Glitterati - Litterati

Trysts with Trigonometry…

2006-04-03T04:32:00.001-07:00

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…

2006-03-23T22:23:00.000-08:00

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

2006-03-16T04:37:00.000-08:00

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

2006-03-07T02:26:00.000-08:00

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…

2006-03-01T04:12:00.000-08:00

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

2006-01-28T23:05:00.000-08:00

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.

2006-01-28T23:03:00.000-08:00

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

2006-01-22T05:45:00.000-08:00

(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.)

Macabre

2006-01-16T03:07:00.000-08:00

The floor was stained with blood and so were the walls. They were splattered with different shades of red - from almost black, dried blood to fiery and fresh red. A mangled pile of disjoint limbs and innards lay in a corner. A decapitated head lay in the mess, caked with blood - blood that was probably wet and fresh, giving it a shiny red appearance. An eye which was full of life a few minutes back, stared into nothingness, seemingly aghast at the macabre sight that it could no more behold. Rivulets of blood dripped to the floor.

People who stood around, were unaffected by the sight in front of them. One lady held up a kerchief to her nose to stop the stench of death from nauseating her, while few others tried to look away. But most of them had become absolutely immune to the killings and were ready with their specifics.

“Sirf leg-pieces dena...”, insisted one of them.
“Arre kitna haddi daal diya... haddiyon ke paise lete ho kya..?” someone retorted back.

How much is a human life worth? Well, it actually depends on who has died. But for the sake of simplicity it can be said that it is worth another - If you a kill a human, you could possibly be hanged.
But how much is a chicken's life worth? Hmmm… not much really… maybe a little more than Rs 40 per kg.

Feebled

2006-01-15T03:18:00.000-08:00

His world had crashed around him. He was dazed, still unable to accept what had happened. Memories flashed before his eyes as he walked, each step bringing him closer to what he dreaded the most. The sun was blazing hot and the ground was scorching but he took scarce notice of it as his life had suddenly become unbearably numb. He had lost what he treasured the most, and the streams of tears that ran down, drained out the last vestiges of hope and energy in him. He clutched feebly at the earthern pot on his shoulder - the same place where he used to carry his son lovingly. Memories flooded him as he completed circling thrice - an entire lifetime captured within those three circles. And it ended as he dropped the pot on the ground, shattering into pieces, as feeble as human life. And with the hand which had helped his child to walk, he lit the pyre, consigning to the flames, a part of him which was no more there...

Rest in Peace.

2006-01-11T04:38:00.000-08:00

(A bit of a background first...
There is a bulletin board (BB) in our company, where people let loose their boredom, frustrations, ramblings... Sometimes they tend to forget that there's Big Brother (the HR dept.) watching and you can definitely speak your mind, as long as it subscribes to the company's BB usage policies. And for those unfortunate ones, who tend to cross the thin red line, there's a small discussion that ends with a courteous apology on the BB and the sudden disappearance of the entire conversation... )

It's one of those days, when you have absolutely nothing better to do, than stare at your PC and drop off messages to your buddies at an online forum. The intermittent flow of messages somehow has a life of its own. Conversations start off as a single post and grow into huge raging debates. And that's when you notice a harmless looking message with innate potential to be the hit of the day. You dash off a smart retort, and so do many others, eager to outdo each other.

It's an uncontrollable urge, akin to gambling. You initially bet small - you win - you are ecstatic. Your bets become more frequent and the stakes keep piling up. And finally you bet too much and the inevitable happens...

The phone rings... Trrng...Trrrng. Each ring impinges your heart with fear, and with a sinking feeling you pick up the handset, almost expecting what’s next.

"Hello Mr. Andersen.... It's about time we met."

That's all you hear and before you completely lose control... you vaguely remember being transported to a glass chamber, facing the music... And then there is complete silence...

Absolute deathly silence... followed by an apology.

(A fictitious story - any resemblance to any character/situation in real-life is purely co-incidental and un-intentional)

What is torture ?

2006-01-07T07:05:00.000-08:00

Torture can have many forms, but the worst I have experienced is a high-pressure flush operating at full-force. Now I suppose that wouldn't have made sense, so let me elaborate..

