A blog about nothing

The greatest game of all time

2010-05-18T16:50:00.002+05:30

For some reason I was reading a technical article on Wikipedia, and in four inevitable clicks I found myself on the page for Super Mario Brothers, the greatest and most popular game of all times. Back when my parents had bought a TV game system, I was rationed 30 minutes of game time every day. Though the cartridge had 76 games, Super Mario was the clear choice on many of those days. Now that I use a Nintendo emulator, the game still remains the alpha dog.

For die hard fans, here are some awesome renditions of the opening theme of the game --- flute beatboxing, clarinets, flute and clarinet, piano, guitar, Guitar Hero, acappella, church organ, and an orchestra rendition.

Some very unusual and highly creative renditions --- with an ordinary 20cm ruler, and another with a toy car and dozens of beer bottles!!

Let me get some ketchup so I can eat my words

2010-04-27T18:02:00.003+05:30

Okay, now that the circus is over, the time has come to evaluate our predictions.

Rank	Predicted	Actual
1	Kolkata Knight Riders	Chennai Super Kings
2	Bangalore Royal Challengers	Mumbai Indians
3	Delhi Daredevils	Bangalore Royal Challengers
4	Kings XI Punjab	Deccan Chargers
5	Mumbai Indians	Delhi Daredevils
6	Chennai Super Kings	Kolkata Knight Riders
7	Deccan Chargers	Rajasthan Royals
8	Rajasthan Royals	Kings XI Punjab

As the alert reader will notice, we managed to make only eight mistakes out of a grand total of eight. Now I am not one to make excuses, so I will not try to wriggle out of this embarrassment. Instead I will point out the probability of getting every single rank wrong if I were to guess wildly --- around 37%.

Machine learning and marriage

2010-04-04T17:19:00.002+05:30

(With apologies to those who do not know machine learning)

I had a dream of benzene proportions a few nights ago. For some inexplicable reason,

I was pondering about marriage a lot that night. Not my marriage, but marriage in

general -- why do guys go for it? what is the benefit to both the parties etc? The usual stuff, no biggie. I forgot about it and went to bed thinking about Mount Doom as usual.

Three hours later, I was talking to myself in a dream:

Me1: You know that a single guy is like a very high dimensional vector with high density and very few zeros.

Me2: No kidding! Why?

Me1: A single guy holds a lot of opinions on thousands of issues, is quite dogmatic, has two cents on every problem, and everything is important to him. If you ask him anything, you will rarely draw a blank.

Me2: Hmmm fair enough I guess, go on.

Me1: A girl is like a projection matrix and a marriage is like projecting the guy vector on a low dimensional space with high sparsity.

Me2: I don't get it. Why is marriage a sparse vector in low dimensions?

Me1: Think about it. Marriage means finding commonalities between the two people => low dimensions, and marriage really depends only on a select few solid traits => sparsity. After marriage, the guy lets go (or has to let go) of most of his opinions, 'compromise' and focus only on the important things.

Me2: Ok fine, marriage is a sparse vector in a low dimensional space. Big deal. What's your

point?

Me1 (smiling): My point?

Me2 (impatient): Yes, your point.

Me1: Johnson Lindenstrauss lemma

Me2: Johnson Lindenstrauss lemma?

Me1: Precisely.

Me2: ??

Me1 (beatific smile):

Me2: OH!!!

Me2: Man! You just blew my mind!

For those of you who are not aware of the lemma, it states that with high probabilily, any random projection matrix can be employed to project a high dimensional vector into a low dimensional one, with small loss in the resulting transformation. For marriage it means that do not think about who you should marry, just pick a random girl, and with high probability the end outcome won't be too bad ;-) I fell into a blissful sleep after that.

Probably the only time in my life when I impressed myself.

PS: Would have loved to see an XKCD cartoon of that.

IPL Predictions - part 3

2010-03-13T23:48:00.003+05:30

As we write the final part in this prediction series, we humbly note that at least two of our earlier predictions has come true -- Sehwag made a characteristic 8(6) in the match against Punjab, and Sreesanth did take his wicket, although sitting in US we couldn't see if Sreesanth ran a half-marathon victory lap or not.

Now without further delay, our final two teams are:

Bangalore Royal Challengers (RC)

New Motto: Now with jerseys redder than our faces when we lose the final

At the time of writing, RC have yet to play a game, and so we can still speculate who the captain is going to be. Since Mr Skunk Hairdo is still playing in Bangladesh, RC's megalomaniac owner has no choice but to give the captaincy once and for all to Kumble. Since the Kiwis are playing against Australia right now, it means that Mr Beer Belly aka Jesse Ryder, and Mr I-don't-play-any-off-side-shots Ross Taylor are out for at least a few weeks. Thus it is the South Africans that RC must trust, after all they provide four members of the squad.

It is our prediction that without Taylor and Pieterson, RC will find it difficult to make do with the antics of Roelef Van der Merwe and Uthappa. We expect them to lose more than half their league matches in the first three weeks. This will be followed by a slight revival on the return of Taylor (maybe winning three consecutive matches), only to find out that it is almost too late, which will lead Kumble to adopt his familiar angry constipated look. In the last few crunch matches, RC will raise their game however, make the final four, and will probably beat Delhi Daredevils (who are just dying to lose in the semis) to reach the final against KKR. An hour before the final, we expect Kumble to give a stirring LOTR pre-war speech to his wards.

"Men inside the bewdaas, I see in your eyes the fear of Shane Bond that will take the heart of me! A day will come when we will play on to our stumps, but it is not this day! A day might come when we all fall to Mendis, when even Agarkar gets a wicket, but it is not this day! I say, this we fight! This day we SLOG SWEEP!"

The story of the final has been told elsewhere, but we expect Kumble to take at least 3 wickets, including that of Dada (trapped in front). At the presentation ceremony, Kumble, as the losing captain, will make a solemn speech -- "Only one team played in the spirit of the game, and it was not us" before correcting himself 2 seconds later.

Prediction: 2

Reaction: Megalomaniac eating his red RC cap for the second consecutive year.

Rajasthan Royals

Let's face it. RR are a completely unpredictable bunch, and we saw that in the match against Mumbai, where they almost made it after making reservations in the parade of the losers.

So what is it going to be this year? It is tempting to say they will be in the bottom two, because that is the only position remaining in our predictometer, but let's try to justify, shall we?

First, is it just us, or is Shane Warne fatter than even his usual chubby standards? When he runs in the infield, he looks like a sloth bear gently ambling onto the nearest tree in search for shade.

But let us not go by the looks, for he is still sharp as a tack. Instead, let us look at the changes. They do not have Watson or Tanvir (or Mr Butterfingers aka Kamran Akmal for that matter). On the plus side, they only have the formidable presence of Pathan and the equally formidable absence of Kaif. Some might argue that Asnodkar will find it easy to play in the Indian pitches with his 4' 3" frame (discounting his second ball run-out yesterday), but we find him over-rated, like Kamran Khan and Ravindra Jadeja (also absent). Shaun Tait will not matter much on these pitches, but Damien Martyn will, sadly he will not get to play much.

All in all, if Yusuf and Smith fail, RR will be reduced to becoming everybody's favorite whipping boy. We don't expect to see Shilpa and Shamita Shetty jumping up and down in the stands very often this year. Consequently we arrive at the inevitable conclusion.

Prediction: 7 or 8

Reaction: Shane Warne nonchalantly drinking beer and playing poker with the crowd at deep extra cover, and Yusuf Pathan making his usual angry monkey faces (except against Deccan for obvious reasons) after every loss.

IPL Predictions (part 2)

2010-03-08T15:34:00.003+05:30

We present the second part in the three part series on IPL predictions. Part 1 is here.

Kings XI Punjab

New Motto: IPL? 1 million dollars. Champions League? 2.5 million. A hug from Preity? Priceless.

Behind every successful man, there is a woman. Behind a successful team is also a woman, preferably beautiful and giving out hugs to select players after victories. KXIP's run in this IPL, while not truly platinum, will still be golden. That is, if you can call losing in the semis golden. Well, the Delhi Daredevils call it golden, so golden it is. Our trust in KXIP's golden patch is well founded because of several strong reasons, not many of which have to do anything with cricket.

First, Preity is no longer in a relationship. This means she will be giving out proper hugs to the entire team, without incurring the wrath of Ness Wadia. As any Indian male will tell you, a hug can work wonders, especially with babies like Sreesanth on board. As a backup, those who do not get hugs will get one from VRV Singh, for obvious non-veg reasons that we refuse to discuss. Secondly, in their opening match against Delhi, Sreesanth will clean bowl Sehwag, and in celebration will run three victory laps and a 2-mile run outside the stadium, while IPL shows ads. This will leave him with no energy to play the rest of the tournament, which means a better bowler will take his place. Third, Sangakkara will replace Yuvraj as a captain, freeing the latter to play his natural game or picking his nose at backward point without the fear of camera zoom-ins. Corollary: Sangakkara will not be able to pick his nose.

These positive developments can only mean one thing.

Prediction: 3 or 4

Reaction: Preity jumping up and down in the dug-out will finally cause a cave in, and the Mohali ground will become as sloped as Lord's.

Deccan Chargers

New Motto: Yo Afridi! Now we too play home games away from home.

Let's face it, Chargers are the new Pakistan. Well not exactly, for they were not the victims of terrorism or bombings. Just some true blue Hyderabadis, who ensured that Gilchrist won't be able to play in the batsman-friendly Hyderabad stadium. Instead they will play in Nagpur and another city whose name rhymes with buttock (yes, we find it funny). While we don't know if this will lead to butt-clenchingly tight matches or a loose flow of runs, we do know that Gilchrist won't give a damn. One opposition bowler will be picked at random (last year it was Nannes), and he will carted for 5 or 6 boundaries in his first over, thereby completing the proof that T20 is definitely not a bowler's game. Last year, seasoned career bowlers like Yuvraj Singh and Rohit Sharma had bowled hat-tricks. This time our money is on young Harmeet Singh, whose express pace of 128ks will distress all and sundry on Indian pitches. Also, replacing Fidel Edwards will be Kemar Roach, a bowler whose name makes the batsman instinctively reach out for Baygon spray, losing their wicket in the process. RP Singh will keep things balanced by providing his usual 4-0-48-0 at the other end. However, overruling them all will be the mercenary Symonds, who will continue exploiting cricket grounds smaller than Mumbai apartments. Watch out Kolkata! you got competition.

Prediction: Runner up by a small margin. After all, Bond. Shane Bond.

Reaction: Wayne Parnell of Delhi will announce his retirement after being pounded for 6 fours in his opening over against Gilchrist. Also, VVS Laxman will manage to show genuine happiness inspite of not playing a single match.

Chennai Super Kings

New Motto: The team of brothers and bosoms.

The motto is obviously derived from the most puke-inducing statement of the year,viz Matthew Hayden's proclamation -- "I have been welcomed into the bosom of India as a brother". We predict that Dhoni will continue to inspire his team with honest statements like "Our bowling was quite short of the mark", "Our bowling needs to improve drastically in the next game", "We cannot afford to field like this in the finals" and so on. As a result, CSK will continue to deliver gems like this.

We now digress and make two statements about CSK that have nothing to do with predictions. First, we think that watching Hayden and Parthiv Patel strolling out to bat is the funniest possible sight in IPL. They look like Goliath and David, like a lion and a (dwarf) gazelle, like Morgoth and Pippin, like a kangaroo and its prematurely born baby. Parthiv's desperate attempts at growing a moustache makes it funnier. Second, we believe that Sivaramanahasapeemapetilon, or whoever is the CSK drummer, is highly overrated who should be made to listen to his own 'music' (if you can call it that). If wearing a bandana and showing 'passion' was enough, I would be giving Bono a run for his money.

Coming back to predictions, everyone knows that Super Kings rely on just three players --- Hayden, Raina and Murali. It is our conviction that since Hayden will be busy exploring India's bosom and what not, it will be up to Raina and Dhoni to score quickly. Since Dhoni's pilot license is still pending, he will not be allowed to play his favorite helicopter shot, thereby curtailing his array of shots to just one -- the unsightly scoop over short fine leg. Realizing this, Dhoni will promote Kemp and Albie Morkel to do the hitting, who will be as lost on Indian pitches as a kid in a topless bar (hat tip: Sidhu). So we don't expect to see anything great coming out of CSK this year, except the occassional victory here and a fielding gem there.

Prediction: 5 or 6

Reaction: "Our goddamn bowlers and SOB fielders really need to improve dammit! I am serious!" - Dhoni.

IPL Predictions (part 1)

2010-03-06T20:18:00.004+05:30

We work in Machine Learning down here in our secret labs, and by we I obviously mean me and my alter ego. Before you say "Machine Whaaaa?", let me say that my job is to make 'intelligent' predictions. Since the IPL is near, this can only mean one thing.

We break our self-imposed blog exile by posting a series of predictions about the IPL rankings this year. Anyone using these predictions for betting or gambling better give me 10% of the winnings.

We begin with part one.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

a) Delhi Daredevils:

New Motto: "Always the bridesmaid, never the bride. Hurray for the bridesmaid!"

DD's game plan is to perform really well in the league stage. This leaves them with no mojo for the semi-finals, where they inevitably lose big time. Having perfected the fine art of finishing 3rd or 4th, my predictometer says that the result this year will not be any different. We predict that DD will be carried by the awesome trio, i.e. Warner, AB, and Dilshan, while Sehwag provides consistent scores of the form 4(3) and 8(4). Let us not forget Gambhir, who will probably pitch in with gritty knocks of 7(12) and 15(14). We expect to see plenty of first over dismissals when DD is batting.

In the bowling department, Nannes will again have a golden patch (except the semis, ouch!), and Nehra will provide support in fits and starts with figures like 4-0-32-1. Again, Vettori and Dilshan will lead the spin attack, with Mishra busy mis-fielding at mid-on. New boy Parnell will not be used heavily as all four foreign slots will have huge contenders. Consequently Pradip Sangwan will tell his grand-children that he kept Parnell on the bench. Paul Collingwood and Moises Henriques will be utilized to do what they do best -- fetching water and towels.

Prediction : 3 or 4

Reaction: Hurray! We get to play in the Champions League!

b) Mumbai Indians:

New Motto: "Snatching defeat from the jaws of victory, one match at a time".

MI have lost so many matches in the last over that one wonders if Nita Ambani has any of her manicured nails left. This hurts them a lot as they always succeed in finishing a comfortable 5th or 6th (Hey! it is better than 8th, they say). However things might change as Mukesh Ambani has sold off his house to pay for Kieron Pollard in the latest auction. If Pollard displays his famed hitting skills even twice, Mumbai may threaten to break into the top-4. But we know MI very well, don't we?

We predict that Jayasuriya will finally succumb to his age, thus nullifying the Pollard factor, and Sachin will play the "Tendulkar card", whereby the entire Indians team will collapse after he gets out. In the middle order, Duminy will fall first ball LBW to

every spinner, mistaking him for Bhajji. Thus, even Mishra from Delhi will get his wicket. Therefore, the only Mumbai Indian who can erroneously propel the team into the top-4 is Abhishek Nayar. If MI play their cards right, they will have to ensure that he gets out before that. Maybe Dwayne Bravo or Bhajji can run him out.

As an aside, in the two matches against Rajasthan Royals, old-timers will have a mini-orgasm after seeing a sum total of five balls that Warne bowls to Sachin (at least one of which will be hit inside out over extra cover). We also predict that this time Bhajji will slap Brett Lee by mistake, and then walk with a pelvic plaster cast after that.

Prediction: 5 or 6

Reaction: Either "Sachin: the ball was coming onto the bat" or "At least it is better than finishing last."

c) Kolkata Knight Riders:

New Motto: "Is baar to karbo larbo jeetbo re $@#$@#!"

Ah! the KKR, how we love them and hate them. All that we remember from KKR @ IPL 2009 is Dada's glowering and sulking face. But this time to udi baba re! they are in for a solid surprise. The captaincy will revert to Dada, and with the dictatorship restored, things will run much more smoothly. The line up will be "Gayle, Dada, Hodge, Hussey, unmentionables, equally unmentionable Agarkar,...,Bond". Gayle will again enjoy the lifeless pitches in India, making scores like 48(31) and 66(39), while Dada will be the perfect foil with scores like 4(13) and 22(35), with an average opening partnership of 55 runs. As before, Hodge and Hussey will win matches for KKR (if any). So what is the difference then? Well, there are three.

One -- the alert reader might notice the absence of McCullum, the ex-captain. While the official reason will be that he is busy playing against Australia, Dada will secretly celebrate at not having to deal with his old-flame. A happy captain always inspires. Given that Dada can neither bat nor bowl and definitely not field in T20, it is imperative that he at least remains positive. Two -- Bond, Shane Bond. He will single handedly give KKR two wickets per match, with figures like 4-0-18-2. Care must be taken that his figures are not nullified by Agarkar, or Kaan Moolo as he is better known these days. Three -- the law of the underdogs. In the long history of IPL, one has seen that the supposed underdogs always perform the best.

Rajasthan did it first, and Deccan/Bangalore did it next. Well last year, KKR were not even the underdogs, they were the fleas on the underdogs. Inevitably, they will perform HUGE this year.

Together, these three immutable laws can mean only one thing.

Prediction: WINNER! (Yes, holy sh**, even I can't believe what I predict!)

Reaction: My name is Khan and I am finally a goddamn IPL winner!

(Subsequent parts to be posted later)

This birthday ain't too bad after all

2010-01-23T23:52:00.002+05:30

Dil Bole...Mat jaaa

2009-09-25T20:50:00.002+05:30

BOMBAY (25 Sep): Last weekend I found myself persuaded by my friends to see the latest circus act -- Dil Bole Hadippa (DBH). And since spending hard enough dough on sure-shot tripe is my favorite pastime nowadays, I duly obliged.

DBH delivers on all expected fronts of a Yash Raj movie. The audience feels like it has been through a lobotomy coupled with an anal probe, where the anaesthetic was replaced by Vogon poetry. Let us look at the checklist for a patented Yash Raj film.

1. 100% Punjabi theme. Check.
2. All Punjabis living/defacating/mating/studying/sleeping in sarson ke khet, and driving either a truck or a luxury car. Check.
3. Lead cast shoddily speaking colloquial Punjabi words to construct pseudo Punjabi sentences that make the ears rot. Check. Bonus points if Punjabi words are restricted to vich, pind, asi, tusi, saada, te, tuada, chak de, balle, lalle-di-jaan, oye-hoye. Any other words are completely banned because Yash Raj Films' pseudo Punjabi department doesn't know what they mean or how to pronounce them.
4. One dimensional storyline with out-and-out good and bad guys, and side characters completely ignored. Check.
5. Stupid misunderstanding at the end, which any living organism with the IQ of an amoeba would easily counter in real-life, but which separates the lead hero and heroine. Check.
6. 4273 Sikh junta who are always around in complete Bhangra gear, should the hero/heroine desire to gyrate at any point in the movie. Check.
7. An intellectually retarded, but emotional "heart of gold" possessing parent. Check.
8. Harvest season going on irrespective of the month of the year, and the farmers singing in the fields in full make-up. Check.
9. Portraying super-emotionality and obnoxious conservatism as Indian and everything good. Check. Bonus points if there is a character who is the antithesis of this portrayal and who by the end of the movie is shown as a loser.
10. Highly retarded characters (usually a relative of the main character, or a servant) providing really boring "comic relief". Check.
11. Sappy emotional mono/dialogue that would form the key turning point of the movie. Check. Bonus points if the lines look out of place in even a 1950s movie.

I could go on, but I guess you get the drift. On the plus side, large parts of the movie do qualify for the "so bad it is good" category. And Rani Mukherjee, who is competing for the Best Actress in the Anorexia Category against Kareena Kapoor, looks "different". Come on girl! Bring on the flab and thunder-thighs! That's what the male crowd paid their 150 bucks for! As another minor plus, Shahid Kapoor has finally transitioned from "so bad I want to kill him" category to "I can tolerate him if he doesn't ham" category. Speaking of hamming, the only truly funny scene in the movie is the one where he emulates the Emperor of Hamming, SRK, from DDLJ.

Yash Raj films also have a proud tradition of possessing gaping logical loopholes, a tradition which they have heavily strengthened with this movie. Cases in point:
(a) When there is a Indo-Pak village-level match, the entire guest village easily gets a visa to visit the host village. That includes Rakhi Sawant.
(b) Every team member calls the captain "Sir", not because he has been knighted, but because he demands so and because the team is funded by his dad (his words, not mine!). It doesn't matter that the captain looks 10 years younger than many of his teammates.
(c) There are multiple video cameras that provide HD coverage of the village-level match. IPL organizers must be crying themselves to sleep on seeing this.
(d) Putting a moustache and turban is enough to disguise a girl as a man. It doesn't matter that there is no other body hair, the voice is still husky, and the chest is still, how shall I say it, merrily pointing outwards.

It suffices to say that I had to watch No Country for Old Men later to nullify the brain damage suffered that evening.

Life of a PhD student

2009-05-14T11:12:00.003+05:30

My life in slides. Enacted by Homer Simpson. (Flash-plugin required. Click on a slide to move to the next).

Goa is not what they claim it to be!

2009-04-03T18:28:00.005+05:30

[Disclaimer: I lurve Goa/Goans/Goan-food. Mainly because I spend a lot of time within slapping distance of a Goan.]

BOMBAY (3 Apr) So last weekend I found myself boarding a flight to Goa, presumably for attending a wedding reception. However, even a pea-brained monkey knows that no one goes to Goa for attending receptions, and I am slightly better than a monkey. Almost a gorilla, if you will. So the plan was to spend no more than twelve seconds at the said reception, and spend the rest of the stay bathing in (a) Ocean water and/or (b) Beer. Little did I know that my sugary sweet plans will become more bitter than a karela dipped in bile.

It all began when all of my following pre-conceived notions about Goa turned out to be false, thanks to the misleading info given to me by my Goan friends, the tourist brochures, and Goa tourism advertisements:
(a) Every one doesn't wear a straw hat and play Spanish guitar.
(b) People don't sit on their porches all day, drinking feni. (Most do, but not all).
(c) The proportion of non-Catholic population is much more than zero percent.
(d) Remo Fernandes and Mario Miranda can't be sighted just like that.
(e) Hardly 10-20% girls wear skirts, instead of, say 98-99%.
(f) Beaches occupy only 0.2% of the land area of Goa, instead of the expected 97.3% (with the airport occupying the remaining 2.7%).
(g) People lead normal boring family lives in Goa, just like in the rest of the country.

Needless to say I was disappointed beyond measure. But my miseries had just started. For what I saw and experienced next, changed me irreparably for the rest of my life. I am, ofcourse, talking about the oxymoron "Goan veg food". For you see, I belong to the creamy layer of people who perform repulsion-demonstrating acrobatics when offered non-veg food. During my many "veg" meals in Goa, I found out the following:

(a) The epitome of a Goan veg meal, the creme de la creme, the Mithun Chakravarty of the Goan vegetarian cuisine is none other than *hold your breath* the jackfruit. Whereas for me, it is in the category of inedibles clubbed under the generic label of kaddoo.
(b) All Goans are lactose intolerant. This explains the lack of curd/lassi/chhaach/paneer/gravy/(I am drooling now) in any of the Goan meals. Makes you tear your hair and yell "WHYYY! GOD WHY!!" , doesn't it?
(c) There is no difference between french fries and fish fries. This is because they are both cooked in the same oil. In retrospect this wasn't too bad, because the dry potato fries got a smooth passage down my throat helped along by my gag reflex.
(d) Chapaatis are for pansies. Self-explanatory.
(e) Speak and thou shalt be heard, but ask for a spoon and thou shalt be given one tight slap.
(f) The trick to being a good guest is to ask for second and third helpings, all the while fantasizing about Domino's pizzas.

