Trysts with Trigonometry…

A few days back, when my younger brother asked me to help him out with Trigonometry, it brought back some old memories. Trigo (as I not so lovingly called it) had come pretty much as a cultural shock to me, as if graduating to Algebra from simple arithmetic hadn't been unsettling enough. I had just come on terms with understanding that negative numbers could have roots and they were not 'undefined' as I conveniently understood, when suddenly my young (and impressionable) mind was bombarded with Sin. Initially I could not digest the rationale behind giving nick-names to variables - Sin X, Cos X, Tan X blah blah... and then proceeding to create needless confusion. They were just ratios of sides of a right-triangle - Wasn't Pythagoras theorem enough to take care of them all? And if not, definitely Mr. Pythagoras would have told us something about them - that man ate, drank and slept with right triangles all his life. But, I got no answer to this one.

The trick of the game lied in memorizing a set of theorems for use at the right moment. But memorizing formulae had always been a challenging task for me. The last I remember I did well at memorizing was when I was in 2nd standard and had won a random tables-recitation competition (Wow, It still sounds grand). I still have the snap with me accepting the second prize from the Principal while smiling earnestly at the camera, with the girl who won the first prize standing behind, scowling in a condescending manner at me. That was my last attempt at rote-learning and I resisted all my life from memorizing the multiplication tables. After all, what are calculators for?

So that's the approach I took towards Trigo and trust me, we never really got along well. I still wonder who came up with all those names where Sin is not pronounced as Sin but as 'Sine'(Sigh-in) and the ever confusing Sec x is actually pronounced as SEEK x. I still doubt that's the actual pronunciation. I believe my math’s teacher purposely tweaked it so that she would be spared from our giggles, whenever she went Sec x in a hurry. (Try repeating Sec x as fast as you can and you’ll get the drift.)

I suppose it was around the same time, when the emphasis shifted from solving problems (finding values of unknowns) to proving them. I have always believed that the world would be a much better place, if we learnt to trust each other. Couldn't we just be more trusting and leave it at that. If the book says that this equation (or rather, identity) holds true, why can't we just trust it to be true? Again, no answer.

One method of proof that did interest me to some extent was "Proof by Contradiction" (At least you knew how to start). But my approach was slightly different - Let us assume that the author is lying, the book is a fraud and the given identity is not true. But in such a case, what would be the motive behind the author's lie? What does he stand to gain by it? And if the book is a fraud, why is it the prescribed text-book and why do we continue using it every year? Well, I must admit that my proof was not rigorous enough, but I was told it wasn't relevant either. Anyways, I suppose I would have made a better forensic expert than a math’s professor (or maybe it was all those Sherlock Holmes stories that I had been reading).

I would feel pretty much the same about Differentiation and Integration later on. But thankfully I don't remember much about them, to write about. All I have to say now is “May those books and those formulae rest in peace”. But I had to tell something to my brother, when he came to me with his doubts. As they say, "When the going gets tough, the tough get going..." And that's exactly what I did – got going. I told him that I've got to go, and that maybe we could discuss this some other time.

(Hmmm…There are some things that they should teach you in school and they don’t – things like handling tough situations like the one above. They turn out to be much handier than those Trigo formulae.)

Of lost mails and missed calls…

Working in an industry inevitably takes a toll on one’s ability to maintain contacts. It may seem to a layman that software techies are probably most advantageously placed in this regard, since they always seem to have accesses to their e-mails. But we techies know that the truth is not as rosy as it may seem – access doesn’t mean anything, time available does. It's difficult to be prompt in replying to mails, voice mails and lately, missed calls. As you might have already realized, missed calls seem to be the last and most economic fad in the field of communications.

A typical day begins with coming to office and opening Outlook. Invariably there is a bunch of new mails, demanding your attention. You start off with replying to a couple of them while browsing through the rest of junk mail that the organization keeps sending to you. Suddenly at the bottom of the list is a reminder-mail from the OSC or PM stating that you missed out something in the last upload. How do you generally fix such goof-ups? Simple. By sending another bunch of mails, taking care to apologize for the inconvenience caused (hoping that the matter ends there). And then in the middle you are reminded by your PM that you need to send him some report. Meanwhile an audit reminder comes up, and you suddenly realize that you've got 15 minutes to prepare for the audit. Then things keep happening one after another until it's time to shutdown the PC and leave for the day.