Torture is the sudden call of nature when you least expect it.
Torture is going to the restroom, which has only 2 cabinets, and finding both of them occupied.
Torture is sprinting to the only other restroom on the floor, which is 200 mts away, with the faint inkling of what to expect.
Torture is the sinking feeling of finding the first cabinet locked and looking expectantly at the next door.
(Enough of torture, time for some relief - there is only one available cabinet on the entire floor and you are in it)
Now, getting back to the torture part...
Torture is pressing the flush and after a few seconds of wait, realizing that there is a malfunction.
Torture is looking at the storm in the commode which is not in any mood to cease and the realization that you can't sit on it.
Torture is knowing that you have no other options
Torture is balancing yourself on your knees, careful to stay out of reach of the hungry laps of the storm beneath.
Torture is the sense of relief when you are done, immediately followed by dismay as you reach for the tissues.
Torture is realizing that there are no tissues in the rack.
Torture is almost having sat down in shock.
Torture is having to use the kerchief, which your girl-friend loving gifted you.
Torture is consigning the kerchief to the still-raging storm, when you are done.
Torture is watching your token-of-love being devoured by the storm.
Torture is looking at the lever of the flush, and realizing that it had got stuck.
Torture is bringing back the lever to it's resting position and watching the storm calm down.

Torture is ... an absent mind.

(An absolutely fictious story - product of an idle mind.)

Tell me something nice...

2006-01-07T07:01:00.000-08:00

"Tell me something nice", she said. "It's been a long time since I've heard any good news. I suppose things must be going well for you".

A month back, her dad had suffered a stroke and was in the ICU of a hospital in Mumbai. He was in coma for 14 days - a period she remembered very vividly - each day had been a torturous experience. She died every night exhausted from fear and woke up to life in the morning, with a faint glitter of hope. That period had been hard on her but soon her dad was convalescing. It had been probably harder on her mother, who suffered an heart attack soon after, but fate had been cruelly quicker in her case.

Before things started going bad, she was in love with a guy and they had plans to get happily married. As things got worse, she was occupied with the calamities facing her and he got married elsewhere due to some family problems.

Her dad was worried about her future, as he was uncertain about his. But she didn't want to marry, ever. Her Dad understood and so did she. That was when she thought of calling some of her old friends, someone to just cry out to, someone who would listen her out.

He hadn't heard from her for a long time. It was a pleasant surprise, but soon he realized that things weren't that pleasant for her. He prided himself on having a good sense of humor, on being able to make people laugh or at least smile with his twisted interpretation of things in general. But he was at a loss of words, when she pleaded with him to give her some good news.

All he could talk was about broken relationships, of crashed dreams and dashed hopes. But somehow they paled in comparison with what she had been through. Life can be a great comedian but at times, can make you cry out in pain and he realized with a sinking heart, that he was no match for Life. All he could do was pray, "Please Life, tell her something nice".

A riddle solved...

2006-01-07T06:59:00.000-08:00

A friend of mine got transferred to Pune recently. Having met after a long time, we decided to chat over coffee and went over to the coffee-machine. Since I tend to have coffee a number of times in a day, I generally take half-a-cup, to restrict my caffeine intake. My friend also pressed the button marked 'H' on the vending machine and took his half-cup of coffee, probably for similar reasons.

We used to meet regularly, and that was when I discovered something queer about his behaviour - He would always take half a cup but at the same time remark on how little coffee he got. I suppose some people are given to complaining, so I never took him seriously. But in all other respects, he was pretty ok and so we got along well.

As we frequented the coffee machine more often, he made a slight change in his habits. He would now press 'H' twice and take his cup-full of coffee. The first time he did that, he smiled back at me with a sense of achievement. I couldn't understand what that smile meant, but since everyone is eccentric in their own way, I decided against bothering him by questioning his behaviour.

Then one day, I felt like having a full cup of coffee and so instead of pressing 'H', I pressed 'F'. As the cup filled to its brim, my friend stared at it in amazement. This time I couldn't stand it any longer and had to ask, "What happened? Anything wrong?". He looked up at me and asked back "Does that 'F' stand for 'FULL'?". I wasn't sure if that was some kind of a trick question and after pausing for a few seconds said "Yes". With a sheepish grin, he replied back "Oh… I thought 'H' meant 'HOT COFFEE' !"

Wishing you a very HNY !

2006-01-07T06:58:00.000-08:00

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Did you know that every moment, the cells inside you are splitting to form new ones, replacing the old and the dead?
Your skin is growing at a rate, such that technically speaking it's a 'new' person that you see in the mirror every morning.
The cells which made up your face are dead and gone, replaced by a new set.
Just that the replacement is so perfect, you can't make out any difference.