But seriously, and here comes the ass-kissing part, I did love the hospitality in a wedding-waala-ghar, and I did enjoy the food and the company, and I did spend about 7200 more seconds at the reception than the original plan. So all in all it was a wonderful trip. Although someone should seriously follow up on my suggestion of serving a complimentary chunk of paneer to every North Indian tourist after landing. You can usually tell those tourists apart by their smashingly good serial-molester looks.

So long Goa! and thanks for all the fish (fries i.e.).

PS: One more proof that Goa is not what they claim it to be -- not even a single news about a white woman being molested. Yes, I was in Goa. Yes, even then.

A cricket rant

2009-03-12T16:58:00.002+05:30

There is an excellent, though long rant on the present state of affairs in cricket. Things are bad for people in general, with all too frequent terrorist strikes and a bad economy. One might look towards cricket as a last refuge, though that too has fallen prey to the hard times.

Only one good piece of news in these glum times --- Australia reclaiming a spot that they so briefly lost to another excellent team. The natural order has been restored. Good to see Australia doing so well inspite of the absence of Gilchrist, Hayden, Symonds, Warne and McGrath.

Meanwhile the Indian sports media is showing its objectivity going gaga over the new found success of the national team. A team that lacks a good second seamer (Ishant is still too inconsistent) and a good spinner (Bhajji? Oh please!). A team with a supremely talented but not too reliable opener whose philosophy is to "hit every ball", which works very well on the pint-sized Kiwi grounds. Nah! this team needs time and consistent performances on fast pitches to become truly world-class.

Now if only they pushed back the boundaries by twenty yards, banned flat pitches as the ones in the West Indies series, and played in stadiums atleast as big as the MCG, cricket would be worth watching again. I wish to see matches where 230 makes an excellent defendable total.

Oh and while I am still ranting, will someone please throw the cheerleaders out!

Blogger slyly slips in a post before the end of the year

2008-12-30T20:32:00.002+05:30

I reckoned what better than to give the old readers a jolt by proclaiming my existence after a gap of four months!

The year 2008 was a very interesting year in many aspects for me. First, Mumbai was under siege twice in a span of just 28 days. I am, of course, talking about the 4-day siege of the IIT campus during the Mood-Indigo fest in December. The little terrorists were all home grown and came from all localities of Bombay. It was yet another security failure at IIT, as 17-yr old PYTs entered the main gate of IIT by uttering the magic password (psst, it is 'faculty'). Holding the residents at ransom, the young jihadis made their moods all shades of purple and red. Infact any color but indigo. They possessed sophisticated weapons, including wannabe attitudes and SMS lingo. And we all know that words like "wid" and "dere" can pierce any brain with a double digit IQ. My heart goes out to the 30-yr old anonymous unarmed civilian post-doc, who jumped at and single-handedly evicted seven of the intruders, without caring for his life. If that is not enough to get him a Padma Bhushan, then I don't want to live in this country anymore.

Now according to a totally untrustworthy "gender-indicator" site, this is a 52% heterosexual blog, so enough about gay colors like indigo. Another color that fell out of favor during this year was yellow, or as the Aussies call it, Baggy Green. Nothing gave me better joy than to see them drubbed by our chindi si Indian team in India, and then by South Africa in Australia. There is a god after all, and I strongly suspect that he has made 49.5% reservations in all matches played by India.

Then there were other things, whose memories have faded/blocked for now --- like The Dark Knight, the 5-0 whitewash of England and the seemingly endless PhD.

All in all, can't complain too much. Looking forward to crib in 2009.

Have a good one.

Local gambler claims he has a "system"

2008-08-29T01:10:00.003+05:30

SAN JOSE (28 Aug): For the past few days, I have been afflicted with the gambler's syndrome. A syndrome where the wannabe gambler usually utters the phrase "I have a system" on the lines of Martin Luther King's "I have a dream". In my case, the phrase is "I have a dream to have a system".

In a recent trip to Las Vegas, presumably for a conference, I met up with an old friend, whom I had not met for years. Since he is a surgeon by profession, he thinks it is perfectly fine to apply his scalpel handling abilities to gambling. Little did I know that his scalpel would cut my wallet in half.

Armed with the knowledge of probabilities from the 10th grade, he persuaded me to try out a "system" that he had invented. After the 2nd beer, I agreed to listen to him. After 4th, I agreed that it is a fine system, and after 6th I agreed to try it myself.

With 200 dollars worth of chips in hand, we set out to the roulette table. I was singing songs of separation to the chips because I knew that I won't see them ever again. It was therefore pretty surprising that we won 50 bucks. Promptly disposing the sinful money to do some other sins that Vegas is famous for (no, not that), we decided to try the system again, this time at 5 in the morning. Lo and behold! another 40 bucks. By this time we had so many chips that I was forced to eat some of them with ketchup.

Ever suspicious, I went to my room and did a computer simulation of the system, which we had come to call our system. I was flabbergasted to see that the machine supported the surgeon.

Our greed grew, and so did our idiocy. We changed casinos the next day, and started another round. I promptly lost 60 bucks. Hmmm...interesting. Eager to recover the money, we went to our lucky table in our lucky casino. Lost bigtime. 200 bucks.

Since then, my catchphrase has become "I have a dream to take the scalpel and run it on my friend". Since then I have also found a flaw in my simulation.

Since then, I have also devised a new "improved" system. Next time, Vegas. I will get you next time.

Update from Suryanagar

2008-08-04T07:47:00.003+05:30

SOUTH BAY AREA (3 Aug): Incase you are still wondering, Suryanagar is the slang for "Sunnyvale" aka the Indian ghetto in the Silicon Valley.

In local news, many charity runners in the San Francisco Marathon today failed at finding a cure for AIDS (see a funny Onion story here). Yours truly ran the half marathon, despite being completely out of shape and finished in a respectable 2 hrs 5 mins. The best part of the race was obviously the 4 miles going over and back on the super-awesome Golden Gate bridge. The race route was pretty scenic, along the Embarcadero road (which runs along the seafront), then the Golden Gate bridge over the ocean and some San Francisco residential neighborhoods. The notoriously steep San Francisco inclines were peppered throughout the course and they made sure that I never became complacent. But enough about the race.

My internship is wrapping up and I expect to be back in the filthy and disgusting city of Bombay in a month (I don't know how you Indians live there) ;-) And if I survive the ass-whooping I expect to get on this remark, I will resume my PhD, which has been under a moratorium for the past few months.

Local visitor has hard time giving sh*t about Clinton-Obama tussle

2008-06-05T09:26:00.002+05:30

San Francisco (Jun 4): Recent reports have indicated that local tourist Rahul Gupta, who is visiting California for a 3-month internship, doesn't really give a damn about the boxing match between Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama. The 24x7 coverage of the issue on the news channels and the late night shows seem to have really pissed him off.

But what really gets his goat is that a majority of the "non-resident aliens" in US, who have no voting rights, seem to have invested a lot of time in forming their opinion. Even a FOB seems to have taken a stronger stand than the true blue Democrat citizens.

As this article was going to the press, news came in that Hillary is going to concede the nomination to Obama. Relieved, the local intern said that now he can finally watch high quality shows such as American Idol, Wife Swap, ElimiDate and Jerry Springer.

Team loses despite support from local fan

2008-05-05T14:10:00.003+05:30

BOMBAY (5 May): In a surprising piece of news, visiting IPL team and favorites Delhi Daredevils lost to the bottom-ranked Mumbai Indians yesterday. What is even more surprising is that this happened despite the local Daredevils fan Rahul Gupta wearing a team cap. At a great risk to life and limb, he went to the stadium and wore the black and red cap amidst a sea of blue t-shirts unimaginatively titled "10-Tendulkar".

The cap was flown all the way from Delhi for the express purpose of pissing off the local crowd in this much anticipated cricket match between Delhi and Mumbai. Virender Sehwag, the captain of the Daredevils, however had different plans. Keeping in mind his goal of making the league interesting, he first ran one of the batsmen out and later gifted away his own wicket through the most childish of shots. Rubbing salt to the fan's wounds, Sehwag later uttered "thanks Mumbai" in an act of diplomatic wimpiness unbecoming of a Delhite.

Wimpiness, however, was not on display in the stands. Local nut-job Rahul Gupta once loudly proclaimed "do aur wickets maangta hai" after one of the Mumbai wickets fell. When one of the thousand odd nearby Mumbai supporters angrily enquired "abey kisko do aur wicket chahiye?", the Delhi fan pointed to the Daredevils icon on his cap and said with a serious face -- "isko chahiye!".

PS: I shall not wear the cap during the next Delhi game. Yes, I do believe in jinxes.

Pissing off Mumbaikars

2008-04-21T16:23:00.003+05:30

BOMBAY (21 Apr) As much as I love this city, nothing beats annoying the hell out of its dyed-in-the-wool residents. Case in point --- IPL loyalties. Having spent 2.5 years in Mumbai, my cricket loyalties are torn apart in a 70:30 ratio between, yes you guessed it right, Delhi and Mohali.
Call me choosy, but I will select Preity Zinta over Nita Ambani any day. And lets face it, Mumbai "Indians" is the gayest team name ever, gayer than even Kolkata "Knight Riders".

I am now waiting for my Delhi Daredevils cap to arrive from Delhi. Sitting in a Mumbai college hostel and cheering against Sachin Tendulkar should be fun!!

Change in format

2008-04-21T16:18:00.003+05:30

BOMBAY (21 Apr) Writing long posts is hard work for me and pure torture for the reader, so I have decided to finally ditch that format. From now on, expect "cat gives birth to a dog" kinda short posts in the future. You all can heave a sigh of relief now!

New guy expresses desire to have babies with Marathi manoos

2008-02-14T12:42:00.003+05:30

Latest news indicate that new guy Rahul Gupta, who just moved into Bombay a few weeks ago from Delhi, is so scared that he has been forced to change underwear three times a day, all thanks to the local nut Raj Thackeray. In a press release, the new guy stated that he is all for a Marathi-exclusive state comprising of, but not necessarily limited to the present day Maharashtra. The title of this post is the same as that of the press release, which was disseminated to appease the local Sainik/Sena goons.

In response to Thackeray's "Ask not what I have done for India, ask what YOU have done for Maharashtra", the new guy said that he has already decided to donate his entire monthly stipend to the beggars at Haji Ali (non-Marathi beggars please excuse). "I can get by without a stipend. If not, I can always beg at Haji Ali", he added.

When asked what prompted this press release, his eyes became watery as he recounted the traumatic incidents. "One day, I was making fun of a few Marathi sissies as they were shivering in the 'cold' weather [1], whereas I was sweating even in my shorts. Then another day, I was claiming how it is so difficult to find good North Indian food in this freaking city. I guess someone got tired of all this and reported me to the Sena thugs.", he explained, dejected.

In addition to proclaiming his forced love for Mumbai, Rahul has taken other measures too. His phone calls now always begin with "Mee Rahul bolto", he pronounces Vikhroli as "Vikrodi", and given sufficient alcohol, he can admit that Dada Kondke is his favourite actor.

As we interviewed Rahul at the local bus stop, it was hard to ignore some grim realities in his statement. For example, a Marathi-only signboard to an untrained North Indian eye looks like "woogaboluloooloo", which in this reporter's humble opinion, is a tad difficult to interpret. The interview was cut short, as Rahul ran towards a bus, shouting "Thaamba thaamba!", having failed to read yet another bus number in time.

[1] I was tempted to use the slang for 'cat' but this is a family blog (as I like to believe). Anyway, I think the day Mumbai mirror proudly reported that Mumbai was 0.5 degrees colder than Delhi, millions of Marathi manoos' would have had multiple orgasms. Delhites, on the other hand, just shrugged and dismissed it as a heat wave (the temperature, not the orgasms).

Beware! Hot steamy pile of .... ahead!

2008-02-12T13:20:00.000+05:30

“IBM is driven by a high-performance culture, a place where employees are able to contribute at the upper limits of their potential and continually build market-valued skills and capabilities in both formal training and experiential learning. In support of that expectation on the part of our workforce, we are pioneering new ways for our people to certify their skill levels as both a validation of their value to clients and to reinforce the quality of our employees’ personal skill sets.”

A management drone from IBM made this comment after IBM fired 700 fresh employees (article). They say that life evolved from single cell organisms. Empty-headed jargon-belching retards are clearly the missing links in this chain of evolution.

And being an ex-IBMer (no, I wasn't one of the illustrious 700), I can say that the jargon quoted above is at par with what a sample MBA-holding can't-tell-his-head-from-his-ass manager would say on an off day.

Phew! feels good to get all that venom out!

Of knees and news

2007-12-25T15:43:00.001+05:30

My situation in the past few weeks can be summed up by the following two lines: (with apologies to EUPHORIA)

Seedhiyaan jab chadhta hoon to roti halke halke, my knee
Ab kya karoooon, kaise chaloooon, myyyy kneeeeee

Yes, a few days ago, I hurt my knee ligament real bad while running the Bangalore Ultra 26k race, which explains the lack of "thought-provoking" posts from my side. To top it all, the specialist has given me roughly two quintals of medicines to be consumed in a week. Most of them are the usual puke-inducing fare, but one of them is a "protein supplement".

The "protein supplement" is a powder containing a whole variety of metals, including some Uranium ore if I am not wrong. The whole amalgam is "chocolate flavoured", which means that it tastes somewhere between a damp shoe and a rotten cabbage.

But enough about injuries and medicines. I am writing this monthly post to inform you all about some news in my life. No, I have not been declared pre-approved for a loan, nor have I "already won" any fabulous prizes. It so happened that a few weeks ago I was caught watching pornography at work, that too on a porn web-site not approved by the company. Consequently, I have been shown the door, and because of my stellar surfing record, no other company would hire me.

Yes, thats right, I am packing my bags in Delhi and arriving in Bombay for good as a full-time PhD student. Boy! I can't wait to go through the college's list of approved porn-sites! The decision for a permanent shift to Bombay has been a well thought out one after weighing the pros and cons.

Pros
1. An online collection of movies to watch, that too on a 21" monitor.
2. No need for a daily bath.

Cons
1. Stipend just enough to purchase a month's supply of soaps. (see pt 2 above)
2. Hostel room not much larger than a coffin for a midget.
3. M*%$@#-F%$#^%g humidity.

As you can see, the pros outweighed the cons.

Inshallah! my next post will be from the ultra-happening suburb of Powai.

AC-3 or AC third class

2007-11-19T01:10:00.000+05:30

DELHI (19 Nov) I bet you know I am pissed off because this post is being written after 1 am. I can't shake off the feeling that the Indian Railways with its offering of "the mo*^%&#-f$%^#ing AC-3 tier coach", along with my co-passengers, is out to screw me, have a smoke, then come back to screw me again. I present the following evidences:

1. The compartment, including the side berths, is meant to seat eight. However the passengers in my compartment have approximately 287 people to see them off. And they all squeeze in or stand in the aisle, leaving no room for genuine passengers. All of them wait till the last millisecond before getting off the train. This is accompanied by shrieks of "arey train chal padi!!", as if we paid all that money to go sit in a stationary claustrophobic cell.

2. Atleast one person attempts to swap seats. He offers a seat, usually a middle berth (Murphy's law) in a compartment 20 coaches away, or sometimes in the adjacent train. "Travelling together" is a big deal even in the night trains. If there is no such person, nocturnal predators with wait-listed tickets are usually on the prowl for confirmed ticket holders who can "adjust" for a few hours. Since I am a bachelor with the innocent face of a sucker, I can't escape being gang-adjusted repeatedly by a series of wait-listers. My medical results reveal that I may never recover from this severe trauma.

3. Atleast one of the co-passengers carries luggage that will put an Antarctic expedition to shame. Consequently, the entire floor space plus halves of two berths and the aisle become full, allowing only someone with the skill-level of Bob Beamon to make it across to the bathroom. Oh! and needless to say, all that hunk of luggage will not have a single book to read on the way, except "Stardust" which will be over by the time the train pulls out of the platform.

4. The presence of atleast one baby in my compartment is mandatory. And if the baby's bawling and howling is insufficient, the parents make repairs by throwing in some brain-dead baby talk. The baby talk comprises of atmost three sentences of the kind "Ale Ale Ale baby kyon lo laha hai...", "deko deko bahar doggie hai cow hai pigeon hai...aley waah aley waah" and "chalo mamma paas chalenge, abhi beta soyega, raaja beta soyega" and so forth. These three sentences will be repeated in an infinite loop until the mother dies of dehydration or I puncture my ear drums, whichever happens first. If the baby talk does not suffice, the dad usually initiates a suave and sophisticated game, like pulling a coin out of the baby's ass, thus cementing his skills as a magician, and the kid becomes all wonder-eyed thinking "Holy Shit! My ass did that ??" With all this talk of babies, I'm tempted to use the pun "berth control" here but I am sure it has been used a million times already.

5. The person on the lower berth feels "sleepy" at 8:30pm, just two seconds after s/he finishes dinner, forcing the others to retire. Unless I am the lower berth owner, in which case, I won't be allowed to sleep before 2:30am. Even then, a group of wait-listers will suddenly materialize to sleep in the aisle, thereby giving a new meaning to "sleepovers". (Question: Is throwing bread crumbs at the bums sleeping on the floor impolite? More importantly, should I use brown bread?)

6. The person on the middle berth will sleep the longest, turning the rest of us into Hunchbacks of Notre Dame. On being woken up, he/she will generally give an Oscar winning "oh am I causing any trouble" look. The rest of us have, ofcourse, already been woken up by the obnoxious tea seller at 5:45am, who usually passes on secret information of the kind "abhi Aligarh cross kiya hai" along with the freaking mud water that passes for tea.

7. All the bathrooms will be occupied till 2pm, so the elderly uncle will lose all pretense of good manners, and will let loose the dogs of hell, otherwise known as the farting guns of Navarone. While the more adventurous of us can start guessing which pickle did uncleji have with aalo and rajma last night, I prefer to lean outside the door, looking for the next electric pole to bang my head into.

8. Needless to say, a delay by a few hours is to be expected. For example, my "superfast express train" after Diwali took 21 instead of 14 hrs, and this was a good day I was told. The last 20 kms took more than two hours. Hell! I could have run faster than that. Shameless self-advertising ends here.

Next time, I am travelling in the cargo hold of the first airplane that I see.

I finished the marathon and all I got was a lousy pair of shoes

2007-10-31T08:37:00.001+05:30

DELHI (31 Oct): 2 hrs and 7 mins (my best so far), and could have been easily reduced to 2 hrs if my new shoes had cleared the training runs.

Kids, we all learnt a lesson on the 28th. Never, never run a long distance race with worn out shoes, no matter how well they have served you in the past. My legs are still fatigued from the race.

Rants apart, this was a nice race, with a different route -- Chanakyapuri - Safdarjung Flyover - Prithviraaj Road - India Gate - Rajpath and back. The crowd was bigger, with more serious runners. There were a lot of first timers too -- Girish, Nitendra and Shantanu included. Nitendra got his picture in the paper (bib no. 3621), and is now contemplating modeling for Jockey and Rayban.

All was not hunky dory though. With idiots like Vodafone and Indiatimes managing the event, thousands of finishers had to stand in the queue for another 2 hrs before they could get their timing certificates and medals.

To make up for the boring marathon details, I leave you now with two yummilicious and totally unrelated pictures:

The dishes in front are ofcourse RajKachori (left) and Paapri-chaat (right). The ones in the background are not Chhole Bhature, but an awesome Bengali dish called RadhaBallavi (I hope I got the spelling right). The side dish is Dum Aaloo with a mouth watering gravy. All this food is courtesy the Delhi and Bengal food stalls at Dilli Haat.

Exhibit number 2 comprises of Jalebis from a hole-in-the-wall shop in Chandni Chowk (Old Delhi). It is the area's most open secret. The finger puts the thickness of the jalebi in perspective. It is the tastiest jalebi I have ever eaten, and its no wonder that a single piece (which is huge and very fulfilling) costs around 20 bucks. As a friend from Bombay put it -- it feels like a couple of gulabjamuns have exploded in your mouth.

Now would be a good time to wipe all that drool from your shirt.

Update: I have been threatened to acknowledge the sources of the photos. The Dilli Haat pic was taken by GoldenSilence and the Jalebi pic was taken by the Goan Bird.

Blogger contemplates confronting Bengali colleague regarding nuke deal stand-off

2007-10-07T11:24:00.000+05:30

DELHI (Oct 7): Sources reveal that in an act of unprecedented stereotyping, local lad Rahul Gupta contemplates confronting one of his Bengali colleagues to get to the root of the UPA-communist nuke deal stand-off.

"I want nuclear energy and I want it now. I can't wait for these sissies to chalk out a compromise. I want to know whats bothering these goddamn communists", gushes the blogger.

He thinks that the logical next step is to contact a Bengali, who alone can "explain things as they stand, along with their reasons" (sic). Apparently this statement has caused a lot of grief to his Malyali colleagues who are feeling left out inspite of being communists. "Well lets face it. Keralites are busy dumping hair oil on their scalps and eating beef all day long. Even a monkey can argue better than them!", justifies Rahul.

He goes on to list the names of his various Bengali friends, who are top targets for his machinations -- Debojyoti, Sushrut and a fellow known only as 'Sarkar' (real names hidden to protect the victims). However, he knows that arguing with Bengalis is tougher than beating Australia in one-day matches.

"I want to equal their intellectual levels before I discuss this issue, so I have started doing Bengali stuff -- staging rallies, leaving work at 2 pm, swimming in the local pond to catch fresh water fish, and increasing my decibel level and blood pressure to 200 during arguments about football/cricket", he says as he describes the preliminary qualifying procedure for debating with a Bengali.

Well, whatever his means are, we wish this local nut the best of luck in his endeavours. He is going to need it. No one has ever survived a debate with a Bengali and lived on to tell the tale.

UPDATE: As this article was going to the press, we received news that the much anticipated confrontation indeed took place at the office coffee machine after lunch break. After a tireless and commendable effort by the blogger, his bemused Bengali colleague just asked him to get the hell out of there, go plough a field, commit female foeticide or join the army or do whatever it is that Haryanvis are supposed to do.

US finally overtakes Nigeria

2007-09-28T16:24:00.000+05:30

DELHI (28 Sep): Although it may seem like I have lost all hope with this world we live in, some events shock you to the very core and turn your beliefs upside down. As a magnanimous gesture of philanthropy, I received this email, which I present in its entirety. I know, I might not be the lone recipient of such a gift, but please, let me savour this moment while it lasts.

From Us Military Base
Iraq(Baghdad)2007

Hello Dear
My name is Sgnt David Hill. I am an American soldier, serving in the military with the Third (3rd) infantry Division in Iraq . I and my superior after going on a rampage on Saddam Hussein's palace in Baghdad we discovered a large container where various denominations of currency worth millions are hidden.