While this ruckus continues throughout the day, you are in no position to reply back to mails from your well-meaning friends and these slowly settle to the bottom of your inbox. A second (or was it third?) mail comes from the same person again and you then dash off a reply starting with "Sorry for the late reply. I’ve been so busy these days...blah..blah.." However, dealing with e-mails is comparatively easy. At least the other person has no clue that you actually forgot to reply.

But handling phone calls is not so easy. Now imagine in the middle of the above medley, you get a couple of missed calls too. But you are caught up in the audit and there's nothing you can do about it. And by the time, the meeting ends, so does your memory of the calls.

Then the phone rings...and you are suddenly reminded about those missed calls that you didn't get back on. Picking up the phone, you try another smart trick that use often - trying to guess the person on the other end and needless to say, failing miserably.

He: Hi, How have you been?

You: Hi sachin (making sure the enthusiasm in your voice is clearly audible)...Where have you been? How are you? Long time no see...

He: $%#$^&&$@#$@#, This is Ritesh! #$^#% *@#*@#$( #$%$##%!!!

You: Oh! Chill yaar... Actually..blah, blah(trying to explain why you thought he was Sachin) Blah..blah...blah (explain why you weren't able to reply to his mails) I'm doing good, How about you?

People somehow don't seem to understand that when they call you up, they obviously know whom they are calling, but for you, it's a guess between all the people you haven't got back to lately. A million thanks to the guy who invented the "caller-id" facility but it would be been a lot more helpful if they could put in on all landlines too.

When it's a guy calling you, it's manageable, but your skills are actually tested, when a significant other is on the other end.

She: Helloo...

You: (Determined to get it right this time...) Hi Rekha!! How are you??(as enthusiastic as ever...)

She: REKHA!!! You forgot my name!!! How could you..!!!

You: Oh...

She: You mean she calls you that often?!?!

You: No..no..no..I'm really sorry..blah blah..(something about Rekha having mailed you but you hadn't replied back...hoping that would pacify her)

She: And what were you so happy about???

You: Blah..blah (trying to explain why one needs to be cordial on the phone)

And the conversation goes along expected lines peppered with your intermittent "No...", "I mean..", "But.." pleas.

And when it finally dawns on you that you are better off without your guessing skills, the phone rings yet another time...

She: Hi, How are you? Pehchana?... Pehchan kaun?.. Hehehe
That giggle at the end was the probably the last straw, as you coldly reply "Sorry...Wrong number."

In search of Bhang

It was an uneventful Holi, in all respects. I got up early as I often do and waited for my room-mates to rise. Pretty soon, we were all up, which actually surprised me a bit, because my roomies aren’t really early-risers on holidays. Maybe it was the enthusiasm of the day which wouldn't let them sleep, I said to myself, but was soon proved wrong when I realized that most of them had to attend office that day. Holi wasn't really a holiday for them.

That left just me and Deva in the house, to celebrate. Playing holi isn't really a duet affair so we decided to spend time idling away, watching TV. We thought of going for a movie in the morning, but reaching the theatre without getting colored on the way seemed like an unlikely possibility, so we dropped that idea. As we were beginning to accept the prospects of spending the day with the idiot-box, Deva suddenly came up with an idea.

"Let's have bhang!" he said. Not a good idea, I told him, but he wouldn’t leave it at that. He pleaded hard, telling me that he had never had bhang before and moreover how could I waste a festive day like Holi just lying around at home. I wasn't very enthusiastic about the bhang part, but I did agree that a day like Holi deserved to be spent in more exciting ways. So finally we agreed on the conditions that only he would have it, and if needed, I would help in getting him back home, safe and sound.

That I didn't know how to drive a bike and how I would get him back home was something that didn't bother us yet because there were more important questions to attend to. And the most important question at that point of time was where would we get the bhang? I remembered some friends telling me that they had it in some place near Aundh last year. Though I wasn't sure of the lanes and by-lanes in Aundh and Deva was equally inept we decided that we would land up there and ask someone.

After reaching Aundh, I called up a couple of my friends but they didn't have any clue about the whereabouts of bhang. However, not ready to give up at this stage, we decided to check out a couple of restaurants and ask them if they served what we needed.

Since it was primarily Deva's idea I told him to go ahead and ask the managers. Being from the South, Hindi isn't one of Deva's strong points and he generally tries to keep the conversation short and simple. So he went up to the guy at the manager's counter and asked him in his usual gruff tone "Bhang hai kya?" (The accentual intricacies are absent in this passage but they can very well be imagined).