The New Year doesn't start on the first day of January. It starts daily; in fact it starts at every moment with a new 'YOU'.

So wishing you a very bright and Happy New ‘You’!

May the road rise to meet you,
May the wind be always at your back,
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
May you enjoy every moment of your life.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Funny...

2006-01-07T06:57:00.000-08:00

A funny incident occured today, when I was not at my desk. My extension rang and the lady sitting adjacent picked it up, since I wasn't around.

Guy: Hello...
Lady: Hello.
Guy: (with a pause) hello..
Lady: Hello (slightly irritated)
Guy: Er...Who's this?
Lady: (agitated) Whom do you want to speak to?
Guy: Er..Actually you had given me your extension number, remember
Lady: WHAT?
Guy: Remember we had met in the cyber-cafe and chatted, then you told me to call on this number whenever I'm free. Actually I was just thinking about you and...
Lady: (highly irritated interrupts him) Look here, This is Sarit's extension and he is not here at the moment.
Guy: Oh.. I'm sorry. When is she expected back?
Lady: (Too piqued to reply, keeps the phone down, swearing never to answer it again) *#$%&$#$%^$&*^$%^*&^**#$%$ (muttering to herself.)

When I'm back...

Lady : WHAT KIND OF FRIENDS DO YOU HAVE ???
Me: What? (confused)

Phone rings again...
I say "Hello", but hear a click on the other end, hanging up.

Power play - Saddam Hussein

2006-01-07T02:56:00.000-08:00

I read somewhere that the trial was not really serving it's purpose in indicting Saddam, rather it was giving him a platform for stoking the insurgency in Iraq. Whoever wrote that article had done some brilliant thinking. I wouldn't want to comment on the trial serving it's purpose, because I myself don't believe in the validity of the court being set up. But one thing is clearly evident. Saddam is making full use of the limited oppurtunity he is being provided with.

He's playing the role of a perfect victim - a just ruler who has been dealt injustice. His emotional outbursts show that he's the victim who is traumatised. He garners sympathy, when he talks about the torture that he is undergoing. At the same time, he maintains his dignity by not totally breaking down. When he lambasts the opposition he shows that his pride is still intact, that he will fight against the injustice. At every moment of the trial, Saddam stays in control, even when he displays his emotions, his frustration and his anger. In the last session, he even requested for a prayer break from the court, in the middle of the trial. As the world looked on, he kneeled down and dutifully offered his namaz. That should have had a great impact on his millions of devout followers.

The picture that he portrays is that of a just, dignified, god-fearing ruler who has been wrongly forced to give up his kingdom, while the invaders try to trap him in false cases (or cases in which he had acted rightfully) and although he has no powers left, he'll fight them till the end and he believes God is on his side.

In reality, Saddam's regime was far from a perfect regime. He has committed (or authorized) the most atrocious crimes possible. But unfortunately, right now, he is stoking the insurgency in Iraq almost as efficiently as he would have, if he had been free.

He provides more motivation to his supporters than Bush/Rumsfield provide to their Marines. And wars are not won by technological superiority - they are won by motivated fighters. An Iraqi insurgent is fighting for his country, for his independence, for his religion and will not hesitate to give up his life, for claiming the lives of a few more from the enemy. But a US Marine is not fighting for any high ideals. He is there in Iraq, because he has been sent there. He may or may not agree with the logic behind the necessity of the Iraqi regime change. He hardly has any motivations to fight - other than to survive, so that he can go home safely.

In the current situation, there's hardly anything that the US can do to stop Saddam. They are caught in their own trap. They cannot spot broadcasting the trial proceedings, as that will raise a large hue and cry. So they need to come up with some fresh ideas. Meanwhile, let's hope that Iraq does not turn out to be the next Vietnam.

Turning traitor

2006-01-07T02:55:00.000-08:00

"I'd rather be a martyr than a traitor..."

Those were the words of my superior, on that fateful night, when we were to support our friends working behind enemy lines. We had received their message in the morning, followed by a briefing on what was to be our tasks for the day. We realized the gravity of the situation as the voice crackled over the radio, explaining grimly the tough resistance that they were facing. We were to wait for their orders and if need be, provide cover with artillery fire.
With Chrismas coming near, the festive season was in full bloom. But we were not a part of it, even though we'd want to. As if reading my mind, he said to me "I'd rather be a martyr than a traitor...". The words stuck to my mind and I steeled my resolve. So be it.