You can enter the below website to confirm more of our discovery which was made known to the government, but this particular one is a top secret:http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/middle_east/2988455.stm
Having discovered the container in question, I alerted my superior officer who smartly told me to cart away a substantial amount. The fund in question was moved to a secure place with the assistance of our contact person in United Kingdom .

Family Doctor of our British military colleague); the total is $25,000,000.00 (Twenty-five million US dollars). Basically since we are still in active service, we cannot keep this fund in our bank accounts. It is on this juncture that I was mandated by my superior to look for a reliable and trustworthy person who could assist us to receive the fund on our behalf for investment purposes. Hence, my contacting you.

There is no risk involved whatsoever. If you are interested, I will send you more instructions on how to get the money. My duty is to find a good partner that we can trust and that will assist us secure the fund. Can I trust you? To ensure confidentiality, when you receive this letter, kindly reply our Family Doctor in london Mr Johnson cole with the information Email: johnsoncole_442@rediffmail.com Please Remember To Submitt Your Full Name/Address/Age/Occupation/Phone Number To Him

Thanks
Sgnt David Hill
In God We Trust

My respect for Sergeants has grown exponentially since the day I saw Sgt. Hartman shot at point blank range in Full Metal Jacket. So when an army Sergeant beckons and beseeches and uses some more "be-" words, I listen. But "be-"fore I proceed with sending my details, I need to iron out a few doubts and clarify my stand.

I am a big fan of rampages, and the looting and pillaging that goes with it. No problems here, we see eye to eye in this matter. I unearthed lots of treasures the last time I went on a rampage, although later it turned out that it was my own house.
In God I do not trust. But, as mentioned before, in rampages I do.
The top secret findings of your 'rampage' are made available on BBC's website. I find all this, as Britishers would say, particularly singular.
For an American, your English is not too impressive. Maybe it is years of eating those "Freedom Fries" and hamburgers, that has successfully removed a big chunk of your brain. Such poor use of grammar and vocabulary is more suited to, lets say, an Indian H1-holding software engineer living in New Jersey¹.
When I saw the photograph, which is an irrefutable proof of the veracity of this rampaging operation, I almost sent all the details you had asked for, before I realized that the rampager in the picture is some Lt. King. That is very naughty of you Sgt. Hill, unless you go as Lt. King during daytime.
I am touched that you might consider me as a partner. Your God knows how much have I desired a partner, preferably of the opposite gender.
Another singular observation, which makes it plural now, is that your family doctor possesses a rediffmail address. I expected something better, or more 'British'. Atleast a yahoo.co.uk.

So until I get these doubts cleared, my dear Sgt. Hill/Lt. King, I will keep my details and my initial monetary contribution (which, no doubt, you will ask for later) to myself.

Have fun fighting the Iraqis, and carry on with the rampaging,
Rahul

¹ To all my desi friends in Jersey, please to be forgiving me for my remark. A thousand apologies to you. Thank you! come again!

Cynicism shall take a back seat for a moment

2007-09-25T09:30:00.000+05:30

Crime, poverty, corruption and illiteracy in the country will be overlooked for a short while, as I get off my arm-chair and savour the World Cup victory. The cup of rants shall overflow again after a few days when either of these things happen (its only a matter of time):

A dumbass politician goes overboard and says that Rama was indeed an engineering student, but only managed to pass after copying from Bharat, and a lot of supplimentaries.
A dumbass Hindu organization or self-appointed guardian of "Hinduism" issues a fatwa, ordering that the above mentioned politician be impaled.
The corals in the Gulf of Mannar, sick of all this brouhaha, shift camp to Mauritius.
The Blueline bus daily accidental death toll reaches two digits.

For now, I cannot make myself think pessimistically, so signing off on a high.

Return of the obnoxious posts

2007-09-05T11:16:00.000+05:30

Delhi (Sep 5): It is that part of the year again, when I transform from an obnoxious blogger to a completely insufferable one. Yes, the marathon season is going to start from October, and I am so excited that I cannot keep my pants on (shorts are better obviously). So from now on, expect some completely boring-ass posts sprinkled with paeans of the marathon and some unavoidable narcissism.

This posts contains some details about the races, how to prepare for them, some checklists, dos and donts etc.

Marathon calendar

The tentative calendar looks like the following. Bear in mind that Indian marathon organizers have a pathetic track record when it comes to scheduling races. So double check each race yourself before making any plans:

Hutch Delhi Half Marathon: Delhi, 28 Oct 2007
Singapore Marathon: Singapore, 2 Dec 2007
Shady Half Marathon: Delhi, 9 Dec 2007
Bangalore Ultra Marathon: Bangalore, 16 Dec 2007
Standard Chartered Marathon: Mumbai, 20 Jan 2008
Shady Half Marathon: Delhi, 17 Feb 2008

A few points here:
(a) The distances in the Bangalore Ultra Marathon include 25km, 50km and 80kms.
(b) The 'Shady' half marathon in Delhi is called so because it is horribly organized. This year's episode was supposed to happen in Feb but got delayed to December 9th.
(c) The last I heard, there is another marathon on 28 Oct, in Hyderabad. Sheer scheduling genius!

Who wants to be a marathon runner?

There is only one rule of thumb. If I can run, then so can anyone. You just have to follow a good training schedule. There are some really good training routines on the web (e.g. here and here). They have separate ones for first timers, intermediate and advanced runners.

Unless you go to a high class public gym, there is a fat chance of any girl watching you train and being impressed by you. So do not try to show off by running too much in a single day. Take your stretching and rest days very seriously. After each run (small or big), do not forget to do atleast 5-10 minutes of stretching. I will not say more on this subject because I am myself just three marathons old, and there is plenty of material available on the web anyway.

The gear

This cannot be stressed enough. Running gear can make a marathon a comfortable smooth sailing experience or a living nightmare. If you are a first timer, then a fair amount of shopping is in the offing, so bear the following in mind:

Running shoes. This one is a mystery to me as I myself am yet to find the perfect pair of running shoes. The so-called running shoes available for 5-7K at premium outlets do not guarantee a comfortable run. In general, the shoe must be very light, have a small surface area at the sole (for a snug grip and to avoid the 'flip-flop' behavior) and should 'breathe' for the foot. A normal pair of walking shoes, or tennis/basketball shoes is a strict no-no. A seemingly inocuous pair of generic sports shoes can cause physical problems like the Ilio Tibial Band Syndrome (ITBS), which affects the side of the knee. I had this problem with a pair of seemingly harmless sports shoes, and it is really painful. Also, do not run the marathon with a brand new pair of shoes that have hardly been used. They will cause blisters, and you never know how the shoes are gonna turn out, so it is better to play it safe. Further, do not borrow someone else's pair of perfect running shoes unless you are their identical twin with exactly the same foot structure.
Wear a jockstrap while training as well as in the race. Enough said.
Get a pair of shorts that have a netting inside. This will help in avoiding thigh chafing. So unless you want to walk like a prison inmate who has been dropping bars of soap in the bathroom, do protect your inner thighs. Chafing is very minor or absent during short runs like 6-8 kms, but is inevitable during 21kms, so don't forget it while you do your shopping! It is also important that the fabric does not stick to you while running. Most of the sport shorts do ok in this regard. And for the love of God, do not consider wearing biker shorts while running. They have a slight padding that is meant to help while sitting on a bike, but is uncomfortable while running/walking.
T-Shirts are always underrated. Wear one that is not loose or tight. A bad t-shirt can cause extremely painful chafing at the nipples, and can cause them to bleed too. Yes, this is true for both men and women. Again, the fabric must be non-sticky (I will be the first to buy teflon coated t-shirts).

Checklist (before the race)

From 2-3 days before the race, start eating meals with high starch/carbohydrate content. This will be stored in the body, and will be very useful during the race. Preferred meals include rice and pasta.
All races start around 6am, so get your sleep cycle in place atleast a week before that. No one wants to see a sorry-ass figure sleeping at the 5km mark.
Buy an anti-chafing cream. If possible, carry a small amount with you during the race. I myself haven't ever used a cream, but the grapevine says that Nivea works ok, and lasts longer than vaseline.
Get an iPod.
If you do not become self-conscious unlike me, get a wrist band to wipe off the sweat from the forehead, or wear a bandana.

During the race

Do not eat on the morning of the race. Have a glass of water around an hour before the race, and at the most have half a banana or 3-4 biscuits.
Around half an hour before the race, do visit the bathroom. Yes there are urinals along the track, but you don't want to break your rhythm now do you?
Apply some of the anti-chafing cream to the chafing prone areas. Alternatively, put some bandages. All you want is that there should be minimal contact between the fabric and the skin.
Do not try to match someone else's speed. This is a standard error made by almost all first-timers. They see a girl or an uncle running faster than them, and their ego takes a hit. Run at your optimal pace, and do not deviate from that. You want to finish the race on two limbs, not four.
Drink just the right amount of water. Here is a loose rule of thumb. Each drink should not be more than 100-150ml. Have the first drink around the 5-7km mark. After that, have a drink after every 2-3 kms. The races also provide free Electral. Drinking that is a must. Try to take 3-4 Electral drinks during the race. It can work wonders. Just as dehydration can cause severe problems (you might faint or do worse), overhydration can cause bad cramps too. Overhydration is common mistake among rookies, and I too made it. It happens when runners take a drink at almost every kilometer mark.
Do not walk. If you are tired, then reduce the pace but never walk. It is mentally difficult to start jogging again once you are walking.
Be aware that the "wall" will strike you around the 14-15km mark. It happens to me everytime. You feel like sitting down, or walking, or abandoning the race altogether. It is a combined physical-mental state when you despair that the end is still 6-7 kms away. Just go on, and once you see the 19km mark, you will feel rejuvenated!
Do not forget to stretch for atleast 10-20 minutes after the race unless you want to be bedridden for the next two days.

Phew! Thats it for now. If I missed out on any crucial details, please leave a comment and I will include it. Ofcourse the most important thing is that a race well run is an extremely enjoyable experience. That said, good luck training, and good luck in the races!

Share Khan or Sheer Wimp?

2007-08-10T13:52:00.001+05:30

I would like to bring to the readers' notice, a glaring example of misconduct shown by the stock broker company Share Khan. This happened to my father, who frequently buys and sells stock through such brokers. I will fill in the complete details later, as soon as I get them from my dad. Here is what happened:

1. My parents live in Gorakhpur, where my father is posted as the manager of the city branch of a nationalized bank. Share Khan insisted that my father open an account with them, which he did. This account can be monitored online.

2. Whenever the customer wishes to buy/sell shares, he just calls up the company's local office/agent who then follows up with the request. Companies like IndiaBulls and Karvy call up the customer on the same evening to confirm the transactions. A written confirmation arrives 2-3 days later. This minimizes the need for online confirmation. However, Share Khan does not make either telephonic or written confirmations.

3. Since my father is not used to checking his account daily, he usually checks it online every 3-4 days or so. Around a month after he had opened his account, on July 6th he saw an unauthorized transaction worth approximately Rs. 2 lakhs, that had taken place on 3rd July. My father immediately called up the local office and he was assured that it would be redressed.

4. To his horror, my father realized during subsequent days that there were more unauthorized transactions on 9th, 10th, 12th, 16th and 17th July. Some of those days saw as much as Rs 15 lakh worth of unauthorized transactions. In all, the total unauthorized amount transacted was more than Rs 50 lakh rupees. Here I would like to clarify that:
a) My father was unaware of these subsequent transctions because these were logged online after a huge gap of around 8-9 days after the actual transaction had taken place. This kind of lag in logging financial transactions is totally unheard of, as the other companies log their transactions by the end of the day.
b) Even after my father's complaint after the first transaction, the agent incharge of the account was not taken off the account (let alone fired). He was operating for atleast three more days.

5. Finally on 20th, my dad met the marketing guy who had opened the account. He claimed that the invested stocks were showing a loss of Rs 20,000. If my father would bear half of that, the rest would be born jointly by the staff at Gorakhpur. After giving this ridiculous option, he went on to say that he would only be able to contribute his part on 1st August when he gets his salary. My father then emailed the head-office about the whole matter.

6. The head-office asked an officer from Lucknow to look into it. The guy, however, came and went without meeting my father inspite of an appointment. Later, an officer from Delhi came to Gorakhpur twice but the visits were fruitless. On his second visit, he could not spare any time to meet my father and discuss the issue.

7. My dad then met the local manager, who was ordered by the head office to deal with the issue. He said that the invested stocks were showing a loss of around Rs 87,000 rather than Rs 20,000 as mentioned before. He said that the company was willing to pitch in around Rs 50,000 and dad would have to "bear" the rest of the loss. The manager used an emotional crutch, saying that otherwise he himself would have to pay Rs 37,000 from his pocket, which is obviously a huge drain on a middle class person like himself. He forgot that my dad is also a middle class salaried person, who is suffering for no fault of his.

8. The agent incharge (Alok) was sacked from his job. He then called up my dad, requesting him to take his complaint back so that he can return to his job (what naivety!) When his requests failed, he asked his father to call up my dad on his behalf. The father began with apologies, and ended with saying "baad mein mat bolna ki warn nahi kiya" (Don't crib later that I didn't warn you). There is hardly anything you can say to a person like that. Later on, the editor of a local newspaper called up my dad, requesting to withdraw the complaint. He too, ended the conversation on a similar note. By this time, my parents were apprehensive, especially considering that they are in a mafia-ridden place like Gorakhpur.

9. Since 20th July, my father had written emails to the head office of Share Khan, complaining about the inaction, and did not got a single written response. At first he used to get phone calls to the tune of "we are looking into it", but one fine day, he got a call saying "aapko itni jaldi kya hai? roz email kar dete ho" (What's the big hurry? Why are you emailing everyday?). The SoB who said this probably hasn't ever been asked to recoup someone else's losses to the tune of Rs 87,000.

This is where matters stand now. At this point, our options are:
1. To go to the police and the court. This is our last resort because:
a) Any court case will be held in Bombay.
b) The case might drag on and we might have to spend a fortune paying the lawyers.

2. Contact a watchdog agency or some knowledgeable authority like Sucheta Dalal. We are in the process of doing this right now.

As a side note, I am told that unauthorized transactions are the norm in the industry, although at a much smaller scale. The agent incharge of my dad's account most probably made some initial losses, and to recover them, he made further and bigger unauthorized transactions. But why make unauthorized transactions in the first place? I suspect (although Share Khan haven't confirmed it), that the agents are paid commission on a per transaction or profit basis. I wonder why there are no checks in place.

I hope this serves as a wakeup call to all of you who are blissfully unaware of the shady dealings of such private companies.

Blogger searches for "The Spirit of Mumbai", finds slush instead

2007-08-02T11:12:00.000+05:30

(Note: The continuation of the caste-system post shall be done at a later date. Right now we have an all-important breaking news at hand.)

BOMBAY (2nd Aug): In what appears to be a tragedy of gigantic proportions, local blogger Rahul Gupta reports that he failed to find the Spirit of Mumbai during the recent 4-day downpour in the city. Sitting on an ambulance stretcher marked "FBI", wrapped in a blanket and sipping coffee, the blogger recounts his horrifying ordeal during those four gut-wrenchingly cruel days in the city:

It had rained almost continuously on the first day and all my laundry was far from being dry. This was a huge problem for me because of the acute shortage of dry underwear. Luckily for me, I was in the city with an indomitable spirit. Or so I thought. I went to my neighbour's house, said hi to him for probably the first time in my life, and poured my saga on him. However, my polite request for a clean pair of boxers was denied with extreme prejudice. That was a jolt out of the blue. I should have sensed something was amiss with Mumbaikars that morning. I mean, people just do not deny such a request, do they?

However, still undaunted and forced to be unfettered, I set out for my daily 15-minute journey to Powai. However, as soon as I reached the road, my worst nightmares came true. Water on the road was atleast 1cm deep and would have drowned my little toe, had I not worn my sneakers. But if 26 July has taught us something, it is the awesome concept of "human chains". Brimming with positive attitude, I beckoned some passers-by to make a human chain and help each get across the 4 metre wide road. "Leave no man behind, Goddamnit!" was my motto. Strangely, people started giving me weird looks. They looked like they would rather risk their lives in toe-deep water than form a human-chain. This photo shows a bunch of kids living on the edge, without a chain, as water surges to toe-deep levels. And I despaired. It was like I didn't even know this city anymore.

I counted each passing hour of these monsoon-filled days, alienated from all of these so-called Mumbaikars. On the fourth day of the torrential rains, I went to the market to have my lunch -- Vada Pao (ordering Pao is compulsory here. Many a times I have had Paneer Tikka with Pao). As I passed some buildings, I couldn't help but notice the plight of the ground floor residents. Sure, the water was low right now, but what about two days from now? This rekindled my spirit, and I tried to reach out to my ground floor neighbours. I volunteered to give them a room in my apartment and also offered them my services in moving their valuables to my house. Both the girls refused. Again, with extreme prejudice.

All this was days ago, and I am still battling depression. Where has the spirit gone? Where is the faith? I cry myself to sleep everyday, thinking about these questions.

And so ends the account of the blogger. This blog wishes to state that the blogger is in good spirit now, although he still winces when the dreaded 3-word phrase is uttered in his vicinity. With his mood upbeat, the blogger wishes to go to Delhi in the near futue and perpetuate the "Dil waalo ki Delhi" legend that he so firmly believes in.

The real reason behind the caste system

2007-07-07T09:51:00.000+05:30

The forefathers had it right. I am talking, of course, about YOUR forefathers who were busy expanding the Indus Valley Civilization, and not mine who were busy trying not to fall off their horses while riding from Central Asia to Harappa. The former did it right by dividing the populace into four sections or castes, although it can be debated that Aldous Huxley had that idea first, as described in the Brave New World. But for the time being, we will assume that the forefathers had not read this book, having passed it off as yet another piece of literary trash from the decadent West.

The Vedas tell us the story of why the people were divided into these sections. However, I always had this lingering doubt about how easy and simple that description was. After dedicating myself to seconds and minutes of deep research, I think I am ready to claim my fifteen minutes of fame by unmasking the real reason behind the caste system. And the real reason, ladies and gentlemen hold your breath, is --- Chicks. Sigh! yes, even in the ancient times, they were the root cause of all problems. And to understand how, let us look at the four castes separately.

The so-called Shudras. These guys were freaking hot! They were the plumbers, auto-mechanics, electricians, telephone-repairmen and cable TV installers of that era. It was no surprise that they developed bulging muscles, taut bodies and glowing tans that would make David Hasselhoff wear a skirt in shame. Obviously, chicks used to dig these alpha males and the Brahmins tried to bury them back. And we all know how the rest of the guys feel when one of us lands a bombshell as a girlfriend. So, these poor chaps were perenially persecuted by the rest of the society.
The Vaishyas. These were the wannabe Shudras. However, their bodies paled in comparison because they were averse to physical labour, and they had no tan to show off. One thing that they had, however, was brains. I say this with great objectivity and not because I am supposedly a Vaishya myself. And so, these guys had wisely discovered that the only way to get chicks was to be good at making money. They were the Wall Street types, with trophy wives, club memberships and tickets to the Derbies. The rest of the chaps hated them as much then as we do now when we see a gorgeous babe with an orang-utang. Such girls were not highly regarded either, being referred to as a Vaishyaa (one who puts out for a Vaishya). Even now, this term causes girls to wince and guys to queue up outside the door.
The Kshatriyas. Awarded with neither brains nor brawn, these chaps resorted to arms and violence. Resorting to bride-napping and multiple marriages, they made sure that their surnames survived. Nowadays we see them driving convertibles (physical inadequacy anyone?) and joining the Navy, at sea for ten months and beating jack-rabbits at their own game in the remaining two. They became the gun-toting, ever fighting warriors of that age. The term Kshatriya has its origins in the word Chattri, which is Hindi for umbrella, then used as a weapon to poke at Vaishyas and Shudras. Later on, Chattri became a synonym for the condom, which again, is a weapon of mass destruction when not used. Coincidence? I think not. So point is that these chappies dealt with weapons throughout their lives. And it did not help their frayed nerves that they had to explain to everyone that the "K" in Kshatriya was silent.
The Brahmins. I will be blunt. These guys had absolutely no way to get laid. They had neither the muscles, nor the brains and Kshatriyas had called first dibs on arms. Consequently, these poor blokes did what anyone else in their position would have done --- pray like hell to the Lord. However, fate was never in their favour. It turned out that their Lord was Brahma, who because of all the prayers, developed a hard-on for these guys. Hence the name Brahmin (Brahma's-"men"). So, striking out in all directions, and being pursued by Brahma from above, these guys went into depression. They resorted to gluttony and thus were able to maintain a body weight atleast six times their age. Pot-bellies came into fashion and wrinkles were hidden behind layers of tilak. Some of them became ballistic and resorted to arson and pyrotechnics. Ofcourse, those were called yagyas at that time, which also doubled up as rave parties of the era. There was no respite for these guys, and ultimately most of them were forced into becoming life-long bachelors, a not-so-voluntary practice then known as Brahmcharya. Legend goes that every one out of hundred of these Brahmcharya-practitioners were awarded with a belly-dancer (locally known as Apsara), and 1/100 were better odds than what the rest of the Brahmins suffered.

To conclude, I hope that I have convinced you of this theory, with ample examples and proofs littered all over this post. This theory also explains various traits and practices of that society as we know them. In my next post, I will propose a new caste system, one that is representative of our times.

Acknowledgements: This research was supported by Kingfisher, who supplied beer cans, Pepe Lopez, who supplied tequila, and Samsung who provided the refridgeration.

Finally, some update

2007-06-24T03:57:00.000+05:30

Yes, I am alive. Thank you, thank you all (*waits for the ovation to die down). Now shut up and read. I have been in the US for the past few days for a conference (my annual pilgrimage). It is my bread-and-butter conference, so I had to go all the way to Oregon, to a town called Corvallis. The town's claim to fame is that it has no airport, so the journey here is quite a voyage. But enough about the town. I really have nothing to say today (as if I always do), so here are some ramblings:

a) It took me almost 24 hours to reach here and on reaching, all I wanted was someone to bang me on the head with a hammer and liberate me from this world. Now, after sitting through almost 35 presentations in two and a half days, I feel the same way.

b) I will never ever try to make a lame joke while making a presentation. Yes, you guessed it right, I made a stupid joke and only a few laughed. Rule of thumb is that if want to get people to laugh at your stupid utterances, you better be in MIT or Berkeley.

c) I really need to stop watching South Park. Now whenever I see a Chinese guy facing me, all I think is that he is about to say "Werrcome to Shitty Wok, take your order pree?"

d) Bubble baths are gay, but DAMN! they sure feel good.

e) By Murphy's Law, the most interesting papers are the ones presented by Chinese/Japanese presenters. So I cannot understand a thing beyond "Let x be a data point". And after the talk I get this urge to go eat a Momo/Sushi (see (c))

f) It is difficult to concentrate on the conference when the volunteers and catering staff are gorgeous. Conference organizers should make sure that the support staff is as ugly as the conference participants.

Now I gotta go checkout the news about how the motherland is doing while I am gone. But first, I gotta eat some noodles.