Giving him a wary, suspicious look the hotel guy answered in the negative. Deva was distressed not so much by the outcome, but the manner in which we was addressed. He came back and told me that the guy behaved in a weird manner and probably had the stuff but for some reason wasn't ready to sell. I dismissed his perception as mere paranoia that Southerners feel when they are up-north and we decided to try our luck at the next restaurant. But it yielded the same result - a wary, suspicious look followed by a “No”.

We even tried telling one guy that he had stocked bhang last year and why didn't he keep it this time? But the guy vehemently denied that he ever sold bhang in his life. He just had a simple restaurant and we could check inside if we wanted - all the while referring to us as "Saab". This time I was also pretty surprised by the behavior of the guy and once out of the hotel, we tried to figure out what was going wrong.

And it was then that it struck us...Deva had recently got a crew-cut. In fact he looked just like a 'mama'/’thulla’ (police officer) in plain clothes. And to add to it, I was in a khaki T-shirt and we were both devoid of any colors, when everyone around us sported a mottled look. Not quite the usual kind of people in search of bhang. Or rather, just the kind of people in search of miscreants selling bhang.

However we decided to try our luck at a few more places before giving up. This time, I would go and ask the guy while Deva stayed back with the bike. I did just that and it seemed to work for some time. The guy didn't seem wary at my sight, but before saying anything he looked around to check if anyone was around. He probably saw Deva with his crew cut on his bike staring intently in our direction for he suddenly looked at me suspiciously and answered “No”. But as I turned to leave, he casually mentioned to me that there was a small restaurant down the lane, which sold toddy (illicit liquor) clandestinely and we could conduct our surprise check there.

That was the last straw and we decided to settle for a lunch at PizzaHut with Coke, as opposed to rousing the neighborhood with news of a surprise raid. And that’s how the search ended…. or almost did. Meanwhile, as I was writing this, I received a call from Deva. It seems that he overhead some people discussing about Bhang being available near Foodworld in Aundh. Hmm... I guess this evening holds the promise of being as interesting as yesterday.

Carbon Copy (CC) for Dummies

There is a major difference between informal e-mails and corporate e-mails. And as you might have guessed it by now, it's the CC field.

First we'll take the obvious questions,
Isn't the TO field sufficient to specify recipients? Why do we need an extra field?
That's a valid question because the CC field doesn't add any value to the e-mail in terms of making the communication clearer. But strategic usage of this field can ensure that your work gets done. Generally the people who do the work are the ones in the TO or FROM field. When the CC field is used, the mail directed to the people in the TO field, remains the same content-wise, but implicitly they are told "Be careful...Look who's watching!" or "You’d better realize that I mean business"

One can also trace his growth in the organization based on this field. When you are the entry-level, you rarely get mails which keep you in CC. Most of the time, you are the person sending the mail, keeping others in CC or you are the one towards whom a CC'ed mail is directed. (Remember workers and the TO field connection) But as you grow, the number of mails which keep you in CC grow.

The best part of a CC'ed mail is that most of the time, you need not bother about it. It's just to update you "Look boss...This is what's happening". So all you need to do is observe.

Another variety of CC mails which might pop into your mailbox are the typical appreciation mails. In such cases, it doesn't really matter whether you know the folks who are being appreciated. All that you need to do is drop in a variant of the "Great work folks.." mail. And don't worry, no one's going to reply to that mail, so there's no question of any uncomfortable situation arising later.

And when you have grown enough in the company, all you need to do is keep track of all the happenings in the CC'ed mails. And if at such a juncture, you get a mail which keeps you in the TO field, that means something (more often 'someone') has majorly screwed up somewhere and needs your immediate attention. Working once in a while isn't that bad - you could start with the confronting question "Why didn't you bring this to me earlier?" and then proceed to tear him apart, piecemeal.

That's all for now.
Next time, we'll take up the BCC field and how it can be used to keep people guessing...

Statutory Notice: This is not to be taken seriously, under any circumstances.

Doesn't matter…

I can hear the children playing outside. The cool wind which blows in through the window brings along their cheer into an otherwise lifeless world. I try to breathe in the freshness in the air, but every breath seems like an ordeal - a willful effort of a life, that's not ready to give up yet, like the candle-flame in a gale. Fight as it might, but its end is certain. The frolic of the children brings back memories of my playful childhood, as well as those of my children and grand-children. Somehow all this while, I had managed to ignore the fact that I was growing older - infact I was not just growing, I was going day by day. And now I had reached the stage where I await my final call.