...Sgt. Asrit's war-journal entry dated 14-Dec-05.

Now for the anti-climax...

Although those were the actual words of my boss, things aren't that heroic. This morning, we received an e-mail from our onsite co-ordinator that the system wasn't working as expected, followed by a telecon and a meeting to discuss the agenda for the day. While the rest of the team prepared to go for the project-party, we were to stay back and provide 'support' to onsite.

Had it not been for my boss, I would have turned traitor by now ...

(Note: Sgt Asrit is my alter-ego and since we share the same imagination, we're in constant touch with each other)

In search of excitement

2006-01-07T02:54:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I and my roomie decided to go for a walk after dinner. There are not really many places to visit around my house so we decided to go to the crematorium instead. The idea popped into my head quite abruptly, but once it did, it seemed exciting enough to give it a try.

So we went through the crowded streets and soon turned to the sparsely lit lane which leads to the crematorium, in search of some excitement. The path was mostly moon-lit but it was not a full-moon night. The sky also was pretty normal, neither too starry nor too cloudy - it was just like any other night. There were no dogs (or wolfs :)) baying sorrowfully in the background. And not even a cat jumped across our way (I had fancied that a shadowy black one would).

When we reached the place, it was silent - not the deathly silence we were expecting but peacefully silent. The wind wasn't howling among the trees and there was not even a cold draught blowing. We decided to sit facing the area where the pyres are burnt, since it was our first visit and we didn't really fancy sitting next to a pyre.

We just sat there for sometime enjoying the silence, away from the hustle-bustle of the city, fanning away mosquitoes and chatting for a while. We didn't get our share of excitement that we came in search of (and maybe somewhere deep down hoping that we didn't). But the place seemed to beckon that if there is any excitement - it's in being alive.

Bombay-Pune in an ambulance - IV

2006-01-07T02:53:00.000-08:00

Salim and Rehana (or maybe, Ali and Rehana)
----------------------------------------------

Ali who had been quiet all this while, or maybe dozing off suddenly decided to speak, probably bored with the morose nature of our discussion. I was glad that he did, since I was running out of topics to discuss. So I sat back and let him steer the conversation in whichever direction he chose.
Looks-wise, Ali seemed smarter than Zahir, with the clean-shaven look and sharp features. However when you looked at them both, it was pretty clear that Zahir was the one who was in command - one hard look and Ali would be quiet. It was interesting to listen to Ali, because he had some real juicy stories to tell, but he spoke with such a slur that I had to listen real hard to understand what he said. Ali had the typical personality of the comic side-kick in any Hindi movie.

Ali seemed to have had a pretty lucky time with almost all the girls in their neighbour-hood. I cannot vouch for the veracity of the stories he told, but I can confirm that they were well-told. And he made his escapades look so simple, that he made us all laugh.
He would start off like "You know that girl Xyz in our gulli...ya.. that one.. she's amazing...you just need to ask, and she'll be ready...amazing...(He would then be lost in thoughts for a few seconds, maybe thinking about her or maybe thinking of the next name to drop).. and you know that girl Abc..." Our incredulous looks and smiles were enough to keep him going.

There was one story he told, about Salim and Rehana, which was a bit different. Salim was the guy who owned a couple of vans and hired people like Zahir and Ali to run them. Rehana was his wife. Ali seemed to have won the heart of Rehana (and a lot more) when Salim was not around. Ali was pretty graphic in his description of their entanglement, which is unprintable, so I leave it to your imagination. The manner in which Ali spoke, was very charming and funny, especially with his slur and that mumbaiya accent thrown in.

But Ali wasn't happy with the way things were going. It seemed that the last time he spent with Rehana, she had asked him for money. He seemed pretty heart-broken and Zahir emphathized with him. It was truly interesting. Here was a guy who had no qualms about commiting adultery or about cheating on his boss, but was heart-broken because she asked for money. According to him, he was just trying to help her out in dealing with her life. And all that she had asked for was Rs 100, to which Ali objected - "why pay for something, which you were getting for free before?"