Blogger astounds self with borderline gay stuff

2007-05-21T17:32:00.000+05:30

DELHI (21 May): Area blogger Rahul Gupta is in the news once more, again for the wrong reasons. Reports indicate that he has surprised himself by doing some stuff, which in his own mature words are "gay or something".

Readers must be aware that after exhausting all avenues for shelter, he was forced to move alone in a new house last month. The last bastion of singledom, he was tired of giving people his magic Midas touch time and again, so a sentence of solitary confinement was gladly implemented by him. However, what happened next was amazingly horrifying. In an act of unprecented maturity, he bought carpets for his house, not one but three, along with more than a dozen curtains. Previously used to a spartan lifestyle, he finally decided to enjoy the feel of a rug beneath his feet. Eyewitnesses went on record with his ancient remarks to the effect that "Shopping for carpets and drapes is an activity best performed by women and their gay friends. No man worth his salt would be caught dead in a carpet emporium". It is reported that the sight of three well-laid out carpets brings tears of happiness to his eyes every single time he wakes up.

In another supposed blow to his manhood, he then went ahead and got a gas connection -- lock stock and a smoking cylinder. In his previous avatar, he had unilaterally declared that cooking or attempting to cook is an activity best left to moms and bais. Not only did he get a connection, but he was spotted buying more than five kinds of dals and bargaining with the utensils salesman, in a style reminiscent of the 80's when mothers used to barter old clothes for a new cooker. We are not sure if the blogger paid for his stuff using his t-shirt and jeans.

However, in a decisive blow to the last remnants of his testosterone, against all counsels he ventured inside the forbidden zone. The place which is more feminine than even a lingerie shop. Yes, you guessed it right. We are talking, ofcourse, of the place that sells sofa pillows. Those little square cushions whose purpose on earth is more futile than, say, an HR department's . Till now, the blogger had had a love hate relationship with these pillows from hetero-hell. However, yesterday, no less than five people spotted him taking a 'feel' of the pillows by gently brushing them with his fingers. He finally purchased three of them, but only after loudly declaring that he is buying them "only for smooth comfort which the back desperately needs". Three innocent bystanders who saw through his lies were instantly struck with nausea.

Subsequent manly activities of buying a wireless router, an iPod FM transmitter and gulping a few beers were too late and weak to undo the irreversible damage caused by the shopping mania.

As his friends continue to taunt him to "grow a pair", the blogger indicates that further damage to his machismo is expected in the near future, as he contemplates the purchase of a few coasters to save his furniture from beverage-induced condensation.

Ten million, and I was the fastest?

2007-04-30T23:25:00.000+05:30

DELHI (Apr 30) Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present the chronicles of one of the nation's supposedly crème de la crème.

This guy, India's hope, is trying to use his dashing new washing machine for the second time. All is hunky dory, the wash-cycle is on, only 38 minutes remain, the dude eats his dinner in peace, and waits for the washing to finish.

Only it doesn't. A trip to the machine reveals that it is stuck at 22 minutes and the rinse cycle is desperately trying to start. The spin cycle which comes after it has no chance in heaven. Totally flummoxed, the dude opens the lid and surveys the scene. Two seconds after watching the filthy goo floating around the tub, it strikes him. All his clothing posessions are in that tub, and if the #@%!@#$## machine doesn't resume, then his idea of Casual Tuesdays will become a tad more than just an idea.

Desperate, he tries Plan A, also known as the Microsoft Windows Plan. It involves switching the machine on and off rapidly enough to beat the living daylights out of the poor microchip but not fast enough to actually cause a meltdown. Just like Microsoft Windows, the plan doesn't work.

Switching to Plan B, he tries the mechanical way of things. That of physically knudging the tub clockwise to incite it to rotate. A gentle, and later, a harder nudge on the side is also added as an extra bit of measure. The tub, however, has other plans, mostly involving cosying up to the electric motor and spending quiet quality time of stillness amidst all the washing frenzy. Beads of nervous perspiration quietly form on the dude's forehead.

The time comes for Plan C. This mostly involves reading the manual (or RTFM as we comp geeks call it). Now real men never read the manual. Infact real men would rather sever their reproductive organs and neatly wrap them in cellophane than read the manual. The first thing that real men do when they buy an appliance is to roll joints from the manual's paper. But obviously real men haven't ever been forced in an only-baniyan-and-shorts-to-wear situation. So dude searches for the manual, only to discover that the manual is at a friend's house. Panic starts settling in, as even the internet refuses to locate an online manual. It is 10:45pm and uneasiness grips the dude, and understandably, he feels the need to use the restroom.

Plan D is now employed. It is not so much as a plan, rather a ritual. Consisting mostly of cuss words, about how this Indian nation can't prosper if they make crappy machines like these, and how LG sucks bigtime, and how he's gonna stick it to those lousy customer reps and service engineers, and how the dealer is gonna get more than an earful. The censor has a hard time bleeping out the diatribe. Totally exhausted after this verbal diarrhoea, the foolproof Plan E is now rolled into action.

That of physically transferring the clothes to a bucket and rinsing them manually. Totally shattered, the dude starts his ordeal and manages to clean all but one piece of cloth in a seemingly endless stretch of 20 minutes so far. It is then that he realizes that the drain pipe of the machine is still hooked vertically up instead of lying down by the drain.

Mixed feelings of euphoria, relief, shame, and anger rush in instantly. The Hindi phrase kaato-to-khoon-nahi seems apt for the situation. The drain pipe is unhooked, the cycle finishes, the machine beeps gleefully and everything is silent once more. Everything. Except the shattering of the pride.

Tomorrow I shall shave with Occam's razor.

The New Jersey Turnpike

2007-04-12T08:43:00.000+05:30

[Warning: Not for those who are afraid of turnpikes, or for that matter, footnotes]

DELHI (Apr 12): Us citizens, tourists and expats living in this allegedly great nation have to ask this question once and for all: Do we have to report every lame-wad news such as this?

Now I have read the news that I trashed, and evidently managing the New Jersey Turnpike is a big thing. So, I will no longer trash the above mentioned news item, and instead recount what happened to be the eighteenth most memorable incident in my life ¹.

It so happened that during the last fourth of July weekend, I found myself in the New York City area. In the past, I have found myself explaining my driving to a cop, sharing a bed with a fellow friend, programming on a calculator or doing something equally disgusting, but this was different. I was in the US for a conference and halted in NYC at a friend's place. Well technically it was across the river in New Jersey, but thats one tinsy tidbit the East Coast NRIs conveniently forget to mention in their tourist brochures.

Another one of my friend was driving alone from Toronto, little knowing that he would initiate a ghastly sequence of events in the hours to come². Being a true follower of Murphy's Law, he covered 485 miles out of 500 without any glitch, making only one stop on the way -- to buy an adult diaper. It was at the crucial mile no. 485, that he decided that he was lost 'somewhere around the Alexander Hamilton Service Station' and called us to come pick him up. Now that was a wise thing to do (calling us, not getting lost), and one would assume that a rescue mission would be trivial. Well, one would assume wrong.

My ~~NYC~~ New Jersey friend and I took a cab and left for the fateful Alexander Hamilton Service Station (AHSS). After driving for 20 minutes, we realized that the Hispanic cabbie knew more about rap music (which was blaring loudly in our ears throughout)³ than the AHSS. Ofcourse, his prison tattoos and his 300 pound physique precluded any questions from our side. We figured that a guy like him would never need to go to a service station, he would just lift the car with one hand, look underneath the chassis and repair the fault with the other hand⁴.

So we reached the famous turnpike and saw a deadly sight. That of a zombie ~~black~~ African-American tollbooth operator waiting to pounce on us and rip our kidneys apart unless we paid the 1$ toll. After the driver duly paid the toll ⁵ and crossed over, he realized that he had come the wrong way. Two miles and a U-turn later, we paid the toll again, and precisely six minutes later, we landed at the exact tollbooth again, manned by the same operator from hell. Unfortunately, this was not our last rendezvous with the tollbooth, and like a toll-addict, we made six more stops at the exact same booth. The operator had begun to wonder if we wanted to ask him out but were too shy to ask. If anyone was watching from above, s/he would think that we were doing F1 laps, except that our Ford model cab was so dilapidated that even Henry Ford himself would have felt ashamed to step into it.

Meanwhile, our Canadian friend had called up a gazillion times asking for our status, liberally sprinkling his queries with the four letter word. So after swallowing his burrito and then his ego, the cabbie finally decided to ask a local for directions. Only that it was around midnight, and the local turned out to be a 60-year old African-American⁶ crack addict, and the neighborhood turned out to be a ghetto. I mentally prepared to ask the question -- "If you don't shoot or mug me or try to sell me crack, can I ask you where the AHSS is?", but luckily our cabbie did the honours -- by furiously banging on the crackhead's car and asking "YO!! 'SSUP? Y'ALL KNOW WHERE THE ALEXANDER HAMILTON STATION IS??". The dude pointed us towards the direction, and we drove off before he could ask us for any spare change.

All was finally well, we picked up our friend one hour after we had promised we would, and as a reward we got our butts kicked and got to eat his prized leftover chips. And for old times sake, we took the NJ Turnpike on the way back and paid a 1$ toll for, what I hope, the last time in my life.

¹ As an ex-IITian, I reserve the right to publish a highly mediocre book about my top ten, so don't wait up for me to blog about them. The title of the book will be on the lines of "Anything for a night with five point something ma'am at a call center", so something equally risque.

² Eight hours to be precise. He passed time via eating chips and refueling his car. Or did his car pass time by gorging on Lays and feeding him gasoline? I really cannot recall.

³ Thanks to rap music, I realized that every girl in New Jersey is a bitch or a ho'.

⁴ All the while eating a burrito. Yes, we believe in racial stereotyping. I have personally taken a 2-week stereotyping course.

⁵ For some reason, he had a roll of 1$ bills. We thought he was taking us to a stripclub containing some of them bitches and ho's.

⁶ Well la di da! I feel so politically correct now.

What makes you sicker?

2007-03-28T10:46:00.000+05:30

[Warning: No humor, only rant. Read at your own risk.]

India's pre-mature exit from the World Cup? Or the thousands of post-mortem analyses written by nincompoops with access to a keyboard?

For me, it is the latter and in this post, I shall strive to join the abovesaid thousand idiots, but not by posting a why-I-think-India-lost. As an engineer, I know the fallacies in making a judgement from a handful of data (two losses). And frankly speaking, I watch cricket with the naivety of a three year old child. I have no idea what a green grassy pitch implies. I have no clue how reverse swing works (although I have read about it a couple of times, and I keep forgetting), and frankly I do not break any sweat over my ignorance of the technical aspects of the game. There! I said it.

What I do not understand is this: When India lost a series each to Sri Lanka and West Indies, and badly I might add, there were no such inane analyses. India lost four out of five games against West Indies, there is a lot you can say about the teams and their shortcomings based on this data. Now India lost one game apiece to two different teams, and suddenly every self-appointed know-it-all jerk in the nation seems to have a rock solid theory about what exactly the pain points were, based on only two games.

I am no fan of the Indian coach, or that idiot who has overstayed his welcome in the team (Sachin), but calling for their heads is totally uncalled for, based on these two games. We played, and we were outplayed on both the occasions. Get over it already! Why do we find it so hard to accept that one side has to lose, and unless we are not careful, that side will be ours. Thats all there is to it. Atleast for me, that seems to be simplest explanation.

Rat's behind and city rankings

2007-03-12T17:32:00.000+05:30

[Warning: Longish Post. Sorry rahega.]

BOMBAY (12 Mar) Living in Delhi for 9 years and in Bombay for almost 2 has made me an expert in the hot emerging area of "city-comparison", according to people. Everywhere I go, I am swarmed with hordes of strangers who think that asking a Delhi vs Bombay question is a helluva icebreaker, which is really good because otherwise they would ask embarassing questions like "Is your wife in Bombay too?" (No such entity), and "How is your PhD?" (Excruciatingly slow). This post is dedicated to such noble creatures. I present some sample conversations; the dialogues marked "Them" are real, and the ones marked "Me" are the ones I would have really liked to make:

Them: Wow! Bombay eh? City of dreams? Bollywood-Shollywood eh? How many film stars have you seen?
Me: Oh I see them all the time. Living in an IIT hostel sure has its perks you see. My next door neighbour is Abhishek Bachchan, and I can hear him making threatening phone calls to the tree that Aishwarya married.
Them: Oh stop kidding! So tell me, have you witnessed any gangster shootouts there?
Me: Yes why not. I moonlight as a country liquor merchant in Dharavi and have shot a few non-paying customers myself. Ram Gopal Varma is dead-right about this gangster thingie. Everyone in Bombay is shooting either a film or a fellow gangster. Infact, Mumbai police provides every resident
with a revolver for self-defense.
Them: So how do you find Bombay as compared to Delhi?
Me: I will mail you a 500-word laminated report, so you can read my expert opinions at your leisure.

Them: DELHI!! SAHI HAI OYE, BALLE BALLE!!
Me: ...
Them: Balle Balle ummmm.
Me: I am waiting for the question.
Them: Oh I thought you are a Punjabi, aren't you?
Me: Yes, all Delhites are required by law to be Punjabi. Infact people from any other races are shot on sight. I, however, have Haryanvi roots.
Them: Still, its the same thing na?
Me: Yes, as interchangeable as Gujju and Marathi.
Them: I see. So you must have found Bombay culturally very....whats the word for it...different. Isn't it?
Me: Yes, at first I couldn't put my finger on it, but after a few months, I realized that I am in a different city.

Them: Yaar, Bombay girls are very easy going na? I mean not like these god-awful Delhi girls.
Me: My easy academic life has given me plenty of chances to talk to plenty of girls (three in all). One of them switched teams after talking to me, another one put her matrimonial plans on the fast track, and the third one refused to return my calls. So I have no conclusions.
Them: No, but its true na that Bombay girls don't refuse if you ask them for a dance, they flirt back, and are generally looking for a "good time". (This is usually accompanied by a wink, or if I am lucky, a nudge in the elbow, or both.)
Me: Well I don't know about that because I am usually denied stag entry in the clubs and paying a hefty cover charge is against my second principle. (My first principle is that a beer-night should never go by sober). And I think if I try to flirt with a girl, she will most probably interpret it as the initiation of a possible molestation.
Them: So how would you rate the girls in the two cities?
Me: You are not listening. My policy is that be it Delhi or Bombay, I don't bug the girls and they don't bug me. Until the time for marriage comes, when I will choose exactly one girl to bug for the rest of her life (or mine, whichever is shorter).

Them: Cool man! You live in Delhi. There are a lot of parks and stuff na?
Me: Yes, every house has a lawn, including my first floor flat.
Them: And there are a lot of cars too, right?
Me: Yes, Delhi is trying to beat Los Angeles in the cars per capita metric.
Them: And wide roads too!
Me: Sure that too. All roads in Delhi, including the bylanes and services lanes are twice the width of the Western Express Highway. And all Santros and Zens that are sold in Delhi are as wide as an ATR airplane. We sure have it going on in Delhi.
Them: Yeah yeah! We Bombayites pay 1/3 of the taxes and you Delhites reap the benefits. Not fair!
Me: There are two ways to remove this disparity. Either Delhi pays as much tax as Bombay or vice versa. Which one do you think is more feasible?

In all fairness though, I would never have the guts to say all this, because like everyone, I too would hate to be beaten up. Frankly, for me, both the cities suck and rock equally. The "spirit of Mumbai" provides as much fodder for laughter as "dil waalo ki Delhi". Whats that you say? Bombay is safer for women, including at night? Well we are working towards correcting that pal. Everyday, hundreds of our brethren are descending in Bombay from exotic places like Etawah, Rohtak, Azamgarh, Munger and Darbhanga to cater to the eve-teasing needs of the women in Bombay.

So as far as the Delhi vs Bombay question is concerned, I will answer that as soon as I get my face out of the armpit of my co-passenger and get off this local. It will most probably be that I don't give a rat's behind.

I will leave you with a Bombay FAQ for now:

Q. When does a Bombay-man get an orgasm?
A. When he finds an empty seat on the Churchgate-Virar fast local during rush hour.

Q. How do you know where a particular Mumbai guy hails from?
A. Pick up a fight with him. If he yells at you continuously for 43 minutes, he is a Marathi. If he argues with you for 2 minutes and leaves for his office, he is a Gujju. If he bashes you up and gives you multiple fractures, he is a Sikh cab driver from Sion Koliwada. If he sends goons to beat you up, he is Bal Thackeray (a mutant sample of the Marathi population).

Q. What should I eat when I am in Bombay?
A. The food ordinance permits only Vada Pao and Dhokla. If tea must be partaken, it should be asked for in units of "cutting". Asking for just "ek chai" will make you look like a damn fool from Delhi.

Q. Why are Marathi food portions so small?
A. So that you have room for the main course -- Vada Pao and Dhokla.

Q. Can't I just drive to work everyday in Bombay?
A. Sure, if your office operates only on Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

Q. REALLY!! Does it take ONE DAY to commute??
A. No. You will reach your office in three hours tops. But it will take you another fifteen to find a parking space.

Q. Where in Bombay, can I get, ummm..., you know, get physical with the ladies?
A. Try entering the ladies compartment of any local during rush hour. You will get more than you bargained for.

Anatomy of an Indian Bachelor Party - II

2007-02-22T20:50:00.000+05:30

BOMBAY (Feb 22) This is the second installment of a two-part post on the tradition of the Great Indian Bachelor Party (BP).

Hmmm, so where were we? Yes, we, i.e. the friends of the soon to be ex-bachelor were ruing the fact that hiring strippers in India is not only illegal, but also impossible for mortal folks.

So the BP minus the lady starts like any other party on the block. One by one, the visitors start trickling in. The ones already inside the house look at the door in eager anticipation that somehow a stripper has been magically procured, while the ones entering (who bear no resemblance to a stripper I might add) invariably ask -- "Aw man! You guys didn't arrange for any ladies tonight!!" with the nonchalance that only pimps and dandies possess.

The rest of the night is planned out to consist of three major events --- raunchy music and dance, porno talk and last but not least, borderline homoerotica. The third event is often used as a substitute for strippers, and all objections and complaints against it are usually drowned in a pool of alcohol. Now, the chronological sequence of these three events is usually decided impromptu, judging by the "mood" of the party, but often it is also dictated by the loudest (and usually the most drunk) member of the group. For the sake of brevity, we shall call this member LM. Note that the identity of LM changes continuously with the passage of time and the drinks tray.

Now to get the mood started, some nice chap, may God curse his soul, plays such an item number that any man worth his testosterone would need atleast half a litre of alcohol to gyrate on it. Shining examples of such songs are -- Mera chain wain sab ujdaa (aka Kajra re), Chadhti jawani meri chaal mastaani, and Husn ke hazaar rang..kaunsa rang dekhoge. After fulfilling the minimum drink requirement for these songs, a bunch of guys hit the dance floor usually in the form of a central dancer aka the alpha male, who is surrounded on all sides by the "extras" aka the beta males who try to seduce the alpha male with their *hot* dance moves.

A word is in order about the dance moves here. These moves would never see the light of the day if it were not for these BPs. Mature sober men turn into orang-utangs, and the bold and naughty ones metamorphosize into a deadly mix of Amrish Puris and Gulshan Grovers. Random hands grab random waists, and cozy ballroom dancing ensues, periodically interrupted by lusty thumkas. Oodles of pot-belly flesh are paraded in public when a few banians are taken-off/ripped-off the dancers, initiated usually by the LM. In short, such choregraphic masterpieces are created that would make even Rakhi Sawant snort her ugly little nose with disgust. Ofcourse, like in every alcohol-aided dance party, there are people who take undue physical advantage of others, this time without paying any heed to the gender parity.

During this moment, all the fencesitters, who are trying to look casual by sipping gracefully on their drinks and making light banter, are secretly thinking -- "Shit! If I enter this dance-floor of death, I will definitely lose my virginity the wrong way tonight!". They resist all attempts by the alpha-beta male dancers to pull them into their midst, using excuses like "Aw its ok, I gotta get me a drink first" and "No you guys go ahead, you guys rock! Woohoooo!!", while the drunkard inviter goes "kjdgjkhag lmjf gjhh eqoiowe, kajra re! kajra re! mera kaale kaale naina!" twisting his not-so-supple waist the entire time.

I should state here that all efforts notwithstanding, by the end of the song and dance sequence, there is not a single soul in the group who hasn't been fondled and groped by his fellowmen. So, one way or the other, all the gropers and gropees are slightly tired at this time, which leads the party into Phase 2.

Phase Two deals with all the BP folks, having put their banians (or shreds thereof) back on, calmly resting around the TV set. A poll is now taken as to whether the time is ripe for doing a pondi-quiz or watching a pondi movie. Now we all know about pondi movies, don't we? So I won't say too much about them, except that watching a pondi movie with twenty other chaps is perhaps the sorriest sight ever! I will not discuss the pondi-quiz too, lest my blog is swarmed by sex-addicts and is perma-filtered by blogspot. But just to give you a brief idea, at the end of the quiz, one realizes that all his friends are perhaps the most perverted sickos to walk the planet, and hence, are perfect companions and equals.

Finally, after all this is over, enters the optional Phase Three. This is the deadliest phase of them all. It decides whether one will return home like a normal man (viz. more than half-dressed and with atmost 1 litre of alcohol inside), or like a naked homeless guy. For you see, this is the free-for-all phase, where one is allowed to do almost anything to anyone. And that includes dousing with alcohol (but not setting on fire, thats not cool), re-ripping the banians or even shorts, wrestling, and even doing stuff that is driven by hormones. I personally didn't have the misfortune to find out more about Phase Three, but I have seen pictures, and my life has never been the same again, to say the least.

This brings me to the end of the BP. I must admit now, that I have broken the first commandment of the BP, viz. you don't talk about BP. As a punishment, I might be murdered, or worse, cast as the alpha-male in the next BP. And to that I say:

The BPs are gruesome, cruel, and *beep*,
But I have many invitations to keep,
And thousands of banians to purchase before I sleep,
And thousands of banians to purchase before I sleep.

Anatomy of an Indian Bachelor Party - I

2007-02-12T15:01:00.000+05:30

[Warning: Longish post. Will be posted in two installments]

BOMBAY (29 JAN): If you have a friend getting married and have been given the onerous burden of throwing a bachelor party for him, or if you are a non-Indian looking to mock us Indians, then look no further because the buck stops at this post.

The Bachelor Party (BP) is yet another Americanism that has been twisted and amalgamated into the Indian society, much like the Kadahi-Paneer Pizza and McAaloo-Tikki burgers. During the import of this noble concept, many of the aspects have been altered or dropped and new ones have been added to cater to the needs of the Indian males.

As a member of the elite group, who has attended one such party and missed two, I consider this as my duty to reproduce factual accounts of what actually happens behind closed doors in such scenarios.

The saga usually begins with discussions over beer (another priceless import), and two guys are nominated whose sole job is to generate excitement about the BP, about how good its going to be, and how anyone who doesn't attend the BP is such a loser that he shouldn't have come out of his mama's womb. You could say that they are almost, but not as good as, the Microsoft PR and Marketing professionals. Such guys are usually required to have a superficial knowledge of the black-ghetto vocabulary, and anyone who has lived in South Central Los Angeles or New York Harlem is a natural qualifier. You can expect these fine human beings to spout periodic utterances like "yo dawg! This parteh is gonna rock!" or "We gonna pimp tonight dude!" and so on.