It feels good to see the children play - to know that the world will carry on just as well without me. Yesterday I had spent a couple of hours watching them from the window - watching life prancing around, while infirmity just sat and watched, motionless. I had climbed into my wheelchair and moved myself to the window. It had been a huge effort, but it had been worth it. But today, I don't seem to have enough strength to move out of my bed. And I don't want to call anyone to help me.

It hurts me to see the pain and fatigue in the eyes of my loved ones. My condition has been probably been more tiring on them than it has been on me. I know it hurts them the most to see that the person who had helped them walk, can no longer walk on his own and needs to be helped into the wheel-chair. So I'll spare them that pain.

As I lie in my bed and stare ahead at the ceiling, thoughts cloud my mind. They always do, until sleep finally overcomes them. But they are back when I awake, realizing that I might sleep again just once more. I think I've led a good life, but sometimes I'm not sure - Life hasn't been particularly great or bad either. Maybe it has just been a mediocre existence, lacking all superlatives. Or did I get it all wrong? Have I spent my entire life on things that don't matter? I'd rather not think, but that's a choice I unfortunately don't have. It hurts me a lot to think that maybe I've got it all wrong after all, and I'm realizing that when everything's over.

Well, soon enough, it won't matter any more...

People don't understand

Her schedule had been offset by more than an hour. There were so many things to do and so little time. But she coudln't help it. Her little kid was in a playful mood today and was not ready to sleep yet. He would generally sleep immediately after being fed, giving her a couple of hours time, to finish off all her household work. But not today, he wouldn't sleep and her work wasn't getting any less. On top of it, they had planned to go for a movie in the evening and that meant she had even lesser time. Maybe they'll be able to watch the movie today... just maybe... if he sleeps late now,hopefully he would be asleep during the movie. The last movie they had gone for was a disaster. To pacify his wailing, his Dad would take him out of the hall and show him the stalls outside. The kid seemed to have a liking for pop-corn - watching the pops coming out of the machine, quietened him down and he would smile. Finally tired of watching the movie alone, she came out of the hall and they left before the interval.

(It would be unfair, not to mention the kid's point of view, so here we go...
As for the kid, he couldn't understand what so many people were doing in that dark room. The lights flashing in front almost blinded him and the noise was deafening. And worst of all, nobody, absolutely nobody noticed him, except for the occassional pat of his mother when he tried to say something. It was a different matter that they never really understood what he was trying to say. He liked it when people gazed at him lovingly and went "cho..chweet..." and muttered sweet nothings, unless they were too hard on his cheeks. But this dark room was different. He infact did try to catch the attention of the lady sitting behind, but she was too engrossed in the flashing lights ahead to look at him. And that was when, he decided that he had had enough. Soon, he and Dad had a nice time watching the popcorn machine popping. Somehow Dad seemed to have a liking towards that machine because after every round they took of that place, he would come back to that machine. The kid would smile back, giving his approval - at least he was out that room. But now he was getting bored of this ordeal too and was about to start crying again, when Mom came out of the room and he was happy going back home.)

Her thoughts returned back to the present, when she realized that he had finally slept. Getting up quietly from the bed, taking care not to make the slightest noise, she got to her chores. She had to finish cooking lunch, wash the clothes, clean up the house and finally do the dishes, all before it was time for lunch and his feeding. "So much to do and so little time", she muttered to herself as she went about finishing off the cooking part.

Almost two hours later, wiping away the beads of perspiration from her forehead, she was done with cleaning the house and cooking for lunch. Thank God that the kid was quiet and sleeping all this while. At this rate, maybe she could get finish off the laundry too. She decided to check on the kid on her way to the bathroom and the sight shocked her. Contrary to her belief, he was already up and upto his mischief. He had managed to get his hands on the sindoor box lying on the dressing table near the bed and greeted her presence with a big smile, blinking to keep the powder out of his eyes, his face smeared red beyond recognition.(Incidentally the bedsheet was also ruined).

From the child's point of view, what he had hoped would impress his mother didn't work out well and the consequences were too violent to be depicted here. Grown-ups can be so confusing and so confused at the same time. Dad was bewildered to find the kid's face pink (inspite of all the scrubbing) and his bottom equally red (conseqeuent of...).

You can very well guess what happened at the movie...

(Based on a real-life incident...I was the kid who made Dad watch pop-corn while Mom watched Lawaaris.)

Happy Republic day.