He left the story there, as we pulled up at a petrol pump to refuel. I had almost covered half the distance to Mumbai, safely. It had been a peculiar experience - travelling in an ambulance, chatting with people so freely which I wouldn't have done otherwise, and all these stories thrown in good measure. Here I was in the middle of the express-way, equi-distant from Mumbai and Pune, wondering what I was doing in an ambulance after all.

Bombay-Pune in an ambulance - III

2006-01-07T02:52:00.000-08:00

Chapter 3 - Conversation with Zahir.
--------------------------------------

I had to keep the conversation going, as if my life depended on it. In fact, it did - after all a minor error can prove fatal on the express-way. Zahir also probably understood, because he too was pretty forthcoming with the conversation. Zahir loved traveling to distant places and driving. He had driven all the way to Delhi and Calcutta from Mumbai. They were all official trips - to deliver bodies. When I told him that I was basically from Orissa, he told me that he would love to go there sometime and added with a smile that such a requirement needs to come up.

We shifted our discussion back to the special privileges of the flashing lights above the car. He told me an ironic story of his friend, who used to drive an ambulance in Nagpur. Once he was carrying the local MLA's son who was in a critical condition to the nearest hospital. He was zipping through the traffic, paying scarce attention to the traffic rules, when he crossed a school. A school-bus was parked at the curb and kids were getting out of it. Blowing the horn at full-blast, the ambulance driver decided to overtake the school-bus. Anyways the kids were getting down on the footpath and the road was clear. Just when he was about to cross the bus, a boy leapt across the road in an attempt to cross it. The ambulance hit him and the kid who was barely ten, was thrown in the air. The ambulance driver didn't stop, for the fear of his own life (he would have been lynched by the mob that gathered at the spot) and for the urgency of the parents in the ambulance, who were worried about their own kid. All he saw in the side-view mirror, was the motionless body lying on the road, a crowd slowly gathering around it. The ambulance was able to reach the hospital on time and they managed to save the life of the kid in the ambulance. The parents, in turn using their political clout saved the driver from the hassles of the police.

When Zahir ended his story, we were silent for some time, maybe in deference to the slain kid and the tragic ending or more so because I wasn't interested in developing the conversation over that incident.

Ali who had been listening to us all the while, decided to break the silence.

Bombay-Pune in an ambulance - II

2006-01-07T02:51:00.000-08:00

Chapter 2 - The passengers
----------------------------

The place where the other guy got down, was a well-lit bus-stop. I could now see the interiors of the van I was sitting in, more clearly. Even more clearly, I could see the expressions on the faces of the people waiting for a bus or a lift outside. None of them were ready to go with us. There was a look of fear on their face, which I couldn't actually understand. However, one more passenger got in. He seemed like a guy from the country-side who probably wasn't that afraid.

The driver, Zahir was a dark guy with piercing eyes. He probably hadn't shaved or washed since some days, driving for quite long time, but didn't look very tired. Sitting next to him, was Ali, with an handkerchief tied around his head. He seemed comparatively more amicable and smiling. Ali was clean-shaven and spoke with a slur, that made it difficult to completely understand his words.

Ali told the new passenger who got in, that he could sleep in the back, if he wanted to since it was empty. The guy climbed at the back but was a bit apprehensive when he saw the stretcher behind. Actually I noticed later that there was an ice-box behind, similar to the kind of refrigerators you see in super-markets which stock ice-creams or vegetables. This ice-box was however meant to carry mortal remains to their final destinations. The new guy also realized this and abandoning his plans of sleeping, crouched in a seat next to the box. When he asked me what was there in the box, I couldn't resist telling him that it was a body. He was startled and immediately jumped over the seat to come and sit next to me.

Ali tried consoling him that there was nothing in it. They had already left the body back in Gulbarga, where they were coming from. But the latest passenger was in no mood of sleeping on the box. However pretty soon, he settled down on the seat next to me and dozed off.

By now, I had become accustomed to the smell inside the van and looked around to gauge the surroundings in which I was to spend the next 3 hours knowing that, I had left my options of alternate transport behind me.

Zahir looked as if he hadn't slept for quite some time and that had me worried, since he was at the wheel. I started talking with him solely with the intention of keeping him awake and alert.We discussed about their trip to Gulbarga with the body, how he hadn't slept for almost 2 days now and why he hadn't eaten anything that day. He said that staying hungry helped him stay awake. This was a forced conversation at best, when the conversation doesn't flow naturally but rather in bursts, as you keep looking for reasons to talk. And I used every reason that cropped in my mind.