By this time, people are so excited about the party that they start peeing their pants off, consequently causing an increase in the sales of Lee and Levis. Adult diapers have yet to take off in this country, it seems. Anyway, I digress, but the point is that by this time, every virgin in the group starts believing that this night is his night, and every veteran thinks that he is gonna have that elusive menage-a-trois for sure.

The next step involves planning the logistics, which in India means arranging for Old Monk, Royal Stag and Romanov, along with 10 kilos of namkeen and 5 kgs of Paneer Tikka. In the ten days leading to the BP, the drama increases exponentially, with lunch room banters, urinal conversations revolving about the party instead of "that hot new chick in HR, who, I am positive is giving me the eye".

However, as the days pass by, it becomes the duty of every guy in the group to moan about the fact that how not being able to hire strippers sucks. The virgins are usually the most vocal in voicing this complaint. This is usually followed by brainstorming session on "what to do now?".

The answer to this question varies from city to city. In Bombay, till last year, it meant going to a dance bar with a few wads of Rs 10 notes. In Delhi, it meant and still means going to the sole cabaret place in the city where it seems Rs 50 can buy you "Sharara Sharara" (a sleazy Indian song, admired by all desperadoes including married men). Yeah I know, it is not the same, but it is pretty much what you can do short of traveling in a cab adorned with blue-tubelights (Bombay), and driving past Connaught Place at night with the car windows rolled down (Delhi).

However, the BP organizers are an enterprising bunch. They are usually not bothered with trifling minor irritatants such as the lack of a stripper ruin it for them. Their 'improvisations', for the lack of a better word, will be described in the second part of the post. This, and much more, when we return after these messages.

I am alive

2007-02-07T17:00:00.000+05:30

BOMBAY (Feb 7): No, all ye faithful readers of this blog, I am neither dead nor without an internet connection. I was and still am busy with a paper submission deadline. Sigh! the things that people do in the name of higher studies. In order to not lose my meagre readership, I thought of giving a not-so-brief update.

I turned 27 a couple of weeks ago, amidst considerable fanfare, sponsored by my partners in crime at IIT. A couple of eggs were gifted to me, in the hope that atleast one of them would find its way on top of my scalp, but my ninja moves ensured that it was not to be. Some highly unconventional gifts were received, including one that questioned my sexuality, but moi loved them all equally nonetheless. This was the first of the series of birthdays that I have officially decided to hate. Twenty seven, as it turns out, is on the wrong side of twenty five, especially for a single man suffering from hairloss.

In other personal news, I managed to finish the Mumbai marathon in a decent (for me) 2 hrs 14 mins and this is the last sentence I will write about it, lest you all tie me to a stake and burn me for this shameless piece of self-advertising.

Finally, an old undergrad friend of mine has started a blog. So if you came here looking for examples of good penmanship, then please proceed further. I, for one, am looking forward to discussing gay topics like HTML templates, comment moderation, lack of readers and low pagerank with him. Ofcourse mutual backscratching in the form of inter-blog comments with him is tacit.

Asterix
PS: I had drafted the first half of a post on a topic, which I feel is spicy and cheap enough to attract comments. No wait, not just spicy, but TOI spicy. Something that the esteemed newspaper would be proud to carry on their front page. So please look out. And as usual, thanks for stopping by.

Blogger confesses to blogger's block

2007-01-10T11:01:00.000+05:30

BOMBAY (Jan 10) I realized that for the past few months all my posts are about either half-marathons or passenger announcements on the Delhi-Mumbai-Delhi air route [We welcome you all to the Mumbai domestic airport blah blah]. Then I realized that this is nothing but an acute case of blogger's block. Ok ok, I admit that every living creature with an ounce of brain can write a blog, so why can't I?

And the answer, my great readers, is as follows. Over the past few days I have been thinking about a slew of earth-shattering topics and I cannot decide which one to pen down in a burst of my mediocrity. This impasse is intolerable and it is tearing me apart. So to do justice to all of them, here is a list of all the issues I had started writing about, but lost steam midway:

The futility of the middle urinal in a men's toilet. I am a vociferous advocate of the island-urinal theory. The theory states that all urinals must be atleast 3 feet away from each other -- which makes each urinal like an island. Not only will this provide ample privacy to the users, but also help in avoiding the '505' situation [This happens when there are three urinals and there is a queue of five people each for the first and last urinals, with the middle one being unoccupied].
How FBI solved the case of the mysterious gas in Manhattan. They finally attributed it to the BO of the hordes of desis living across the Hudson river in the Indian ghetto called Jersey City. Apparently it was so cold on 6th January, that all desis (only males mind you, females somehow manage a daily bath) decided to skip their shower and showed up at work in Manhattan armed with only a whiff of the Brut deodorant (Economy Pack).
How India is fighting hard with Zimbabwe and Bangladesh for the 11th rank among the list of 12 cricket playing nations. And if the present Indian performances in West Indies, Champions Trophy and South Africa are any indicators, India would soon have to slug it out with Holland and Canada to even qualify in the World Cup.
What on earth were the inventors/discoverers of beer and paneer thinking? The beer guy must have thought aloud -- "Umm let see, this drink totally sucks ass, but let me drink it another 10-12 times and see if it grows on me". And the paneer guy -- "Just for fun, let me add some lemon juice to this boiling milk and see what happens. Oooh! I get this amorphous stuff, let me try and give it some shape and eat it with peas and onions anyway".
Short of a sex-change operation and wearing lipstick, what should I do to get as many comments as some of the female bloggers. Even if they sneeze, their "Aaachhoooo" gets a lot of insightful comments of the kind -- "LOL! That was a funny post", "ROFLLMAO! You have an amazing sense of humor. Any chance I can get you into bed now?", "Your sneeze has raised very important questions. The air pollution in this city has grown beyond the limits of tolerance. Let us hold a discussion in the comments section now" and my personal favourite -- "Your freedom to write such a sneeze post shows us all that we are indeed living in a free-market-libertarian-agnostic-left-leaning-right-twisting-moresuch-dumbass-buzzwords democracy."

So you see, my hyperactive brain has been thinking about all these problems that the world is riddled with. I just don't have the time and energy to put it down anymore. Maybe I will just outsource it all to one of them Chinese guys named Sean Wang or some such.

Farewell and hello

2007-01-03T00:15:00.000+05:30

Its that time of the year again. With a heavy heart, I must say bye to a lot of things --- good food, my dhanno (i.e. Zen), the fog, fundoo winter with all its perks (garam chai, razaai), long drives. And say hello to vada pao, locals, the humidity, cold showers and long walks in the campus.

Delhi, here I go. Mumbai, here I come. If only for three months but what the heck!

Seems like Delhi has everything to offer, but then Mumbai has atleast that one admirable trait --- fundoo bindaas girls :) And suddenly everything seems worthwhile.

Hope to see most of you on 21st in the Mumbai Half Marathon.

Going the family way

2006-12-26T18:49:00.000+05:30

A single man's life is a waste. I say this because till recently, I was a single man. This holiday season, I decided that enough was enough and that I would find true happiness by the year end. I couldn't have been truer.

For you see, today I met someone. It has been called 'the thunderbolt' or 'love at first sight' but whatever the prose, the poetry remains the same. I am in love. Let me offer a feeble attempt at describing my true love.

Thin and slim, light as a feature, with a fragile figure that redefines the word "delicate". And what a complexion! With Just the right hue, the skin sure has a magical glow. And that soft touch! A mere brush with the finger is enough to send shivers. And before I get too consumed by the physicality of the thing, let me just say that I have never met someone so easygoing and friendly. A personality that is sophisticated yet not fussy.

I have just one teeny-tiny complaint though. I wish my new iPod cost the same in India that it does in the US. Well, as they say, "har kisi ko muqammal jahan nahin milta..." (you can't have a cake and eat it too).

PS: We have decided that we will only have two cherubic 512MB iShuffles and no more.

Reports reveal every Indian part of three mobs

2006-12-01T11:30:00.000+05:30

DELHI (Dec 1): Recent surveys have finally confirmed a long standing suspicion --- every Indian is a member of an average of 3.1 mobs at any given time of the year. The survey was done on an international scale across continents, with the sole aim of gauging the 'group dynamics' prevalent in various countries.

With 3.1 mobs per capita (mpc), India leads the tally, leaving its nearest competitor Iraq far behind with just 1.2 mpc. Pakistan, Somalia, Serbia and Rwanda were awarded the joint third prize with 1.1 mpc each. The usual suspects --- Finland and Norway, brought up the rear with an mpc of 0.001, that arose because of a fight during a football match between the two countries.

The survey also tried to find the reasons behind such phenomenal Indian success. It appears that while the Middle Eastern and African mobs focus only on Sunni vs Shia conflicts or Military vs Civilian fights, the Indian mobs have cleverly avoided putting all their eggs in one basket. They have successfully diversified into Dalit vs non-Dalit, militant feminism, Ganguly-haters vs worshippers , Kaif vs non-Kaif, idolizers vs idol-desecrators, pro vs anti-reservationists and so on.

"And this is in addition to our major offering --- the classic, good old fashioned Hindu vs Muslim clash, which alone guarantees five carnages every year", gushes a high powered official at the Vishwa Hindu Parishad.

In an order to maintain their world supremacy, the Indian mobs have started thinking about their future already. Taking a leaf from the corporate books, they have started exploring hitherto unknown avenues.

"We cannot reveal all our business plans at the moment but here is one that is in the advanced stages of development. Take, for instance, the airplane toilets with their fancy western commodes. Now what is my Uncle from Jaunpur, who has squatted all his life, supposed to do? Besides, adhering to western standards clearly reflects poorly on our great Indian squatting tradition!!", reveals another animated character from Bangalore division of the Indian Mobs.
"To counter this, we are planning a mass burning of atleast five airplanes, along with 20000 litres of aviation fuel, so that they get our message!", he adds.

Heart-rending indeed. And with such ambitious plans in civil aviation, retail, manufacturing and agriculture, the mobs will need enormous manpower. Luckily, India is the second most populous nation (another shining distinction), with one gullible sucker born every second.

We talked to the chief recruitment officer (CRO) here in Delhi.

"Inside every civilized man, there is an animal waiting to set free. One who wants to burn, destroy, rape, pillage, plunder and in general, enjoy life to the fullest. As an individual, all his dreams will perhaps go unfulfilled. But at Indian Mobs, we let him get in touch with like-minded compatriots and re-educate him. Remember, over here, cowardice is not an affliction, its a god-given gift.", said the CRO, echoing the manifesto of Indian Mobs.

We also got in touch with the CEO of Indian Mobs and asked him what he felt about the 3.1 mpc mark.

"Measly 3.1 !!!! How dare they?? My estimate was atleast a 3.8-3.9. Those damned survey companies!! We'll show them! Two hours of stoning and burning their offices should increase their count to 3.5 atleast", answered the CEO, visibly agitated and getting into character.

"But even with 3.9, we have a long way to go towards our 2010 goal of 5 mpc", he sighed.

Indeed, from the Quit India Movement of 1942 to the Quit Muslim Movement in Godhra 2005, Indian Mobs have indeed so evolved beyond recognition, that it brings a tear to this reporter's eye.

Pardon my self-indulgence

2006-11-29T09:52:00.000+05:30

But I was bubbling to say this. This weekend was spent at Hyderabad, and the aim was to run the Hyd half-marathon on Sunday. The stay was very comfortable, courtesy the wonderful hospitality of Raghu's parents and extended family.

Although both Raghu and I were scared because the starting time was 6am and we only had three hours of sleep the previous night, but we somehow made it just five minutes late. The marathon itself was pathetically organized (bad medicinal+water infrastructure), but the run itself was great and there were only 200 odd runners in the half-marathon, with no Kenyans/Ethiopians to spoil the party.

Both of us managed to vastly improve our personal best, clocking 2 hrs 9 mins each. As Raghu rightly mentioned, we managed to finish within twice the winner's time, and thats a mean achievement!

I will stop now before I lose any more readers.

Only in India

2006-11-23T21:18:00.000+05:30

For every smart person in this country, a hundred morons are born to level the equation back to zero.
Consider this hypothetical situation. A guy takes his 10 year old son to a multiplex. But mistakenly, they enter the wrong theatre where the movie has already started. Soon, a couple of adult scenes come up on the screen. Now after the usual reaction of shock and awe, much publicized by Bush in Iraq, the father has the following options:

a) Sit through the movie as if nothing has happened.
b) Walk out of the movie with his son, and ignore this incident.
c) Sue the multiplex for letting a kid enter an auditorium that is screening R-rated movies.
d) File a case with the authorities, asking for the immediate termination of the multiplex as it is showing content that goes against the 'great' Indian heritage.

Now a bold father would go for (a) (I wish my dad was this cool), and a sensible one would go for (b). A slightly firebrand father would accept (c). And remember the moron I talked about earlier? Yes, idiots of those kind would go for (d). I hope that you would agree that anyone who opts for (d) is a Darwin-award qualifier for surviving evolution inspite of nowhere being the smartest.

Now let us replace the hypothetical situation with a real one. Replace 'multiplex' by Orkut, 'movies' by Orkut communities, 'adult content' by an obscure Anti-Shivaji community, and the moronic father figure by this wonder of evolution called 'Subodh Balsaraf'. Yes, he discovered the said community, and has filed a PIL in the high-court, seeking immediate banning of Orkut in India. More details here.

In the not-too-distant past, the Indian government matched such an act with a flawlessly stupid performance of their own --- blocking blogspot for a few days. So this has me worried, because the fate of my 12554 'frenship' requests now hangs in a delicate balance.

I will not go into the details of the dozens of fallacies in Mr. Balsaraf's case. They are too many and too obvious --- freedom of expression, obscure community, low Orkut penetration, American website, state-sponsored censorship and so on.

Just makes me think that is Shivaji's stature so fragile that nincompoops like Mr. Balsaraf have to constantly defend it using such means? Sadly, it seems so.

Of tippers and tippees

2006-11-03T19:48:00.000+05:30

Ok ok I admit the last word is made up. But I am talking about one of the great pillars of the Indian cultural heritage --- bakhsheesh a.k.a. 'tip'. Like every good son, I too celebrate Diwali at home with my family. Now, my folks live in Lucknow, which is pretty much a provincial town, the new Pijja Hut and Cafe Coffeeday notwithstanding. Ya ya, I know, a metro doth not a Cafe make, but I guess you know what I am trying to say. The bakhsheesh syndrome (BS) is in full swing in such towns during such occasions.

A few days before any major festival like the D-day, there is palpable BS in the air. Hordes of wannabe and veteran tippees start popping up all over the neighbourhood, like dengue cases in Delhi. They come in all colors and shapes too. You have the postman, the garbageman, the bai, the 23 peons in sarkari offices (my dad is a bank manager in a nationalized bank), the driver, the Blue Dart courier delivery kid, the watchman and so on. Every year, I find a whole new genre of tippees showing up at my folks' house.

Now as all of you know, the tipping process is a three-way handshake. First, the tippee initiates the courting process, where he/she sends out pheromones to allure the tipper. The second phase is when the tipper acknowledges that he/she too feels the same way and the third phase deals with the negotiation and transfer of the tip.

The courting phase is usually almost silent, with all signals exchanged aankho-hi-aankho-mein. I say "almost silent", because, usually phlegm is always involved. For example, the postman shows up to deliver a greeting card from my relative, and then lingers, all the while coughing his lungs out in order to convey his desire for the tip. I part with some of my money, just to keep a safe distance from him. The courier kid is pretty savvy in this aspect. He acts coy, flutters his eyebrows, smiles and tells me that he has come 200 metres out of his way, in the afternoon, just to deliver my junk mail. This ploy always works with me, because I get all weak-kneed and get entangled in throes of passion with him, also involving a 20-rupee note.

The garbageman and the watchman usually do not believe in a silent exchange of vows. They show up at the door and go "SHOW ME THE MONEY!!" (politely ofcourse), as if the Lord himself has chosen them to be tipped on the holi day. Nothing wrong with that, its quick, simple and effective. But lacks that element of romance and elusion, the playing-hard-to-get feeling, which is very essential in a relationship between a tipper and a tippee. It is very important for love and money to co-exist, if you ask me.

Then comes the mothership of all tippees -- yes, thats right! The bai. Unlike the watchman and the courier-kid, this one doesn't have to indulge in any foreplay or dirty-talk to get her tip (Ya I know what you are thinking, you SICKO!, it doesn't mean that). It is tacit that the day before Diwali, she is going to get a big load of gifts from my mom. This time, I was fortunate enough to witness the holy transaction. It involved a saree, two boxes of sweets, a packet of almonds and some trinkets. The goodwill, the bonhomie was too much for me to handle and I had to turn towards my computer-game, lest they see my tears of joy. A happy home is definitely one where the parents and the bai live in perfect symbiotic harmony.

Apart from the fine gentlemen and ladies who comprise the class of tippees, we have the extortionists who take undue advantage of the situation (ya i know, the word "undue" is unduly used). These are usually members of some vague mandir committee, who wish to construct a western style toliet in the temple compound, for the squatting pleasure of the priest. These people show a matter-of-fact attitude, as if my wallet really belongs to the Lord (Hindus say there are 84 crores of them, so which one?). Then begins the stare game, where I try to act macho and unyielding, but something about the triple-stripe tilak on their foreheads convinces me that they will break my bones if I don't pay up.

The other kind of extortionists usually consist of some people representing an orphanage, who soul-stirringly explain how the orphans will celebrate a dark diwali unless I fork out fifty bucks. All fine and good, except that the orphanage's name has three spelling errors, and there is no register, which makes me suspect the entire operation. Sometimes they do end up taking my hard earned dough, but mostly, I too give an Oscar-winning performance on the lines of "Aapke sahyogi [colleague] aaye the, unko hum de chuke hain. Diwali ki shubh-kaamnaayein".

The final kind of tippees comprise of the lucky ones, who usually are not looking to get involved, but circumstances throws them into the relationship. Allow me to elaborate. In the few days after Diwali, somehow there usually is some electrical and/or plumbing problem with the house, which requires minor repairs. The repairmen show up and do their task diligently. Now before they leave, and here comes the good part, my mom usually shows up with a box of cashews for them to take home. Strictly, this is not a tip, because they don't ask for it, and we don't grudge giving it. But the sight of a quintal of dry fruits and a ton of barfis as gifts is enough to break the strongest of us. Strong enough for my mom atleast.

I hope I have convinced you of the rich cultural heritage we carry, and as a sign of being patriotic, I hereby request you...ahem! ahem! (cough)....to shell out a buck or two whenever you read my blog.

Asterix
PS: I thought I had seen it all, but a week after Diwali, my Delhi-waala garbageman showed up for a tip. It was also the first time he had offered to pick up the garbage of my house. I told him that I am flattered, but I am already seeing someone. Fidelity is important to me.

Its done. Its over

2006-10-16T09:51:00.000+05:30

Thats what Frodo said when he finally threw the One Ring in the fiery chasm of Mount Doom. I say this because I finally successfully finished the 21 km Half-Marathon in Delhi this Sunday.

It had been a dream of a small boy living in a big city, aka me. Finally joining my ranks, was Goldie-Boy, who was running to impress his fiancee. And so we ran, finishing the race in two and a half hours each, thereby setting a personal record of sorts.

The race was rife with all elements of a successful drama --- will power, focus, the inevitable cramp at 16 kms, limping, mixing jogging and walking, and the cheerleaders. Goldie did it for his fiancee and I did it for those unnamed cheerleaders from Kingfisher.

If there was ever a sight prettier than those Kingfisher-ians doing their stuff, it was the sight of the 20km milestone, which signified that the end was nigh.

I will stop here and nurse my sore legs and will advise all of you to go and do it atleast once. A warm fuzzy feeling is guaranteed.

What's in a face?

2006-10-12T20:55:00.000+05:30

So I ask. Vehemently. Roxette's "Look" was sung for people like me, albeit with a tad different context. This face of mine has led me to nothing but misery all these years. Let me offer some sample evidences from a long list, gleaned over all these tiresome years.

a) I show up at my hostel on the first day of my college life. Its September and I am sweating like a pig. Ten other freshies are standing like fools in the hallway, looking like nothing but prime beef to a group of seniors. They walk across us, sizing us up and making up their mind as to who to rag first. "Let us begin with this idiot", says one overlord, pointing straight at me. "He looks dazed, scared and is sweating already", he justifies. Now anyone who has lived in Delhi knows what September heat is like, but nooooo!, I have "got the look", and hence it is I who will begin the ragging saga of 1997. And in the process, become one of the most ragged freshmen in my batch.

b) Chweeet little cherubic kids, who are otherwise cooing away peacefully, turn to stone, or worse, start crying when I offer them a glimpse of my mug. This has happened way too often to be a freaking coincidence. I have been beaten in this game by foul-smelling alcoholic males who instantly turn the little tear producers into laughing Budhdhas again. Doesn't help my sagging confidence, if you ask me. However, sometimes crying babies stop their routine on my sight. I guess thats because their vocal cords develop rigor-mortis or something.

c) I can't even count the number of times strangers have looked at me and said, "Oh come on! You look like the kinda guy who won't hesitate to drink or eat non-veg food". Repeatedly denying any such accusations have proven futile. Such conversations usually include dialogues of the kind: "Sweet Moses!!! Really!!!! No meat all all!! I could have bet my right hand that you would chase a chicken and gulp it down". It became so bad a few years back, that I turned to alcohol for support and started the odd non-veg meal, ironically turning the accusation into a tautology. People still haven't stopped using that sentence, but nowadays I just shrug my shoulders and reply, "Yeah I am *that* kinda guy."

d) All my efforts at naive diplomacy fails miserably. Plenty of people have told me that my face is like an open-book, that I can't hide stuff for long. This means that when I am face to face with Shahrukh Khan, I won't be able to mask my disgust for more than two seconds. That should count as a plus, and it is, except that it causes more trouble than gain. When girls ask me if I have thought of them "that" way, it is hard for me to maintain a straight face and say "no". This inevitably leads to sandal-assisted bashings, accusations of perversions, and general curses of the kind that "all men are dogs". All this drama inspite of the fact that I believe in the maxim of "ek ladka aur ek ladki shayad kabhi kabhi dost ho sakte hain".

e) Due to my "non-veg eating and booze-swallowing" looks (see (c) above), many people also think that I am a real bad-ass. Couple that with my Haryanvi roots, and people invariably conclude that I am a war-mongering Jaat. It doesn't matter to them that I am neither war-mongering (usually) nor a Jaat. While in Bombay, this helps me ward people off without lifting a finger, which is good. But the exact reverse happens in Delhi, where almost every guy wakes up in the morning with an excuse to fight.

I could go on and on, but I guess you get my drift. This face has been nothing but trouble for me. I think of changing it at times. But then I look at what happened to Michael Jackson, and say "^@$% that" !! A face like mine is better than an alien's face anyday.

The Midas Touch

2006-09-26T12:11:00.000+05:30

Most people are born ordinary. A few are given a special gift. Today I crossed the boundary from the former category to the latter. I realized that I am indeed special. No, not in the my-mom-keeps-telling-me-I-am-special way, but indeed extraordinary. And before this cup of narcissism spills over, let me explain how I came to possess the Midas Touch.

