in the third category. The output of this effort is exposed in this article, which is the fruit of the many classes that I have cut, the papers I have copied, endless hours of interaction in the canteen and my research in core topics like paper leaks and paper chasing etc. Thus I have been able to venture to the crux of the education system and come up with these valuable suggestions.

Ambigram - Stone Temple Pilots

2006-11-06T23:14:00.000-06:00

You're the champion of sorrow
You're the love and the pain
You're the fighter of evil
Yet you're one in the same

SACRILEGE...

2006-11-06T18:35:00.000-06:00

A book I certainly wouldn't keep on my coffee table. A book I felt ashamed after reading. Everyone I have talked to tell me it is one of the most awesome books that they ever read. Well I don’t think the Fountainhead deserves that kind of praise.

The book doesn't deserve the readership that it has acquired over time, the sense of glamour and foolish pride people take in claiming to have read the book. It comes as a slap on the face to the intellectual community of the world. It has not been written for the purpose of people to read it. The book influences the dormant mind of the naive man, convincing him to believe that he can live his life directed by his own whims and fantasies.

The book glorifies the perspectives of the capitalistic world, places the self above the society, the individual above common good and achievement over sacrifice. The book challenges the very essence of altruism, charity, equality and fraternity as it is seen by the world. It preaches uncompromising obstinacy of individual ideals. It comes as a thorn in the flesh of the society that has developed with emphasis on attributes like sharing, helping and harmonious symbiosis.

The protagonist of the story, Howard Roark, proclaimed to be a master in all he does. He is portrayed as a paragon for an ideal human being. The ornate and clever writing of the author fires a spark in the ingenuous readers mind, makes him crave to be like the protagonist. Whenever someone tells me that they would want to be like Howard Roark, I get outraged and feel like burning down every copy of the book, the character doesn’t deserve such patronage.

The storyline is not a saga of success, as one would generally expect. But of failure, and more failure because of Roark's unyielding and inexorable nature. At points in the book, the story spawns some sympathy on the minds of the reader, an unworthy sympathy that our hero does not deserve.

I pondered for a long time, trying to figure out what was the point the author has to prove, but I have come to realize that the author has no point to prove at all. A book that has been written, because it had to be written.

From the seeming popularity of the book I guess the molestation of ideals and perspectives shall continue. Nil Magnum Nisi bonum

Freedom

2006-11-06T18:20:00.000-06:00

Give me death or give me pain,
But I cannot bear a fettering chain

A New Language....

2006-11-06T18:13:00.000-06:00

Lingua Nuova

I wrote this a pretty long time ago, but its still worth posting here.

I have always been jealous of the Germans, French, Japanese, Chinese etc. Germans speak German. The French speak French. Indians don’t have a language called “Indian”. Well, we do have our National language Hindi and a couple of hundred other languages each spoken in a dozen different dialects. But well it is a really a disturbing thought that we do not have a common language that every Indian speaks.

But recent happenings have led me to realize the evolution of such a language and I would like to call it “Indian”. Some people tend to confuse it with “English” without realizing what a grave offense they are committing. Indian is a far more powerful and better-evolved language. Furthermore, India being the second largest population in the world, this language is expected to be spoken by 1/5^th of the world population by 2007.

The language derives its vocabulary from English and all other Indian languages, but has evolved a grammar of its own. In its rudimentary stages, the sentence structures used in the language were pretty simple. Indian sentences were initially derived, by constructing a sentence in any local language and translating each word into English. Typical examples for such structures are “ Your good name please” and “The cake is good, eat and see ”. With the evolution of the language, sentence structures became more complex. New words were soon coined to cater to the diverse vocabulary requirement of our diverse country. A useful example would be “Afterwards when you have finished fillupping the form and byhearting the poems, can you catch some water for me no”.

I was under a misconception that one can understand Indian if they are proficient in English. I was shocked when I was proved wrong. The language has evolved to such a stage that it demands recognition and awareness.

I was at my work place and was expecting to receive some instructions from my mentor. Unable to find him, I walked up to a graduate trainee and asked him if my mentor had told him anything about it. The reply left me both bewildered and confused. He replied, “Ask somebody open there in the next room”. I took a few deep breaths and tried to contemplate what that really meant.

Should I ask somebody to open the next room?

But then, it was already open.

Should I ask somebody to open up in the next room?

Well, that’s interesting. But then, my mentor wouldn’t ask me to do something like that.

Should I ask if there is somebody open in the next room?

Doesn’t make sense.

Then like a bolt from the blue it struck me. He was a genius. He had propelled parsimony of expression to a new level. I was astonished by the amount of information he was able to pack into such a small sentence.

The next room is open

There is somebody there

Ask that person

It then dawned upon me that Indian has evolved to such an extent that it is no longer comparable to English and truly deserves to be respected as a separate language.