We talked about how an ambulance doesn't have to pay any toll-charges. He also told me with a hint of pride, that he need not obey signals either, as long as the blue lights on top keep blinking. He turned them on for greater effect but in the dark of the night, it created an errie effect by reflecting off the overhanging rocks by the side of the road.

Bombay-Pune in an ambulance - I

2006-01-07T02:50:00.000-08:00

Chapter 1 - The beginning
--------------------------

This is about the trip I made in an ambulance from Pune to Mumbai. No, I didn't travel as a patient but just as a passenger. It was one of the most entertaining and far from normal Mumbai-Pune trip I've ever made. An experience which very people will ever have, travelling in an ambulance, not as a patient or a patient's relative.

7th October was a Friday and just like any other friday, I had planned to leave for Mumbai at 6.00 in the evening. And just like any other friday, I got loaded with work in the evening and unfortunately couldn't make it to the 6.00 bus. By the time, I finished my work, it was 8.00 and I was waiting on the Bombay-Pune highway, hoping to catch a bus with some empty seats or maybe get a lift.

Some cars did come by but they were not going to where I wanted to go. Some buses also happened to halt, but there were no vacant seats. There were a couple of more guys in a similar condition as me, waiting on the highway. Pretty soon, most of them managed to catch some car or the other and were on their journey. I was getting pretty tired of waiting and decided to catch whatever comes by next.

By now, there were only me and another guy waiting for a lift. It was pretty dark and the only lights available were those of the passing vehicles, which were more blinding than illuminating. Meanwhile, a van (something like a mini-bus) came by and I couldn't really make much out of it except that it had some phone-numbers written all over it, in large letters. The guy sitting next to the driver offered to take us to Mumbai to the place I wanted to go, for Rs.100. Sounded like a good deal, and since it was private vehicle I was hoping that we could make it to Mumbai faster. I had to get in through the front door, jumping over the front-row seats to the row behind. The other guy with me, also decided to get in.

The interior of the van had a strange sweet sickening smell. It reminded me of the smell of my biology dissection lab back in college - the smell formed from the peculiar mixture of dead-rat carcasses and chloroform and other chemicals. I looked behind me, and in the dim light I could make out a strecher lying behind. It then dawned on me that I was seated in an ambulance! It was queer feeling to be seated in an ambulance, but not as a patient which brought in a sense of relief. My co-passenger had probably realised this much before me and he seemed pretty peturbed. He asked the driver how long it would take to reach mumbai, now that it was 8.45. The driver replied back, saying "Don't worry, we'll probably make it before 10". THe journey from Pune to Mumbai takes around 3 hours and the fastest I have been, was in 2 hours. I suppose the driver's retort totally shook up my friend, who motioned to me that we should get down.

I wasn't sure that we would be lucky to get another lift at that time of the night, so I decided to stay put. Once he was down, the driver looked back and asked me if I wanted to go too. I smiled and said no. The driver smiled back and nodding towards the other guy said "Lagta hai woh darr gaya...Darne ka kya hai, ek din let ke jayega, lekin aaj baithke jaane se darta hai"(Seems like that guy got scared...What's there to be afraid of? One day he'll be travelling in this lying down, but today he's scared to go seated.) I have kept the original dialogue in Hindi, because it looses the impact when it's translated. That dialogue appealed to me and I felt that I had probably taken the right decision by deciding to stay. I prepared myself for an interesting journey.

Brand Equity

2006-01-07T02:49:00.000-08:00

This post is about increasing your popularity index with the fairer sex, from a different perspective - a humble attempt at positioning you in a different league from the regular Tom, Dick and Harry. So, read on...

Who needs a brand? Just about anyone...If you've got something to sell, you could definitely use a brand. And most of the time you need to sell yourself and you could use the intangible value that a brand adds.

If you've been to Manhattan, you'll know what the name 'Trump' stands for. It's a brand in itself - a brand that has consciously been constructed by Donald Trump (who prefers to be called The Donald, another brand). J.P. Morgan is another such brand-name. In India itself, we have our Tatas and Birlas.

Even on a small-scale, a brand can add a lot of value. A brand can help you in differentiating from the rest, and help the consumer make an informed choice ;).