This May, I moved from Bombay to Delhi for a few months and took shelter in Solzaire's spacious abode. Nothing serious, just fooling around and having a good time. But in two months, Solzaire announced something grand. No its not what you think, you sickos! He announced that he is gonna get married in July. This came as a shock to me, as I had no clue about any of this. Dismissing this as a one-off incident, I changed houses and took off to the States for a brief vacation (read: conference). Stayed with a friend in New York for a few days and a few days ago I got an email containing a similar announcement. Yes! he is getting hitched in two weeks.

Slightly startled at this fascinating turn of events, I returned to Delhi to pick up the threads of my life. On one fateful Sunday, I spent an afternoon at a wingmate's place in Noida. Again, nothing special, just two guys engaged in good old fashioned 'fun'. And, yes, you guessed it right, a week back he announced that he too is going to be a family man in December.

By now, I was 90% sure that I had a gift of certain sort. Whomsoever I touched (figuratively) suddenly found his soulmate in a few weeks time. Whatever uncertainty I had, was soon to be demolished. My colleague and new roommate in Delhi and Bombay, announced yesterday that he too has found the love of his life (whatever that means).

I am in the "zone" now. I am da man! The divine matchmaker. Offers have started pouring in. Single men from all over the country are calling me to spend a night at their place (no, not for that). They are ready to pay me handsomely for my "services". I am seriously contemplating of leaving my full-time job and throw myself completely into this unique social service.

A toll-free number is on cards. Watch out!

Country anxiously awaits SRK's next hamming performance

2006-08-28T14:56:00.000+05:30

Bombay (28th Aug): Reports indicate that Shahrukh has become the topmost obsession with the country as of today. Riots broke out in Bombay and Bangalore as his fans went on a looting spree after watching SRK's extraordinarily mediocre performance in Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna (KANK). This kind of mob behaviour has only a few precedents, such as the sacking of Manchester after Man United won the English Premier League and the plunder of Buenos Aires after the Argentines lifted the World Cup in 1986. Everywhere, SRK's fans displayed scenes of ecstasy and total satisfaction, with a sexual equivalent of a hundred orgasms per fan. Adultery on screen was never sweeter, it seems.

In the movie KANK, Shahrukh plays the role of a failed footballer with the characterstic ease that has now become a part of his persona. Eating ham and cheese for breakfast all these years has finally paid off, as he juggernauts his way into the movie, doing complete justice to a cheesy role with his hamming mega-performance. For the lazy (and intelligent) readers who haven't seen the movie, here are some gory details.
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As soon as the movie starts, we are treated to a football match in which His Highness King Khan is a striker. Taking a kick, he displays his ever familiar feminine grace, as his eyes are captured by the camera and shown on the stadium screen. Sigh! if such an amount of optical zoom was available in the Pakistan-England test match, the world wouldn't be tearing its Hair apart right now. Ok ok, I am done with the cheap puns for now. But, as usual, I digress.

A few minutes later, much to the delight of Shahrukh-haters, he meets with an accident and is forced to retire. Rumors say that he was replaced by a kid called Wayne Rooney. Anyway, so he is forced to live at home, watch TV all day, drink beer, make sarcastic remarks and get some action with Preity Zinta at night. So far, everything is going to his plan you would say. He is living the great Indian male dream. But SRK thinks otherwise.

For beneath the thin veneer of cynicism, lies a void. No, not the void in his brain, but a void in his heart. Which no amount of Budweiser and free marital sex with the hottest dame in Bollywood can fill. So he goes ahead and starts flirting with poor Rani a.k.a. Maya. Now Rani, with her brusque masculine voice, has no chance against the coquettish charms of Shahrukh, so she promptly falls for him before the audience can say "What the ...!".

For a while, both the newfound lovers compete in the game of "Who is the silliest?", as exemplified in the furniture-shop fake-sex scene, plagiarized (or "inspired") from the famous diner scene in When Harry met Sally. However, things start getting serious soon. No, not the "main tumhare bacche ki maa banne waali hoon" type, but that their adulterous relationship is soon exposed. The exposure happens when Amitabh (who plays the awe-inspiring character of 'Sexy Sam') discovers the two canoodling in front of Grand Central.

So now, poor SRK, abandoned by the hot-hot Preity, and separated from Rani, is very distraught. This was definitely not something in his grand plan of free Sex in the City! Totally devastated by the lack of female attention, he makes the daring move to Philadelphia, the city of brotherly love. But after enjoying brotherly love for three wholesome years, he realizes that the void is still there.

What happens after those three years? Did SRK take a strapping African American dude as his lover? Did he finally come out of the closet? I am afraid I am gonna leave you hanging here. Go watch the movie and enjoy your two hundred minutes of masochism!
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Back to the real world now. As of today, there is only one question that the common man has. Will SRK be able to essay the role of The Don in the movie with the same name? Or will his dimples betray his boyish charm? That, my friend, only time will tell. Time and SRK.

There and back again

2006-08-17T14:53:00.000+05:30

Shortest post ever. Back to Bombay today! :) Immense joy results. Highest density of happiness per word. Will miss Delhi a lot but a few dozen beers should take care of that!

Blogger disappointed with the performance of his blog

2006-07-28T13:04:00.000+05:30

In an exclusive interview, area blogger Rahul Gupta (juvenile nickname: Asterix) told us that he isn't satisfied with the progress of his blog on any level. In this newspiece, we cover an extensive 'analysis' of the past, present and future (if any) of his blog.

The blog was started almost an year back on 30th July under immense peer pressure and the fear of non-conformity. Midway, the blog's name was changed from the zero-information phrase of "Rahul's blog" to an equally useless "A blog about nothing" after watching an episode of Seinfeld, which is called "The show about nothing".

While the blogger can take solace in the fact that he hasn't blogged about what he had for breakfast yesterday (yet) or what colour is his toothpaste, he hasn't exactly become an epitome of blogdom either in the past year. His forte lies in covering jaw-droppingly awe-inspiring news like the Rakhi-Mika fiasco and the Prince debacle or making self-indulgent posts on the lack of tags or girl friends.

With tasteless subjects like these, its no wonder that he cannot cross the physical barrier of 21 comments on any post of his. We talked to him about what makes him go on and on, punishing his readers every week or so.

We: So is writing about such topics the only reason you blog?
Asterix: Err...no. There was an ulterior motive.
We: May we dare to enquire what that was?
Asterix: Well I thought that some female readers would visit the blog and get impressed by my awesome writing skills and would sleep with me.
We: Hmm...your 'awesome writing skills' you say.
Asterix: Well I did get 90 out of 100 in English in Class 7th-A and I was voted the person most likely to memorize all the entries under Q in the dictionary.
We: Ooookay! Well we looked at the profiles of the people who comment on your blog and there indeed are a few single female readers. How that happened is beyond our comprehension but any leads from there?
Asterix: Well they are single, and they are looking. But I guess they aren't looking in my direction. What a sad irony! I feel so used!!

Apart from such pathetic attempts at losing bachelorhood, the blogger also faces allegations of plagiarism. His writing style (if you would call it that) reeks of 'inspiration' from Onion. With such dark clouds, his blogging future looks bleak indeed. On asking about any possible policy changes in his blog or any modifications, he chuckled and replied, "Well lets see how long I can hold fort. And there always are the breakfast/toothpaste posts!"

It would be interesting to see if the blogger runs out ot topics before he runs out of readers. And that if his blog-code turns into a reality. Until then, lets pray that he doesn't write about the Owl-in-the-temple story.

A hole in one

2006-07-24T11:36:00.000+05:30

How does one earn quick money? If you are a dumb moron like me, chances are that you would put in nine hours every day at the office. And get a few measly lakhs per year as the compensation.

Or if you are really smart, you would fall into a 50ft deep hole. Thats what a five year old chap named Prince did in Haryana, although he didn't have money on his mind at that time. Now Prince (not to be confused with the arrogant "all-rounder" from Kolkata) was just playing around when he fell into a hole that had been dug for a handpump. Immediately, fecal matter hit the fan and the whole village surrounded the magic hole that had swallowed the child. Fortunately, Haryana's ground water table is as bad as Delhi's, so the kid was safe and dry.

Soon, the press reached the village, with the army and the honorable CM of Haryana in tow. People prayed all over the country for Prince's survival and his story was on all the news networks for 40 consecutive hours. Even our dear old Moneymohan Singhji ordered that the kid be speedily rescued. Such a reaction was missing when 200 people were killed in Bombay a few days back, but we will let such trifling details pass.

Prince, on the other hand, was heavily paying for this sudden fame. Along with food and water, a camera had been lowered into the hole to continuously monitor him. Now I like to think about all the possibilities of a particular scenario, so I couldn't help thinking how on earth would he answer the calls of nature in the invaded privacy of his new habitat.

Anyhoo, to poop or not to poop wasn't the question. Rather it was a question of waiting for the army to dig up a tunnel. That happened after around 45 hours and a scared Prince emerged from his subterranean abode. The quick money thingie happened soon after that. Star TV offered a sum of five lakhs to him, Zee News promised two and another channel announced that it would sponsor Prince's studies.

Well I am sure I can fit into a hole. Not one dug for a handpump but surely one made out for a tubewell. And I promise to look shit scared after my 'ordeal'. And some people have claimed that my mental age is five too. And I need someone to sponsor my PhD so that I can study fulltime. Seen any nice deep holes lately? One with an attached toilet and a DSL connection would be preferred.

Zen helps me strike back. With a vengeance.

2006-07-07T05:13:00.000+05:30

A 14 hr flight makes you ponder about stuff. Hardens you and builds your character. They try to break you and snatch your very soul but you resist and fight back. You learn and zen it out.

The flight in question is the long-haul Continental flight from Newark to Delhi which included yours truly as a passenger. The completely full flight also included hordes of tiny tots, ranging from zero to twelve years old in age. And in order to make every passenger's life miserable, Continental had sprinkled the little devils uniformly across the economy section.

Now I usually am not a big fan of kids and normally wish that they should STFU, and this time was no exception. With frequencies ranging from ultrasonic, which would make a dog cry out loud, to the cracked voices of the adolescents we had them all in the flight.

The first half an hour is the easiest because you are optimistic that would indeed STFU and go to sleep or something. The next few are those of intense agony and anger as you wish that their parents had used protection while fornicating. And then you enter the state of Zen when nothing can touch you. More like when Neo dies in the Matrix and becomes the super overlord of the domain. In the Zen state, you have absolute control of your body and mind and you become one with the universe.

" 'ssup dawg? You live in India or what!", asked an ABCD kid with a horrible accent and an even more horrible vocabulary.

Now a lesser man would have recoiled at the question, slapped him a couple times and not answered but I had attained Zen after three hours of torture that violates all rules of the Geneva convention. So I was unfazed.

"Na man, I just chill them niggers out back in the hood with my homies.", said I with my best possible Afro-American accent, before making a "peace" symbol with my index finger and my pinkie. He fell for it and assumed that I was indeed from Harlem and hence, a real badass. I didn't hear from him throughout the remainder of the flight. I felt like Neo did after he killed Agent Smith in the Matrix. This took care of the eastern defence.

The real power of Zen comes from the fact that it helps you do stuff without you having to lift a finger. Some kinda weird psychokinetic stuff. Real scary shit if you ask me.

There was this kid playing in the aisle with two other kids, generally screaming, talking loudly and making life generally miserable for his neighbours including me. So I decided to take the matters in my own hands, but not literally. Remember Zen! It so happened that he was in the middle of one of his generic screams that we happened to lock our eyes. One cold lifeless stare from me, devoid of any emotion and empathy, threatening to suck the very breath out of his lungs was enough to make him STFU. For the rest of the flight, he became deathly quiet whenever he used to pass me. The western front was won without lifting a finger.

But the real challenge remained in the north. Where there was an infant crying incessantly for hours altogether. A pre-Zen Rahul would have committed suicide, or worse, started watching the in-flight entertainment system. Staring coldly or rapping at the infant won't have helped. However Zen came to my rescue again, but before that, a simple mathematical fact begs to be explained.

In a 14 hr flight with three meals and many drinks, there is no way that you won't go. To the restroom. Even Zen won't help you there. Its a cold mathematical fact and you cannot beat maths.

Back to the crying monster. So I had succumbed to my biological need to go to the restroom and had gotten up from my seat. Generally surveying the neighbourhood, I zeroed in on the family in the next row - the one with my crying arch enemy. Naively trying out the stare at the kid won't help. So I turned 30 degrees and stared at the mother. Not one of those lecherous stares that we Delhites are world-famous for, but one of those "I will wipe out your family if you dont pay heed to my order" stare.

The young mother was no match for me. She had no chance. Kinda like when Voldemort vaporized Harry Potter's mother except that I am way better looking than Voldemort. Really.

With that, the area was secure. Peace reigned all around me. As a sign from the Gods, food began to be served. Wherever I looked, grateful eyes of my co-passengers greeted me. Some of them had tears of happiness. Maybe it was because of my deeds or the food really sucked. But anyway, no amount of Zen was enough to make me ignore that. I nodded in return and went into a dreamless sleep.

Status Update

2006-06-28T00:46:00.000+05:30

Been a hectic last few days here at Pittsburgh. Came here on the pretext of attending a Machine Learning conference, but my achievements have been elsewhere. Be it a visit to Lake Erie to meet a friend, or to Niagara Falls (like a true desi) at the drop of a hat, or eating tuna dishes (3 meals in 3 days) - which is a mean achievement for a veggie like me.

The conference has been good, a little more down to earth than I expected, but thats ok. Got to meet some of the famous names in this area, whose papers I had read for years now. My blog backlog is huge now, with bloglines showing a list of more than 100 blogposts to be read. So I guess I will put the wireless internet to good use, while nodding and pretending to appreciate all the talks.

And I will answer this one question all of you may have -- I expect myself to take around 7-10 days to undo the effects of the conference and refill my cynicism tank. Postings on completely inane topics are expected around early to mid-July.

Asterix

The case of the stolen kiss

2006-06-14T15:12:00.000+05:30

In American Beauty, the character of Ricky Fitts had said - "Sometimes there's so much beauty in the world I feel like I can't take it, like my heart's going to cave in". But it took me almost six years to realize the meaning behind this dialogue. Well not so much about the beauty as about the "heart caving in" part.

A few days back I was hanging out at my home with a friend and generally flipping through channels when I stopped at IndiaTV's announcement of its latest exposé. The anchor, visibly excited to the extent of hyperventilating, shouted about IndiaTV's hottest news of the hour. And yes, you guessed it right, it was about the issue that had rocked the entire nation that day - Mika kissing Rakhi Sawant in front of the cameras.

Now, maybe it was the carpal-tunnel in my hands from playing so much video games that I couldn't change the channel, or maybe it was the beer that enhanced my judgement abilities, but I knew that I had struck gold.

Although I was shocked at knowing that this was THE "breaking news" of the hour, but I like low grade gossip as much as the next person, so I was hooked. To our joy and amusement, that breaking news was discussed at length for around thirty minutes and less important things like the FIFA World Cup had to wait. I will refrain from saying anything about this, but probably Rakhi Sawant's beauty was too much to handle for a simple Punjabi boy like Mika, so his heart probably caved in. Rather than missing the kiss, he decided to kiss the Miss. Little did he know that one smooch (and that too lousily done) would leave such a bad taste in the mouth, cheap pun intended. One small smooch for Mika but one giant lawsuit in his, uhh, you know where. Word on the street is that he has gone underground to evade any arrest (much on the footsteps of his elder bro Daler Mehendi). I can almost imagine the conversation between Mika and his fellow subterranean dwellers:

Mika: Paaji, whom are you hiding from?
Javed: I committed a triple murder a week back. The police of two states are trying to hunt me down. Why are you hiding?
Mika: O koi nahin, main Rakhi Sawant nu ek chummi de ditti. (Oh nothing! I kissed Rakhi Sawant)
Javed: Really!!! Oye Shukat, Arun, sab suno, this man kissed Rakhi Sawant. Wow man! you are like our hero and everything!!

When the chips are down, its high-quality news and low-grade actions like these that help cheer me up. That prod me to see that indeed, there is so much beauty in this world. Although I had found the world to be pretty, but not heart-caving beautiful yet. But little did I know that I was an impatient fool. That the last half-hour was only a build-up to bigger and better things to come. Much like "Fellowship of the Ring" was a trailer for "Return of the King", but I digress.

So after extensive coverage of the unholy smooch, IndiaTV tried to play mediator between the warring parties. The 29" screen of my TV was split in three parts - occupied by Rakhi, news anchor and Mika respectively. For those who play video games, this felt like Mortal Kombat except that in the game, the only thing the mediator says is "Round One, FIGHT!"

After much mud-slinging, colorful usage of vocabulary by either parties, and an exemplary display of impromptu thinking (mostly by Mika), the anchor realized that he is supposed to mediate and not laugh his ass off. So when Mika said that he has "full support from his true fans, who believe him", Rakhi was asked the same question in the most hilarious way:

Anchor (spoken with a straight face): "Rakhi, aapke bhi kaafi fans hain. Jo aapke item songs pasand karte hain, jo aapka.....(long pause).....kaam pasand karte hain, woh bhi to aapke saath honge?"

Needless to say, my day was made. This outstanding show of journalism had egged the total amount of beauty to beyond what my heart could handle. The cave-in was complete.

Asterix

City admits it doesn't give a TRA about blogger's absence

2006-05-17T13:23:00.000+05:30

BOMBAY, May 17th 2006. After much dilly-dallying, the city of Bombay today admitted that it doesn't give a Tiny Rat's Ass (TRA) about the absence of the wannabe blogger Rahul Gupta. In a formal statement at the Mayor's residence at Prabhadevi, a town spokesman said, "Frankly, we didn't even know that he was here. So the question of us missing him doesn't even arise" , and then quickly added, "but we wish him the best in his future endeavours."

Rahul Gupta, who goes by the juvenile nickname of Asterix, had moved to the city of Bombay in order to take a shot at blog-fame and to jumpstart his PhD, in that order of priority. Dozens of naive and mediocre posts later, he was still no way near his goal. So he resorted to blog-whoring. Blog-whoring is a concept in which a newbie blogger starts leaving inane comments on other, more popular blogs, with a trackback URL to his own blog. The hope is that any other commentator will mistakenly, or out of curiousity, click on the URL and visit his blog.

Such a childish endeavour was only partly successful, as Asterix managed to gather only a handful of loyal readers, most of which were amassed using lures of chocolates. By using self-commentary, Asterix managed to reach an all time high of 20 comments on a single post.

In interviews done all over the city, we talked to a lot of people and asked for their opinions. The results, not surprising in the least, are as follows:

"Asterix who?" : 68%
"I am glad the loser is gone" : 20%
"Bombay's loss is Delhi's gain. I will miss Asterix": 1%
"Well his blog was oookayish, or atleast the chocolates were nice": 6%
"I live/work on the same floor as Asterix. I HAD to read and comment on his blog under gunpoint" : 5%

As expected, Bombay police has launched a manhunt to nab the loony 1% readers who think his blog is good.

We managed to contact Asterix and asked for his comments on this formal press release.
"Well....What can I say, I am aghast! Day after day, I used to eat the hostel food and turn it into my blog posts. And after that this is the treatment I get!", he said. Although it may be debatable which one of hostel food and Asterix's blog post resembles smelly organic matter, but one thing is for sure: If all he did was to convert one to the other, then it wasn't too much of an effort.

He goes on to say, "How can they even say that they don't give a TRA? Not even a BRA (Big Rat's Ass). After all I have done and written about, I deserve atleast a BRA."

As usual, the blogger's comment became too much PG-13 to be recorded and the interview had to be abruptly terminated.

An ode to a wonderful abode

2006-05-06T15:09:00.000+05:30

Leaving Bombay tomorrow for Delhi. Its been a wonderful two semesters here at IIT Bombay and it was much better than I expected. For a change, I will lose the cynicism (temporarily) and state it as it is. I am going to miss this great city terribly. When I came here, my ego of being a Delhi-phile stopped me from accepting how cool this place was. Subconsciously I used to find reasons not to live here - the lousy traffic, the jampacked trains, the ubiquitous crowd and the rampant concretization with total disregard to greenery and the environment.

What I didn't realise was that my acceptance of this place didn't make me less of a Delhi lover and vice versa. Bombay, I will miss you - walks in the green campus, the lake, the train rides against the traffic, the sea-fronts, bandstand, Nariman Point, quarter bars, BEST, autos, cheap cabs at 2 a.m., the gorgeous Victorian buildings of South Bombay, Marathi signboards and annoucements (even though I had no clue what they meant), but most of all, your humility and simplicity which hides your pride and determination perfectly.

My stay here couldn't have been peaceful without old and new friends - Vikram, Raghu and Kohli from undergrad days and all the PhD/Masters gang members here at IIT Bombay.

May your tribe increase. And may I return here soon enough.

Rahul.

Never been tagged

2006-04-26T00:43:00.000+05:30

This was the name of the movie I had decided to make. You see, till about an hour back, I was just another ordinary guy living just another ordinary life. Till a friend read about my plight and took pity on me. Life is worth living now. Yes, thats right. I am a part of the hip crowd that tags each other. The tagging clique, if you may.

1. Grab the book nearest to you, turn on page 18 and find line 4.

The main parameter in this maximization problem is the choice of family Q.

2. Stretch your left arm out as far as you can.

Did it, and looked like a moron with one hand in the air.

3. What is the last thing you watched on TV?

Highlights of the NatWest Series final between India and England.

4. Without looking, guess what time it is?

9:35pm

5. Now look at the clock, what is the actual time?

9:42pm.

6. With the exception of the computer, what can you hear?

Pearl Jam blaring loudly, through my headphones, into my ears. Can't ear anything else as a matter of fact.

7. When did you last step outside? What were you doing?

30 minutes back to answer the call of nature.

8. Before you started this survey, what did you look at?

Some mathematical derivation in my notebook.

9. What are you wearing?

T-shirt, Track-pants, sneakers - living up the grad-student dream.

10. Did you dream last night?

Unfortunately no.

11. When did you last laugh?

On reading today's Dilbert, a few minutes back.

12. What is on the walls of the room you are in?

Asian Paints Distemper, whiteboard, calendar (no swimsuit calendars though :-( ), helluva lot of power sockets, ethernet points.

13. Seen anything weird lately?

A 40-year old dude laughing like a moron on _every_ dialogue of Ice Age 2, even the senti ones.

14. What do you think of this quiz?

Pain in the butt.

15. What is the last film you saw?

Ice Age 2.

16. If you became a multimillionaire overnight, what would you buy?

A mountain, with a cottage at the summit.

17. Tell me something about you that I dunno.

That I can kick your ass for such a quiz.

18. If you could change one thing about the world, regardless of guilt or
politics, what would you do?

I cannot say "world peace" as that is the territory of Miss Universe wannabes, so I will have to say college education for the entire population.

19. Do you like to dance?

Only when drunk!

20. George Bush.

The luckiest bastard who doesn't deserve even an iota of what he has got.