26th January evokes mixed feelings in most of us. There have been times when I have been happy and times when I've been sad - depends on whether it occurs on a weekday or on a weekend. And thats what the Republic day (or for that matter, Independence Day too) means to many - a public holiday, which, if it's on a weekday can be clubbed till the nearest weekend for that elusive trip home.

I remember going for the flag-hoisting celebration in school, partly because it was compulsory and partly for the sweets that were distributed. But most of the time me and my friends would be disappointed that we were not allowed to continue playing after 12.00 when the school premises were customarily emptied. And pretty soon as we grew up, we stopped attending these sessions, because sweets weren't a great incentive anymore and we also realised that "Attendance is mandatory" doesn't always mean that.

Now, the celebrations are limited to buying the tricolor at traffic signals, and adorning your car's dashboard for the coming weeks. Earlier when Doordarshan was the only channel available, there was no other option but to watch the Republic Day parade. But now with a variety of channels, watching the glory of the nation is optional. Earlier the radio played patriotic songs at least through out the morning till noon. They still play those songs even today, albeit intermingled with the 'Kajra Re' variety.

Back in Mumbai, we had a flag-hoisting ceremony in our society. It was organized at 11.00 in the morning (I suppose technically speaking, 11.00 means morning) so that majority of the members would be awake by then and there would be maximum participation. Inspite of that, the majority still didn't attend (and that included me) for various reasons.

There is isn't really any single reason for this indifference towards 26th January or 15th August. One of the major reasons could be that none of the current generation or their immediately previous generation were closely related to the freedom struggle. So we cannot relate to what freedom really meant, since it's always been that way for us. However, if you have been outside India for a significant amount of time, you feel a certain emptyiness when you are working on such a day and realize that 15th August means absolutely nothing to the local population.

But inspite of this indifference, I still believe that patriotism is not dead yet. Something still brings moistness in my eyes, if not tears, everytime I hear "Aie mere waatan ke logon" by Lata Mangeshkar being played. I hope that feeling stays longer in the hearts of the coming generations, than the already limp flag does on the dashboard. I hope we still continue to think twice before disposing of the plastic flag openly after a few weeks. And may that day never come when we toss the tricolor out of the car's window, like anyother piece of plastic.
(Meanwhile let's get rid of this habit of tossing things out of the car's window.)

Apt reply

(This was the reply that I posted on the bulletin board later to contest the claims of plagiarism etc. on the "Macabre" post. You can check the debate in the comment's section of "Macabre")

Since I was the one who started it, a few parting words would help to let the matter rest in pieces.

I had tried writing a couple of articles for PETA, which I believed was a group of people who loved sweets - especially those sugar-coated ones Agra is famous for. So in my articles, I made it a point to bring out technical nuances, such as why 5 is the maximum number of curls that a well-made jalebi could have or how to prepare the perfect rasgulla syrup, so that the gulla floats in the middle of the ras - neither sinking to the bottom nor floating on top. But sad to say, they didn't appreciate any of these dissertations. And somehow they liked that silly chicken story. I could never really understand that, but I guess they probably love chicken for some reason. My friend tells me that PETA stands for "People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals". That did explain a lot of things, but I still can't figure out their love for chicken dishes.

Anyways let us leave that at that.

Coming to the plagiarism bit, I vehemently deny having any such disease. From the limited knowledge that I have, I understand that it's an epidemic caused by unhygienic conditions and rats in particular. It cannot be an epidemic, if I alone have it. And so I don't have it, hence proved.

Lastly I would like to thank Ravi, because without him, there would not have been any critical dissertation of my work. And the comparisions to Mario Puzo and Grisham were flattering. I can't really re-collect these names, but from what I remember Mario was that stupid computer game, in which that guy keep jumping over obstacles. Never really liked that game (but that's my personal opinion- I see that there are a lot of Mario fans around). But I do know Grisham, he's the one who wrote Jurassic Park, but I never read that book, since I saw the movie first.

But the Anu-malik bit was offending. Imagine how offended he must have felt, being compared to me! And without offending him much, I would just like to add that my work was my own, though I can't really help the English part. It has always been that poor.

And to my greatest fan Ravi, I promise you the best of health (smiling :)) and I'll do my best to leave you in splits.
No..No... I don't mean any violence. From my understanding, 'to leave one in splits' means to leave one laughing. But I'm not too sure about my English - I just wrote this whole thing by randomly picking words from the dictionary.

It's not personal...it's strictly business
(My friend tells me that Mario said this, I dunno...maybe it's there somewhere in that game.)