Now we start with the details of creating a brand. You are welcome to add your own customizations and tweaks as you see fit, because after all it's your brand- it's you.

You need to identify your strengths and highlight them (incorporate them in your brand). Everyone has something that he's good at. You could be good at some sport or maybe you read a lot of books. Maybe you sing well or can paint amazingly. It could be anything, as long as you are good at it.

The basic idea is to differentiate yourself from the rest of the crowd. What is it that you have to offer which others can't?

Once you are done with identifying your strengths, you are ready to build a brand image around it. Take time out to indulge in your talents and get some publicity. Make use of your contacts and friends. Information spreads fastest through WOM (Word of Mouth).Spread your news but take care not to look like a show-off. The intention of the whole exercise is that people should relate your name with all your strengths. The greater the size of your contacts, the farther your reach, in terms of publicity.
So make a conscious attempt to increase your contacts. It's always fun to get to know new people.(That means, try making friends with guys also.)

Now, let's talk about your looks, not because it matters a lot but just to get done with it so that you breed no mis-conceptions about them. Firstly, understand that your looks matter the most to you and the same is true for everyone else, so no one else really cares a lot about your looks. Even if anyone does, it would be secondary to their looks.
If you look good, then you are lucky and maybe you could build your brand centered around your looks. But not every one is that lucky and if you happen to be one of the rest, fear not, because thats the main purpose of building a brand - to accentuate your strengths and sideline your weaknesses.

Don't get into a bull-fight if you are not a matador!
Don't compete with the good-lookers by trying to look good... especially when it's obvious that you are trying hard! Stay neat and dress smart... and you can forget about the looks part. You need to differentiate yourself from the rest in qualities which others will have a tough time fighting against.
Try to fight according to your rules not as per some one else rules.

Once your brand is built... you now have to demonstrate you are beyond it, not limited by it. Try doing something radically different and at the same time try not to make a total fool of yourself. If you have built a brand-image of yourself as a finance-guru, and you can also sing well, go ahead and participate in a singing competition. If you actually manage to win, that would be great... but you'll soon be known as the finance-guru who also sings well. And since your primary image is of a finance-guru, people don't really expect you to sing well. so it's fine. It just shows that you are versatile... and hmmm... interesting...

So all the best. Just believe in yourself and you won't have to try too hard.

Afraid to lose?

2006-01-07T02:48:00.000-08:00

What would you do if you were not afraid of failing?
or rather if you were assured that you wouldn't fail..
Think about it...
The fear of failure... It cripples you like any other fear...
You don't even try because you are afraid of failing.
How about conquering this fear ? You could keep trying and keep losing.
But you haven't lost until you admit defeat, until you have lost in your mind.
How many times have you said to yourself, "If only I had tried... !"
But if you don't even try, you have already lost.
You lose just because you are afraid to lose...
Ironic.. isn't it?

How much is your hair worth

2006-01-07T02:36:00.001-08:00

I was concerned the other day, when I noticed a couple of grey hairs on my head - a sign that i was growing old! There were just a couple of them, so nothing really to worry about. Anyways premature greying is so prevalent these days, that it doesn't really amount to much.

But those few strands of melanin-lacking keratin fibres got me thinking...
Why do we treasure our hair (or rather crowning glory, as it fondly referred to) so much? It's just dead tissue after all, like our nails, but so much of importance is attached to it.
Does it provide any form of tangible advantage? I can hardly think of any! But the self-esteem of a majority of us depends on it's presence, it's thickness, it's color and what not!

Hair is probably the only remnant of fur with the homo-sapiens, but it hardly plays the role of fur any more. Is it useful in attracting the opposite sex? Hmmm... thats debatable! Tonsured females wouldn't be very attractive, so let's limit the discussion to guys only. In that case, there are guys who would be totally inept with girls, irrespective of the amount of hair on their head. On the other hand, I'm sure that many girls still find Agassi attractive, so hair probably plays a very minor role if any, in attracting females. Moreover I haven't met a single girl yet, who was bowled over by a guy's hair! (Sorry to say, but there are many guys who were bowled over by a girl's hair! But that isn't the point - guys just need an excuse to bowled over ;))

Hair isn't really much of a protection. It can't protect your skull, during accidents. Hair on the other hand can prove lethal. Some guys don't wear helmets because it spoils their hair-styles and we know the number of deaths that could be prevented if only people wore helmets regularly. So much for your hair...