21. Imagine your first child is a girl, what do you call her?

Munni

22. Imagine your first child is a boy, what do you call him?

Munna

23. Would you ever consider living abroad?

Why look for discomfort else where when you can find it right at home?

24. What do you want GOD to say to you when you reach the pearly gates?

I am sorry but we are aleady overbooked, we will have to offload you. Back to the earth you go!

25. 5 people who must also do this in their blog.

The madness must stop here! On the other hand, I want to name Solzaire and Tweety if they are reading. A little sadism never hurts ;-)

Nation applauds much wanted change in law

2006-04-12T12:56:00.000+05:30

BOMBAY, INDIA (12 APR 2006): The entire nation stood on its feet today and welcomed the introduction of the much sought after reservation bill. The bill aims to guarantee the availability of girlfriends to the deprived sections of the male society. Although the exact details of the bill haven't been released yet, its salient features are as follows:

Who gets some?

The bill seeks to help out the needy and deprived males. As of now, it covers all engineering students, graduate students, medical students from North India, pizza delivery guys, waiters in Bombay's quarter bars, Haryanvis, Indian armed forces and airline pilots. The honourable minister for HR, Mr Arjun Singh elaborates - "We are trying to cover all demographics where the males hardly get to interact with females". This new category will be called the MIDGETs for Men in Deprivation of Girlfriends Etc. The "etc." covers one-night stands, "just good friends", "sahelis", live-in partners and the like. As of now, the MIDGETs cover almost 27% of the population!

This law is not without precedent. In 1991, its predecessor, the "Cool guys should definitely get girls" Act, it was ensured that all B.A/B.Sc/B.Com male students should be granted easy access to the female form. At that time, the logic provided for the Act was that these students, pursuing their worthless degrees, are no match for the professionally qualified B.Tech/B.E/B.Arch/MBBS students who land up with all the nice brides. The 1991 Act, recommended by the Sandal comission, wished to rectify that situation and was a nudge in the right direction. The Act was successful in making procreation feasible for 22.5% of the male population.

However, with every revolutionary idea, come the imbeciles who oppose it. To oppose the 1991 Act, two students from IIT and IIM turned publicly gay to show their defiance. Will such an uncouth opposition be on display this time too?

"No way! 15 years of conditioning have made us totally heterosexual", says Anand, a BA student of Hindu College, Delhi University, with his arms around his two girlfriends.

The logic behind the law

The MIDGETs have been suffering from a lack of female contact (platonic or otherwise) for decades now. A survey carried out in 2005 attributed an average of 13.5 girlriends to every engineering student in IIT. But the figure fell to an abysmal 0.13 after removing "chat-friends" and "orkut-buddies". Hence the need!

"Would you want a horny nuclear engineer in control of the atomic power plant? Huh? Would you?", opines the head of nuclear safety at BARC, Trombay.

Minister Arjun Singh echoes the concern - "Due to lack of female company, boys in IIT were turning to homosexuality, or worse, assembly programming! So it was high time for some affirmative action".

Implementation nightmares

With 49.5% of the male population becoming legally eligible overnight, the question arises as to where will we get the requisite numbers?

"We are talking with the governments of Sri Lanka and Bangladesh", answers Arjun Singh. Bangladesh, in particular, can come in handy with its large diaspora legally and illegally settled in India. Talks have started which will create almost a million jobs, exclusively for female foreigners, in the next 2 years. It should be noted that on account of the bad example set by Manisha Koirala, India will not be "that interested" in pursuing the matter with Nepal.

This will also allay any fears of the non-MIDGET community on the lines of "not being able to find a bloody girlfriend nowadays".

Implications for gays

So what about gays in the MIDGET community? Will a girlfriend be forced down their throats too?

"These are minor wrinkles that can be straightened out. Remember, the State of India doesn't recognize homosexual relationships as legal! And anyway, its high time we stopped discriminating on the basis of sexual preferences", clarifies Arjun Singh.

"Further, it shouldn't be a big problem. They can become 'just friends'. From what I have seen in the reruns of mediocre American sitcoms, chicks really dig gay guys", adds Singh, before quickly replacing the word 'chicks' by girls.

Well, as of today, the bill has been passed unanimously in both the houses of the parliament and is awaiting the signature of the President, who coincidentally is also single and may relate to the problems of the MIDGETs.

This reporter will take your leave now and be off to enrol in one of the neighbourhood engineering polytechnics.

Untagged man very unhappy

2006-04-07T07:12:00.000+05:30

Couldn't resist an onion style post.

BOMBAY, INDIA (7 Apr 2006) - Area man Rahul Gupta, who goes by the blog-alias of asterix2k, has declared that he is on the verge of emotional bankruptcy. And the reason is that no one has ever tagged him. Not once. When contacted, he said "I come across inane blogs daily where people are tagging each other senseless. I want to be a part of that crowd. I want to belong! IS THAT TOO BLOODY MUCH TO ASK??"

The rest of the interview had to be postponed, as asterix2k became blasphemous. On resumption, asterix2k added that he is dying to let the world know about his last five crushes, the seventeen books he likes, the twenty three movies he can't get tired of watching, and the dozen things he can't live without.

"I think the entire world is ready to know what turns me on", he conjectured.

Tagging is a complex process wherein, a blogger details out his favourite lists of books, movies, MMS clips etc, and in turn, tags another blogger friend who repeats the loop. So is tagging limited to just ordinary fares like what we prefer to read and watch?

"No. It works at many levels, from top-ten favourite colors to top-ten favourite traits in women", answers Rahul.

He continues to say that answering a tag is a great way to make a post without actually having anything to say, but still attract two dozen comments or more, depending on how famous the blog is. "So , this is right down my alley, because my blog is really 'a blog about nothing'. A vacuous tag-post will fit right in!", he adds.

Preliminary studies show that the following are the ultimate goals (in descending order) of every blogger:
a) Get a real person of the opposite sex to visit the blog.
b) Get tagged.
c) Get a s*it-load of comments on every post.
d) Squat on a good blog-domain name, even if we aren't blogging yet, *just in case*
e) Make meaningful posts.

Legend goes that many online romances have bloomed as a result of tagging. Female blogger Sarah (real name hidden) says, "I thought Zack (real name hidden) was just another stupid male blogger. But then I came across his tag-post! When I read that he likes to sleep on the left side of the bed, likes his eggs scrambled and adores the movie Josie and the Pussycats, I knew it was a match made in heaven!". Their marriage lasted two months after two years of online courtship.

"Right now I would rather get tagged than laid.", gushes Rahul in a wave of emotion. "After that I can move on to tell the world the color of my shorts, my adventures with my pet spider, my gargling habits and the 10-page analysis of my favourite character in Seinfeld", he quips.

Tagging has often been derided by blog-critics as being typical of the "I scratch your back, you scratch mine" philosophy prevalent in the blogging world. Blogger friends comment on each other's posts, irrespective of the post's contents, so that the post/comment count stays healthy. So isn't tagging the same sort of evil?

"No way! First of all, let me clarify that I have myself made half the comments on my blog. And this was possible only because I was vigilant enough to check for comments every half hour, and answering any comments right away!", clarifies Rahul, now visibly agitated.

"Secondly, who'd you rather prefer scratching your back? A stranger, or a friend who's more familiar with the terrain?", he adds.

Well, evil or not, this correspondent wishes asterix2k the best of luck in getting tagged, but secretly hopes that he never gets a chance to read about the blogger's "ten places on my body where it itches the most" list.

Gunda: The obsession continues..

2006-04-03T01:00:00.000+05:30

Check out this link. Don't forget to read the user reviews!
A partial screenshot is provided below. Check out the IMDB rating of 9.9/10 (well, even Gunda isn't perfect!)

This weekend, I also fulfilled another childhood dream of mine - watching "Paap ko jala kar raakh kar doonga" at midnight with rowdy junta, with a litre of beer safely inside my tummy to make my experience truly out of the world. Have to admit that although a 60-year old Dharmendra makes a real crap lead-hero, this movie did have the guts to hold a candle to Gunda. Now don't get me wrong. Sure, Dharmendra doesn't have half the sophistication to rub shoulders with Mithun-da, but pair him with Anita Raj (30 years younger than him) and you got some serious competition!

Although the dialogues were a far cry from the literary genius on display in Gunda, the story and (lack of) logic is what made PKJKRKD real fun! Saudi Arabia has more religious tolerance than this celluloid masterpiece had coherence. Excerpts:

Kulbhushan Kharbanda is a very rich and honest engineer. He has a daughter, Farah, of marriageable age. Deepak (played by Govinda) is KK's PA.
KK (to his wife Tanuja): Ab Roopa ki shaadi karne ki umr ho gayi hai. Meri nazar Deepak par hai. Sharif hai, imaandar hai, steno ki naukari kar raha hai...apni Roopa ke liye theek rahega.
(An exec engineer marrying his daughter to a steno! What the funk!!)

All in all, a good paisa vasool.

TV Today

2006-04-01T10:53:00.000+05:30

First, after so much publicity, they announced his departure. I, for one, was devastated. For me, he was an integral part of the whole experience. But then, he came back. Well not exactly.

I am talking about Isaac Hayes, the South Park chef, the most ultimate sex machine to have graced the idiot box ever. Apparently there was a big fallout between the South Park creators and Hayes over an episode where SP ridiculed Scientology, which Hayes is a devotee of. What Hayes didn't realize is that SP is equally capable of poking caustic fun at _any_ issue under the sun. So they promptly debuted their 10th season with an episode titled "Return of the Chef". And Hayes won't be flattered on seeing that episode, to say the least.

Wonder, what song will Hayes sing now? And speaking of the 10th season, the second episode is one of the funniest I have ever seen. At par with the 8th season, which contains the best SP episodes.

Am also watching the 17th season of Simpsons right now. Wonder how they manage to keep the quality up after so many years!

Consider this: Marge Simpson prods Todd to overcome his fear of heights and climb up a church spire. Now Bart is helping him climb down:

Bart (to Todd): Lets just go down without holding hands. It looks gay.
Todd: What's "gay" ?
Bart: umm... gay is when you overcome your fears and do cool things.
Todd (shouting at the top of his voice): Hey DAD!!! I am GAY!!! Did you hear that? I am GAY!! Mrs Simpson made me GAY!!

I had a hard time controlling my laughter.

Its finally happening

2006-03-18T02:24:00.000+05:30

India is finally catching up with Amrikaa. And before all you nationalists start boycotting my blog for this blasphemous statement, et me clarify. It happened somewhat like this. Sometime last year, the Adlabs company decided to adopt the C-grade theatre of Huma outside the Kanjur Marg station in Mumbai. Now Huma's claim to fame till then was that it was a theatre for the masses. It was the place where auto-drivers and taxi-wallahs used to throng, to spit paan on the walls and relax on the crumbling chairs. The place of the ubiquitous "morning show".

Now Adlabs literally took the hall apart and replaced it with a shiny 4-screen multiplex. So far so good. Apparently they wanted to cater to the crowd from the nearby suburbs of Vikhroli, Hiranandani and the spill-over crowd from the various malls at Mulund. Not to mention the thousands of students from the nearby IIT.

Now I like to waste 150 bucks or so on a mediocre movie now and then whenever I find time, so I am a regular visitor at Huma. But for some reason, I have never found the halls sold out or even 3/4th full at any screening. Not even a weekend night. Apart from "why am I still single?", the mystery of an empty Huma has kept me awake on many nights.

Well, tonight's experience was so mindblowing that I had to waste 20 minutes describing it you and in turn waste your time too. I had gone there to watch some random movie, and saw that there was a decent queue (>2 people). So I thought that finally I would not have to face my fear of "large empty spaces". After buying the tickets, I got a first warning sign when the usher asked me twice if I wanted to go to Screen 1. Really? Let me see your ticket. He opened the doors (we were the first of the audience) and Vikram and I were the only ones in the empty hall, standing in deference to the anthem being played. After some nervous foot-tapping, we were joined by a young couple, who were making a movie on their own on the backseat.

There it was. Four people in a hall meant to seat 200. On a Friday night. In Mumbai. And I have had movie experiences like these only in the US. Hence the title of the post.

By the way, all four of us left in the interval because the movie sucked bigtime. I wonder if they kept playing the movie in an empty theatre. I wonder how they make any profits with attendances like these. With the huge AC, the housekeeping, electricity bills and everything. Sure they charge exorbitantly, but only, like 10 people, actually buy tickets.

I am sure this will keep me awake tonight.

I am back

2006-03-17T21:04:00.000+05:30

Woohoo! Finally the back-breaking drudgery of incessant work is over. For all of my readers, who were anxious about my long absence, the wait is finally over. Yes, I meant both of you.

A lot seems to have happened in the weeks gone by: Blasts in Varanasi, a record smashing cricket match, a test victory for India, and the moving on of a good friend. He finally decided that reading my inane blogposts was a waste of his precious student time. So to make it worthwhile, he took a job in Delhi so that he can waste company time doing the same thing, rather than his own. As a reward I got his throne [his lab desk actually] and his 21" monitor to watch Mithunda's movies on. But although I may occupy his chair, it will be more like Denethor guarding the throne for Aragorn, except that there isn't an Arwen in his sight right now.

Enough said about moving on. Some things, thankfully, haven't changed. Like the general studdappa (called "Ptushun" in Delhi lingo) of Bombay, my iron-grip on my single status, and Ganguly's ouster from the Indian team.

Thank god for small mercies.

-Asterix

Those were the days

2006-03-02T21:16:00.000+05:30

Read this nostalgic and at the same time mildly naughty post. Reminded me of the days gone by when porn was an openly integral part of everybody's life. Termed as pondi, pondz, pr0n and wotnot, the essence remains the same. Rose by any other name.....

Although it has been more than 13 years, but it seems like yesterday. At the tender age of 13 years, I was introduced to the world of porn. It was the early nineties, and internet wasn't even born, CDs weren't popular enough, so printed media was pretty much our saviour. A school senior had managed to procure an 'educational' magazine named BodyTalk. Like first love, I vividly remember my emotions at that time. I was very curious about the number of Xs on the front page (there were 3, as I clearly recall in hindsight), and there were two German female models that looked very anxious to teach us sex education. Now being the class geek and all, I was at the front of the queue to receive gyan, and boy! did I receive gyan or what! However, the seniors were not always so generous with the supply and I was not aggressive enough to persist, so such devi-darshans were few and far between.

And then came 1997. The magical year. When I entered the hallowed halls of my college hostel. Having done the hard part of clearing the entrance exams, the priorities underwent a slight change. Applied Mechanics gave way to Playboy and Quantum Physics lost to Basic Instinct without scoring. Yes, it was a booming time. When friendships were forged and broken on the basis of porn and it was porn that kept us together in our darkest times. It was our dreamland where the bombshell girl would not judge us by our semester grades or our week old beard. Where everyone was loved and no one left empty-handed (ahem!). Where fantasies became reality and reality became a distant dream. Where the 9 pointers and 4 pointers were equal. And jocks and nerds were indistinguishable. Yes, those were happy times my friend!

The transition from printed porn to digital porn was smoother than Tendulkar's cover drive. It felt like a natural progression, the survial of the fittest. Darwin was never truer. It was also the start of the digital revolution in India. And the half a dozen CD shops around the campus were always ready to pander to the basic needs of the teeming thousands inside the campus. A trip to the CD shop had a clear agenda - one Jackie Chan CD, one Hollywood CD and one CD for the night. On second thoughts, make that 2 CDs for the night - you never know if the first CD is scratched. KLPD ho jayega na?

The CD shop was another marvelous entity in itself. The shop owner used to memorize each and every CD that passed his shop.

Student: Bhaiyya woh swimming pool waali hai kya?
ShopOwner: Pool..hmm...oh woh hotel ke pool waali..haan hai...
Student: Nahin aap shayad kuch aur samajh rahein hain.
ShopOwner: Bhai wohi na jisme woh Brazilian ladki hai?
Student (sheepishly): Haan wohi...bahut suna hai uske baare main.
ShopOwner (triumphantly): Maine kaha tha na wohi hai. Ye rakhi hai. Sasura naam bhi nahin hota hai in picturon par. Bahut dikkat hoti hai yaad karne mein.

The movie night was spent fast-forwarding the Jackie Chan movie and move on to the real maal. In that era, when computer count was 0.1 per capita, hordes of curious souls would gather together in that ceremony to see Lena the Warrior Princess or Sex-Files. The owner of the computer was like the high priest, who had veto power over deciding which scene had repeat value and which babe wasn't worth a dekho. He also had one more power. To ask the horde to vacate his room because usko abhi sona hai. The most pathetic codeword. The poor souls, deprived of seeing the thrilling climax of the story, would take their revenge by peering over the ventilator and banging on the door just when the dude was about to 'fall asleep'. Whats that you ask? What about the Hollywood movie? That used to be unopened most of the time. Harrison Ford would lose out to the vily charms of Candy and Holly. Sigh! the good old days.

The hostel was a home to all and sundry. And there were those, who were not impressed by the appealing graphics. Flash a page/scene to them and nothing. Nada. Zook. They were the ones who got their kicks from reading the same stuff. And the internet was their messiah. Spending unearthly hours ogling at the internet sites, gleaning amongst the candidates, and in a final swoop of victory, finding that one story that would make their day (or night). The one story which they would forward to the entire junta the next morning and bask in the glory. "Abey kya sahi kahani thi baap!".

And then there were the pseudos. Who would tirelessly mention how they liked the story in a particular XX movie. The same kind of sickos who read Deb for the articles.

Yes, its true, the hostel was home to all kinds of people.

After a gap of so many years, when I finally return to hostel life, I find lots of things have changed. Firstly porn is now completely free. No more pooling money to buy the Penthouse annual edition. No more asking the friends for 20 bucks to rent that CD. Free Porn. Free as in free beer.

However, I find that while the essence is there, the purpose is lost. Gone are the days when finding porn was as important as enjoying it. When the journey was as exhilirating as the destination. Hunting the hostel wing, going door to door. "Yaar PlayBoy hai kya? Nahin? Chal theek hai......sun sun, kuch khane ko hai kya?". And then one would find his friend in the corridor, wearing that naughty DevAnand grin, waving that CD in his hand and shouting "oye! mil gayi re!". And you would know that all the search time was time well spent.

Finally, I would like to end my homage to the old school of pondigiri by a quote:
Porn: It is what you enjoy between the times you study.

Asterix

[Disclaimer: 1. If the article portrays me as a depraved lunatic, then there is nothing I can do about it. The article is already public. In reality, I am a happy, well adjusted grad student. 2. If you were googling for porn and this article turned up because of the frequency of the usage of the word 'p*rn', then I sincerely apologize for wasting your time. I do not host such material. Please go to the next search result, and chances are high that you will be amply rewarded.]

Which phobe are you ?

2006-03-01T09:04:00.000+05:30

Was going through a list of phobias to see if I had anything (yes, thats right, I have nothing better to do at 9 on a weekday morning). As it turns out, I am a walking psychotic timebomb, a prime candidate for the luxury suite at Agra's most famous landmark - the mental institution. Some of my endearing qualities are:

(List courtesy this website)

Ablutophobia - Fear of washing or bathing. (More like laziness than a phobia actually)
Agrizoophobia - Fear of wild animals. (If I see a lion from up close, it is time to change my pants)
Altophobia - Fear of heights (hmmm..still on phobias beginning with 'A')
Arachnophobia - Fear of spiders (stomp stomp stomp!)
Automatonophobia - Fear of ventriloquist's dummies, animatronic creatures, wax statues-anything that falsely represents a sentient being. (was sh*t scared of mannequins when I was 7)
Claustrophobia/Cleisiophobia - Fear of confined spaces (When I die, I would like to be burnt, not buried, thanks very much)
Ergasiophobia - Fear of work or functioning (sigh! thats true, you got me. I fear and hate working)
Gamophobia - Fear of marriage (this one is shared by all men)
Medomalacuphobia - Fear of losing an erection (again, this is every man's nightmare)
Phronemophobia - Fear of thinking (yeah baby! thinking is for losers. I am more of an action guy. Kaaaching!)
Stygiophobia - Fear of hell (with deeds like mine, where else am I gonna go)
Taphephobia - Fear of being buried alive or of cemeteries (this one keeps me awake at night. Can never forget that scene in Kill Bill 2)

And now some of the funny ones. Can't help thinking who would have these phobias.

Arachibutyrophobia - Fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of the mouth (no comments.)
Coprastasophobia - Fear of constipation (such dudes have a tough life for sure)
Dishabiliophobia - Fear of undressing in front of someone (who won't have this phobia!! streakers I guess.)
Coitophobia/Genophobia - Fear of coitus (poof! there goes the bloodline)
Eurotophobia - Fear of female genitalia (combine this with coitophobia and you have a rockin life!)
Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia - Fear of long words (need I say more)
Phobophobia - Fear of phobias (At last, a metaphobia!)
Pteronophobia - Fear of being tickled by feathers (Obelix's nightmare)
Venustraphobia - Fear of beautiful women (perfect phobia to couple with coitophobia and eurotophobia).
Urophobia - Fear of urine or urinating (how do urophobes discharge bodily fluids then? On second thoughts, don't answer that.)

Asterix the phobia guy.

We may have defeated...

2006-02-20T23:13:00.000+05:30

...Pakistan 4-1 on their turf, but we had to face the music in some other departments. The under-19 cricket team lost to its Pakistani counterpart in the U-19 World Cup Final at Colombo. The Pakis were shot out for 108 but retaliated by limiting the Indians to just 71! The Pakis retain the World Cup as a result. By the way, I also came to know that erstwhile 'medium pace' bowler Venkatesh Prasad is the coach of the U-19 Indian team. I can almost recall Kumble and Prasad bowling at the same speed :)

We also lost the hockey series at home 3-0 to Pakistan. Three more matches will be played in Pakistan, and I for one, wont be surprised if they make it 6-0. Can't help wondering why there is such a huge gap between the quality of the Indian and the Pakistani hockey teams. Is it all the fault of Gill baby, or is the apathy rampant in the organization. Maybe someone who follows hockey, and more importantly, its politics, can throw some light on it?

Meanwhile the dreamer in me thinks many a times, what would have happened to the subcontinental sports scene if the country hadn't been partitioned. Would we be an even stronger cricketing force? Probably. Squash? Definitely. How about hockey? With the Gill monkey at the helm, heck never!

Asterix

Update: We are going to host Pakistan for the Davis Cup playoffs in Bombay in April. Isn't there too much of Indo-Pak sports going on nowadays (Not that I am complaining) ?

Return of the King

2006-02-17T23:20:00.000+05:30

Solzaire writes about the return of his biggest role models since childhood, the one and only Mithun-da, to the silver screen. You may remember him (Mithun-da, not Solzaire) from such memorable movies as Gunda, Military-raaj, Dalal and other such brain-smashing masterpieces.

He got the Asterix Lifetime Achievement Award for his all-round performance in the timeless classic "Gunda", where he played the role of a coolie in a trolley-deprived airport with the characterstic aplomb that is now synonymous with his name. His lesser achievements include a handful of National Awards that he received a few years back.

Until I saw Gunda, my knowledge of the Supreme Lord was limited to movies such as Disco Dancer (with the famous song - I am a disco dancer..teenu eeennu...I am a disco dancer...teenu eeenu.. zindagi mera pyaar....ad nauseum) and Agneepath (haaaii saalaaa). Like an ignorant impatient movie goer, so far I had dismissed the God without witnessing the gamut of performances that he had under his sleeve. I was but a fool in darkness.