Out for lunch...

2006-11-04T14:32:00.000-06:00

I always expect lunch like a school student in a math lecture. It is the days like today that stir up trepidation in me that I might stop relishing these small pleasures on an otherwise packed work schedule.

It is very rare that I decide to do something healthy and I have always regretted these decisions. Today was no exception.

They tried to convince me that it was GARDEN SALAD, but still I was not very happy eating a box of leaves. The box was deceptive. Across the glass counter I saw cucumbers, carrots, 2 cherry sized tomatoes and half an egg and it seemed a reasonable deal. But realization hit me like a bolt from the blue when I opened the box to find that its contents were not homogenous. Veiled away beneath the seemingly attractive dressing was half a pound of leaves, in Technicolor. Leaves in Green, Yellow, White, Orange and trust me Violet. I spooned through the bowl tring to find the other half of the egg, but with no sucess.

But I have to give myself full credit for being prudent under such trying circumstances. I fought the instinctive urge to gobble up the 1/2 egg straightaway. An instinct I learned to overcome the hard way. The moments of torture when my sister would leave the cherry on top of her ice cream till the very end whereas I would eat up mine at first and regret it for the rest of the bowl. This time the move was more tactical. I would eat the egg in the very end, that way my burp wouldn’t smell of Chlorophyll.

I felt shy and maybe ashamed of what I was eating. I could hear those unspoken comments from the diners on the adjacent tables. "Hey.. look at the guy eat the green thing..." ; "Oh my god!!! he is really eating that...". But one very wide grin belonged to a guy in a cowboy hat. A grin that expressed sheer contentment. "You fell for the name didn’t you??? I did too last week... Boy I am not the only fool around ... *Chuckles*"

As I walked to the lab after the traumatic lunch, I was trying to convince my conscience tat I had only said "Char grilled Chicken Sandwich" but it was the deaf girl behind the counter who got it wrong. If all this pain wasn’t enough I had to walk into the lab right after my Chinese friends had finished their lunch of what I guessed to be "Raw fish in assorted pond scum".

My stomach started to turn and the bile began to rise up into my mouth. I struggled hard and stifled a puke. I didn’t want to flush down the sink all the vitamins, carotenoids and the other supposedly good stuff that I had worked so hard to eat. I hurried out of the lab, pumped the fetid smell out of my lungs and counted to 200 for the smell to dissipate. I had a few mints before I returned, at least that way I could smell my minty breath instead.

It is not everyday that you become so philosophical about having lunch. Thats when you know something is wrong. Maybe I am working too hard....

Ambigram

2006-11-02T00:43:00.000-06:00

This design is a tribute to GIRIDHAR, my alter ego, a really smart and nice dude.

No copyrights on these designs, but by Ordinance of Lord Ripper the IInd this design may only be tatooed in the lower back just above the buttocks.

THE UGLY DUCKLING

2006-11-02T00:15:00.000-06:00

Oh the ducks, they called him ugly,
but he bloomed to a swan of sheer beauty.
His flock with him didn’t get together,
for he was a bird of different feather.

They jeer him not, they cheer him not,
he found the pack a boring lot.
He felt they were just not enough,
he knew he was made of better stuff.

But one day he did find,
more blossoms of his kind.
Then that day he had to break,
for he was not just another drake.

He was just a class apart;
he had just one thing to heart.
Beyond the ducks could ever dream,
to reach the skies of purple sheen.

When he spread his wings to reach the skies,
the drakes they gave their pithy cries.
They hurt him with say, stick and stones;
they beat him but to break his bones.

Say stick and stones in vain,
he broke free the shackle chain.
Cause his heart was not with him now,
but in the purple skies up above.

No weep, no cries, no tears in eyes,
he spread his wings to reach the skies.
For his heart lay not in this pond,
but in the purple skies and beyond.

Will the drakes ever understand?
Nothing shall stop this flying swan.
Stubborn, stupid and insane,
forever so they shall remain.
Lost inside their social maze,
Milling around in a hazy daze.
Wasting all their worthy days,
burying their dreams in their pillowcase.

Too scared to break free and run,
too scared to reach out for the sun.
When he soars far beyond
they shall die and rot in this pond

Gone Fishing...

2006-10-25T23:41:00.000-05:00

Writing became impersonal the day use and throw pens were devised. Who maintains logs in paper nowadays. I still like the dusty feel of my "GONE FISHING" note book with good ol' Garfield as smiley as ever, all tangled up in the fishing line and that green fish looking rather philoso"fish"ical.

Having it digitized makes it easier to edit some embarassing mistakes that I have made, and then there is Photoshop and Spell-czech. Maybe its time to move on. But ink is like an old memory the words they fade away but the feeling lasts forever in your heart. Here I am, gone fishing forever...