Hair basically is a source of problems - dandruff, balding, greying, premature balding, premature greying, dry hair, frazzled ends, split ends etc..etc..
Now, that's not really my conclusion. There's a billion dollar hair-care industry involved here, which wants you to be convinced of this. They also want you to know that they can fix all your problems if you use their shampoos, conditoners, hair-dyes, non-ammonia hair dyes, herbal oils, mineral oils, hair-weaving techniques, hair implantation treatment etc..etc... These methods range from applying formulations on your hair and scalp to consuming them internally to surgical treatments.
Whew! That's how the billions flow in :)

So, ending on a good note... Your hair is actually worth billions!***

(*** Conditions Apply:
They are worth billions not to you, but to the companies you endorse)

On planning

2006-01-07T02:36:00.000-08:00

Have you ever thought about planning and how it affects us?
Time-management wouldn't exist with out planning of some sort. With just 24 hours in a day, planning is necessary to make the best of it.Moreover, life becomes predictable when plans are in place.

Though planning is a very helpful tool/practice, it can become a shackle, when overdone. I begin to plan everything, even to the extent that I cannot enjoy anything spontaneous. I cannot enjoy unless there is a plan in place. Every day needs to be planned. Every weekend has to be planned.

Maybe that's the difference between a kid and a grown-up. As a kid, I don't remember planning for weekends, weeks in advance. And still, holidays used to be much more enjoyable, when we were kids, rather than now!

Maybe somewhere along the process of growing up, we forgot how to have fun.
We forgot that sometimes the best things in life are unplanned…
Like when it suddenly rains and you are caught without an umbrella… getting drenched used to be so much more fun (and luckily, still is :))
Like being told that a test you had not prepared for, has been cancelled.
Like coming home from school and finding Mom cooking your favourite dish…
Like meeting your first crush for the first time
robably also the love-at-first-sight experience...

Ever wondered, why surprises are so much more fun??
So sometimes I tell myself, do we really need to plan out everything..?
Why not at times, let things be as they are… Let's not plan to have fun…but rather have fun whenever possible, with whatever life throws at us.

Finally let's not give up on planning completely … Because I must confess, writing this article was pretty much planned.

Talk about lemons and oranges

2006-01-07T02:33:00.000-08:00

Just yday I accidently stumbled upon the mail-id of one of my very old friends, from Muscat. I happened to notice his mail-id in one of the forwards that came that day (one of the rare occasions when forwards come in handy). So, with nothing much to do, and the mail-id of an ol' buddy in hand, I decided to mail him.His reply came back today. It was pretty nice hearing from him after such a long time. And it seems some more people of our batch are here in Pune - esp. Prerna and Rachana.. Hmmm.. now isn't that interesting :) Well, both of them had boy-friends at that time, but as we all know school-time boyfriends don't really last that long ;)

There was this queer little incident about Rachana which I remember quite vividly. :) well..at that time, I used to pretty friendly with another girl. Let's call her 'S', for the simple reason that her boyfriend (of that time) used to be a drop-out who wouldn't have improved much by now and her brother(who's pretty big too) is a good friend of mine and they both need not know abt this. I guess it was in the recess time, that Rachana and me were just chatting, and somehow the topic wandered over to 'S', who incidentally didn't happen to be around. Rachana was curious as to, what exactly did I like in 'S'. Now it's pretty difficult to explain such things...especially to another girl :p but i did come up with a couple of reasons. And somehow, the discussion progressed in such a way that finally Rachana said "But she's so flat!".

It's so simple to discuss dimensional matters with another guy, but trust me, it's not that easy with a girl. And being just 16 or 17, I didn't want to show that I was at a loss of words.. So with all the seriousness that I could muster, I went on to analyze "Hmmm.. not quite. Maybe they are as big as lemons.(and now shifting my gaze to her assets) but definitely smaller than yours.. uh..(with a more scrutinizing look).. Your's are as big as oranges". Thats where the conversation ended, as she gave me a playful whack on my head with "what are you staring at, you pervert!" and a coy smile.

I don't know where I got the guts that day but that was the last time I gave such a compliment to a lady (Please understand that comparing with the size of oranges is a healthy compliment for a 16 year old). Come to think of it...after her response, probably I stood a chance that day of getting friendlier. But my courage had drained out after that comment. Hmmm... so it seems she is in Pune now. Isn't that interesting!