And so my friends ordered me to watch Gunda. And therefore I saw Gunda. And then there was light. And God was happy. And I was his blind disciple thence.

Like Hobbes eating his first can of tuna, and an adolescent watching his first porn flick, I wanted more. So I scoured the web for news about Prabhu-da and single-handedly pushed "Mithun + movie" to the most googled query on the web. And at last my patience was rewarded by Chingaari.

Chingaari. What a word. Apart from the reference to a possible arson sequence in the movie, the word also has sexual connotations. Remember the song, "Chingaari koi bhadke...la la la ...sawan jo aag lagaye use kaun bujhaaye?". So far it seems like the movie was being released only to pander to depraved souls like me, who have just lost their Prabhu-virginity and are clamouring for more of such action.

However, more googling and active surfing led to some disturbing news. Chingaari, it seems, is directed by a woman director Kalpana Lazmi. Well I have two serious issues with that. Not that I am a sexist. Heck! I fully support sex in all its forms. Well, my first problem is that a woman director may develop moral issues while directing a Mithun-flick that obviously requires one to shed his/her inhibitions at the front door. In layman terms, it means (a) no blouse ripping (unless it is done tastefully) (b) no assaults on any women-folk (read - Mithun's dear sister) unless the story cannot move ahead, and (c) absolutely no double entendres and crass dialogues.

Now a person like me can live without the first two. Ok not completely, but I will live to fight another day. But what good is a Mithun-movie without the rhyming double meaning waale dialogues ? "Hi, I am Bulla" doesn't quite cut the cake when you compare it with "Mera naam hai Bulla, main karta hoon khullam khulla". And Bulla's orgasmic "Main tujhe maar doongaaaaaaaa" beats "Tu mere haathon marega" hands down.

My second problem is that being a serious director, she may actually try to inject some sense into the script. I mean what the hell man! First she will take away the skin-fest, then the dialogues, but now she will also take away the comical element of the movie which is the only common theme in an otherwise incoherent script. It is ok with me if she doesn't show the villain laying his dirty hands on Prabhu-ji's sister. But atleast let the sister say that she was on her way to college, when clearly she is in the middle of a 100 sqkm patch of grassy meadow.
Well, with a name that rhymes with Shabana Azmi, what else can you expect other than rhyme and reason. Correction. Make that just reason.

So with all hope of a good comeback movie lost beyond retrieval, I read this article about the "behind the scenes" dealings of the movie. Rediff reported that during the filming of a rape sequence in the movie, my dear Lord Shree Shree Mithun-ji (Calcutta-waale) inappropriately touched Sushmita Sen. Now I was delighted. Not because Sush was touched, but because the skin-fest was back on! The irony of the unsolicited touching in a rape sequence was however not lost. The reporters went to town about this sleazy piece of news and digged up dirt about Mithun's B-grade movies, which therefore explained his B-style behaviour. However, as a loyal fan, I wish to defend his position through this open letter.

Prabhuji,

Shat Shat Pranaam.

Just read the groping news in the tabloids. Journalism at its worst.
In my mind, however, the picture is crystal clear. Oh Lord of all Lords, if you are testing my belief, then be assured that no amount of your touching any woman (or man) will cause my faith to waver. However, I do know that in all probability, you were so immersed in your character, as the rapist and wot-not, that you forgot where the boundaries ended. Such a pioneer of method acting! How will these imbeciles understand, what it takes to be a multiple National Award winner? Haaaiii saalaaa !!

O mighty king! this news has bolstered my faith, and pretty soon, I shall witness thy rock-solid performance in Chingari on the big screen. That, my sire, is my dream.

I have given my heart to thee, and my brain to the gutters.
Humbly,
Asterix

Delhi revisited

2006-02-13T22:25:00.000+05:30

Finally back from a 3 day visit to Delhi. Delhi. Motherland. The only city which I love as much as I hate. Much has been said about Delhi and Mumbai, and I will not add anything to it.

This was my second trip to Delhi in less than a month, and an air-trip at that, which is still a big deal for a lot of Indians. As is obvious from this template of a conversation I had with lots of people before I left for Delhi:

Me: I am leaving for Delhi on Thursday.
Friend: Kya kaam hai ?
Me: Delhi Marathon
Friend: Oh, tu 42 kms bhaagega ?
Me: Kya meri shakal par likha hai ki meri 42 km ki aukaat hai?
Friend: Then the half marathon ?
Me: Nahin, 7km.
Friend: Sirf saat kilometre. Sahi sahi bata kis kaam se ja raha hai ?
Me: Sirf bhaagne
Friend: Ladkiyaan dekhne jaa raha hai kya (as in arranged marriage) ?
Me: Nahin
Friend (with a "your are definitely not among one of us" look) : Bada paisa hai yaar tere pass!!

Any attempts at proving that my Air Dhakkan ticket costs less than a Rajdhani ticket was met with a "nahin nahin, theek hai yaar, bahut paisa hai tere pass" type of answer. Damn my friends!

Khair, I did reach Delhi and much to my disappointment found that the stupid organizers could not procure proper road permits and stuff, and so the 7km was trimmed to 5kms.

Swallowing my pride and my month long practice, I still showed up at the stipulated time (after looking around for car-parking for 30 minutes). With the typical "nothing-can-go-right" attitude, the race was postponed by further 30 minutes and then started 15 minutes before time without any announcement. Since we (me and my 7-8 friends) were too enthused to run, we didnt give a damn and ran away to glory. After around 17 minutes, I saw the "finish" sign and was very proud of myself for a full 2 seconds before reason kicked in. Realised that the dumbass organizers had further trimmed down 5 to 3.5 kms or so. I guess no other buffon flew 800 miles to and fro so that he could run 3.5 kilometers in 17 minutes.

A pathetically organized event , when one compares with the awesome Mumbai marathon in January.

Ofcourse, with a nadir like that, everything else was ten times better - be it getting drunk after a long time (and being able to enjoy it too), playing on my PS2 after a long time, checking my official email after 3 weeks, driving on 3+3 lane roads, watching India win against Pakistan, eating matar paneer and kadhai paneer together, or listening to Rang De Basanti's musical score again and again on the car stereo.

"Thodi si dhool meri..dharti ki mere watan ki...." .. how can one not help liking the movie. Hell, I am in des, and I felt like I was missing India (kinda weird feeling only expatriates can feel, I guess).

Well Monday came, and I am back in Bombay now. Bombay. Motherland.

Flushing the TOIlet

2006-02-03T19:08:00.000+05:30

I wonder what the hell is going on in the minds of the simians who manage the tabloid known as The Times of India, whose creative nicknames include Slimes of India and the TOIlet Times.

My parents have always been a follower of the Indian Express for as long as I have been able to read the alphabet. Even then, they used to acknowledge that TOI, though partisan, and a butt-kissing servant of the Govt. of India, did used to have real news on its pages.

Somewhere in the early nineties, I had my first serious look at the TOI. I was shamelessly mesmerized. The thickness of the newspaper could only mean one thing - more probability of a cartoon somewhere in side. Infact, I forced my parents to subscribe to the Sunday Times of India so that I could enjoy Mindsport (a puzzle column) and Hagar the Horrible. The front pages never interested me that much because I was getting the daily dose from IE and the good old Doordarshan.When I moved to the college hostel, my long attachment with IE was broken and a new one with TOI was forged. And believe it or not, it was still because I read only the cartoons and nothing else.

Then one day, I began noticing the supplement "Delhi Times". Nothing much, a collage of photographs of forty something socialites, semi-naked movie stars, insipid interviews, pointless articles. Needless to say, I was hooked. Delhi Times used to be the paper we used to carry to the toilet for timepass reading. What we didn't realize that it belonged there, and thus, we shouldn't have brought it back. Nonetheless, my fascination waned pretty quickly.

Until they snatched me back with www.indiatimes.com. The sleaziest tabloid I have seen in my life! After watching some utterly crappy (I am really out of adjectives here) 'news' and raunchy photographs, I sensed a strong sense of deja vu.

Just have a look at the 'headlines' posted at the beginning of the post.

An Egyptian ship carrying 1300 people sunk in the Red Sea, but Aishwarya's compatibility with Abhishek is more important I guess.

By catering to the basic desires of the masses, the TOIlet times has succeeded in raking loads of moolah. Like Microsoft, it has some top notch businessman in managerial positions. Who possess the skill and the audacity to sell mediocre stuff to me, just because it looks jazzy and is all shiny and glossy! And the sad part is that there is hardly any newspaper left (apart from Hindu) to provide us with real news. Even Indian Express is a shadow of its previous self.

I guess until things improve, I would never have to worry about the shortage of toilet paper in the country.

Mother of all movies

2006-01-30T10:15:00.000+05:30

I can't believe this is my third posting within 48 hours. A record of sorts for me.
Well this post is about the best movie I have seen in my entire life, and so it deserves more than a passing mention.

When I was a kid in college, I used to hear a lot about IMDB and the top-100 and so on. Names like 'Pulp Fiction' and 'Shawshank Redemption' used to do the rounds very often. Well, soon after I graduated and helped myself to the purchase of a TV and a DVD player, I started my own movie collection. Courtesy the bootleg DVD stores at Palika Baazar, a haven for immoral cheapskates like me. Thanks to these stores, I was finally able to see most of the so called gems like the ones mentioned above and many others.

However, I knew something big was still missing. Firstly, I still hadn't seen a movie that would make me jump out of my pants with laughter, roll on the dirty floor and beat myself senseless out of sheer delirious excitement. Secondly, all the good movies were English, and as a card carrying nationalist, it really pinched me sometimes. So all my life I waited for this one movie, a Hindi movie, 'The One' if you may. That wait was over yesterday night.

Now this movie didn't spend any money on publicity. However the sheer raw talent of this movie was so much that it gained a lot of word of mouth publicity. It was doing the rounds of bulletin boards, some of my friends who had seen it swore by it, and so many reviews raved about it that I felt like checking out what the hue and cry was all about.

So I went ahead and procured 'Gunda'. A typical low budget, made-in-two-weeks Mithun-starrer, 1 good vs 200 evil kind of movie. Five minutes into the movie I was totally hooked. Like a heroin addict who knows that its bad for him, yet he can't stop, I too was acutely conscious of the gray cells that were quietly dying, yet I couldn't look away.

In my opinion, the star of the movie is not Mithun, but the immensely talented dialogue writer. Consider the following gems:

"Mera naam hai Bulla, main karta hoon khullam-khulla".

"Bulla ka naam lekar tune mera khada kar diya hai...gusse se ek ek baal".

And one of my personal favourites:

"Ab yahan laashein (bodies) aise girengi jaise koi bachcha jab pishaab karta hai..tap tap"

The genius of the dialogues lies not in the extremely high quality but in the fact that they rhyme. 25 minutes into the movie, I noticed that not a single dialogue was out of rhyme with its predecessor. Along with the jaw-dropping background music, it almost felt like a three hour song! The extraordinary hamming effort put forward by all the 'actors' also helped the cause.

"Bulla mujhe mat maar...tujhe AIDS se bachaane ke liye main nirodh ban jaaonga"
"Towel ban kar teri kamar se lipat jaaonga".

Sheer genius!

Apart from the great Mithun-da, the movie boasts of a stellar crew like Mohan Agashe, Shakti Kapoor and the Neanderthal who played Inspector Salim in Sarfarosh. Some girl picked on the street plays Mithun-da's romantic interest.

Now, the movie's storyline is predictable yet gripping. Mithun-da works as a coolie in Ooty airport. Yes, thats right! I guess the airport administrators haven't heard about a little thing known as trolleys. Anyway, so with his high paying coolie job, Mithun-da fulfills all his simple pleasures in life like liquor every night and Maruti Esteem. Now things are going fine with him and his family, which comprises of his sister, his girlfriend, his dad and his pet monkey. Till one day he takes pangas with Bulla (the Neanderthal) and co. Like true Bengalis, they continue making noises at one another for the first twenty minutes of the film, without getting physical. However, the dialogues are poetic (as proved before) and the delivery is par-excellence. Bulla throws in a pathetic fake Punjabi accent once in a while which really spices things up.

So these two are at loggerheads, and nothing is happening. Till one day, things get slightly ugly at the sea-port. Don't ask me how a mountain town like Ooty got a sea-port. Bulla decides enough is enough and finds out that he is horny enough to rape Mithun-da's sister. So after some blouse ripping, Mithun-da's family count reduces by one, which really pisses Mithun-da off.

He proclaims that he has fixed the death dates for the five villains in advance.
The relevant dialogue containing the dates is:
"Do , chaar, chheh, aath, dus. Bus!"

This rhyme amuses Bulla so much that he goes ahead and knocks off Mithun-da's havaldaar father. This makes Mithun-da so mad that he stops fooling around with his girlfriend for a while.

"Nafrat ki aag mein jal kar main pyaar karna bhool baitha hoon".

So now Mithun-da is horny as well as pissed off. Well, so much testosterone proves too fatal for poor Bulla and his minions. The killings start and bodies begin to drop on the promised dates. Apart from Dominos, Mithun-da becomes the only other entity who delivers on time.

In the climax, Bulla (who has killed Mithun-da's girlfriend, by the way), along with an army of 2000 auto-rickshaws faces Mithun-da, who, understandably, is alone. So Mithun-da opens the trunk of his Maruti-Esteem (remember the fat coolie paycheck?). And lo and behold! Mithun-da has dozens of rocket launchers with him, the kind which would put Doom and Quake to shame.

So after some pow-wow and boom-dhoom with the rockets, the auto0rickshaws become cycle-rickshaws (consequently, this ticks off the citizens of Ooty, who are left with no transport). Seeing that Mithun-da is playing at God level with the cheats on, Bulla gives up and is swiftly killed by the God.

That, my friend is the end of the movie. Thats three hours well spent.

Rocking Karachi

2006-01-29T11:29:00.000+05:30

So a friend living in the US of A decides to call me at 9am on Sunday and I negotiate a more humane timing with him and promptly go back to sleep. Well, once woken up I can hardly sleep, so I open up my laptop and begin the daily rituals of blogsurfing. Was reading some really funny articles by Greatbong for around one and a half hours when the hostel erupted with a loud noise. Being a veteran hostel dweller myself, I instantly decoded the noise to mean that (a) A cricket match is going on (b) Either an Indian batsman has hit a six or a bowler has scalped a wicket.

Well Rediff instantly confirmed my claims - Pakistan 0/1 in 0.4 overs. I had barely sat down when the noise erupted again... Pak 0/2 in 0.5, this was looking more like an Indian one-day batting scorecard in the late eighties (remember the failed opening stands!) By now the last shred of stupor had disappeared and as if to make me a believer, Pak was 0/3 in 1.0 overs. I was willing to kiss Pathan at that time at a great risk to my heterosexual image.

No other wicket fell for quite sometime, but the wait was not long. Three more noises (more like explosions) rocked the hostel at even intervals of 4-5 overs. Right now it is 45/6 in 11.4 overs. The Pakistani top order is gone and so is my sleep.

I am just wondering if the caretaker of the pitch has taken umbrage at the comments on the dead pitches of Faisalabad and Lahore. Now I cannot wait to go to my cousin in Chembur and see the highlights on the telly.

-Asterix

Still looking for the starting gun

2006-01-29T00:28:00.000+05:30

Had gone to Delhi for a 'special' celebration of my birthday (or 'budday' as they call it in North India). Nothing really special, except that 12-13 guys showed up at midnight, sans any girlfriends/wives, so the gathering turned into more of a bachelor party :) Not that I am complaining.

So I turned 26 on 24th. Big deal. I guess I have crossed the age limit after which you avoid birthdays like the plague. I am reminded of the lyrics of Pink Floyd's Time:

Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
You fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way.
Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way.

Tired of lying in the sunshine staying home to watch the rain.
You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today.
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you.
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun.

So you run and you run to catch up with the sun but it's sinking
Racing around to come up behind you again.
The sun is the same in a relative way but you're older,
Shorter of breath and one day closer to death.

Every year is getting shorter never seem to find the time.
Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines
...

Story of my life. I distinctly remember being a confused chap at 16. Still no closer to clarity at 26. Well, as they say, "its a phase. It will pass on...". Guess I will just have to wait and watch.

Meanwhile, a happy 56th birthday to our Indian republic!

-Asterix

A weekend less ordinary

2006-01-15T21:09:00.000+05:30

Nothing awesome happens in my life. Ever. Atleast not something earth-shattering. But this weekend was interesting enough to warrant a mention.

With my wingmate Raghu in town for the Mumbai marathon on Sunday, I decided to pay him a visit. Now I also harboured a desire to run in the marathon but the registration date was long gone. Anyway, so Saturday was nothing special...just that it was Basant so there was a kite-flying festival in Shivaji Park. A few of us went there, led by the rumors that some small time celebrities would be there. The kites were bad, the background music loud, air thick with dust, and we couldn't spot anyone famous so we did the usual babe-gazing stuff at Barista and CCD and came back. The conventional evening ended with a conventional bottle of strong beer. However, I had decided to wake up early next morning and cheer two of my friends in the marathon.

So the next morning, I found myself at the Metro Cinema, amidst masses of runners, who were attaching bibs to their t-shirts, having a last smoke before the big race or doing general timepass. The excitement in the air was palpable and the crowd was very lively. There were 10 year old kids as well as 65 year old ladies as participants. I was really glad to be there.

In the middle of all this rush, a BMW-X5 came near me and rolled to a stop dead beside me. Now I have seen better SUVs, but I was never seen Abhishek Bachchan sitting in anyone of them :) So, a celebrity-starved Delhi boy like me was pretty thrilled on seeing a big actor from 2 feet away.

Anyway, the half-marathon had already started and after the Dream Run started around 1.5 hrs later, I decided to enjoy the breeze at the sea front for sometime. Soon, the half-marathon runners were returning from their long haul and every one on the sidewalks began cheering them on for their last 1-2 kms. For me, the feeling of having come so far and not run became too depressing, so I ran along with the runners, although on the sidewalk, drawing smiles from some runners and event-organizers. I accompanied them from Marine Lines to Victoria Terminus (a distance of around 1.5 kms).

After the marathon, killed some time in McDonalds with Raghu (who, by the way, had clocked < 2.5 hrs for 21 kms) before going home. Well, home was not to be, and we ended up seeing Wedding Crashers (so-so timepass).

The gastronomic highlight of the day was a visit to Goa-Portugesa, which is 50 metres away from Raghu's house. It is a 26 year old place, highly acclaimed by many international travellers as well as Mumbaikers. The list of visitors includes the who's who of the city. It serves authentic Goan and South Indian food, along with drinks. My first impression of the place was that it would only serve sea-food (which is excellent I am told), but the variety of vegetarian food is amazing too. Had some Goan paneer starters :), a hot spicy Chettinaad dish, and a finger-licking tasty cashew-coconut Goan Sukem, along with a helluva load of appams.

Man! the food (esp. Sukem) was so good, I was willing to work there for food. Will definitely visit the place more often. One interesting tidbit - the menu (which was beautifully designed) contained a story about the place's beginnings. The lady who is the CEO of the place, missed Goan food after moving to Bombay. So she started the restaurant with her husband. And he, by the way, is an M.D. as well as a special police officer and drives a Harley Davidson !! The lady also was a customs officer before marriage. Boy! talk about the force being with you :)

They say that a marathon is going to be held in Delhi soon. Maybe I will get a chance there (sigh).

Hungry and wanting more good food and awesome marathons,
Asterix

Mera number kab aayega ??

2005-12-23T17:47:00.000+05:30

Thats Hindi for "When am I gonna get my chance at ... ?". The issue in this case is marriage.
In the coming few days, two of my friends are getting hitched (not to each other, atleast not until they legalize same-sex marriages in India). While for me, it means yet more free food, the most comforting feeling is that - "Hey! good things like these can surely happen to guys like us!! :)"

Thats a very comfortable thought indeed. Trying my hands at losing my single status a few times, and succeeding only partially, I have temporarily given up on any such endeavours in the near future. The motto of the day is - "let the parents do the dirty job of finding a decent girl". We are living in good times my friend. Wait, no , change that to - we are living in a good country my friend. One where arranged marriage is always a saviour of poor souls like me. I am ok with arranged marriage, heck! 80% of the marriages in India are arranged (ok ok I made that statistic up, so sue me!). My only problem with it can be summed up in one sentence that my mom said to me.

It happened like the following. Picture this - me narrating my 'criteria' of a decent girl to my mom, and my mom going 'uh huh, ok, carry on...' and so forth. After I finished my lengthy monologue, I asked my mom - "Ma is it unreasonable to try and find a girl like this?". And my wise mom replies - "No son, it is not unreasonable to demand, but sure is impossible to get".

So until I stop freaking out from that comment, I am still gonna hold on tightly to my bachelorhood and make my fellow Aquarians proud of me :) (Saying goes that in a gang of friends, the Aquarians are typically the last ones to marry).

Riding into the sunset ?

2005-12-04T01:47:00.000+05:30

A long long time ago, from the wild wild North, came two cowboys - Jai and Veeru. All they wanted was sanctuary, after years of oppression at the hands of the ranch-lords back home. Their aims were noble - they desired to learn gunfighting from the very best. These experts were the fastest hands in the west, who, funnily enough, were frequently and fondly called chair or vice-chair by their peers. And why did our two cowboys want to get involved in this deadly art ? Well, so that no one would ever hold them at gunpoint or take advantage of their clumsiness with the trigger, back home. So that when they go back, they would be able to defend their own land and property, instead of being a mute spectator of the doings of the ranchlords.

Little did they know the fate that was awaiting them in the west. While Veeru had had one and a half years of prior gun training and knew how to shoot ducks from 50 metres, Jai was a rookie in the game of barrels and bullets. To compensate for this, Jai's guru told him to learn and learn fast. Waking up as early as 11 o'clock day after day and shooting till 4 o clock in the a.m. became a norm for him. Since he was a baby in this big bad world, he took on not one or two but three masters - he practiced the revolver with one, the sniper-rifle with another and his true love, the semi-automatic, with the third. So obsessed did he become with this semi-automatic, that he starting reading about its internals, its mechanics, special bullets and stuff. Soon the village kids were coming to him with questions and he was more than happy to oblige.

But what the poor Jai didn't realise was that while feeling secure with a gun was one thing, being loved by a fair lass was another, and much bigger, feeling. While Jai was in the shooting ranges, his buddy Veeru had become helplessly romantically entangled with Basanti. Veeru, unlike Jai, had an experienced hand with guns. So he had all the time in the world to whisper sweet nothings into the willing ears of Basanti.

This went on for four months and a half. The training came to an end, and the time to test their skills had come. As expected, Veeru, through sheer experience, and love-charged batteries, came out with flying colors. And Jai was struggling with gruelling exams one after another. And then came the call for help from the North! The fate of the North depended on the newly learnt abilities of these two young men. Finishing their training quickly, they mounted their steeds, took off their hats in admiration of the west, and rode North.

But while Veeru had the feeling of surety, the feeling that only someone in love can experience, there was no such luck for Jai. Uncomfortably and unknowingly he nudged his horse towards his destination.

Watch this space to know more about Jai and Veeru's story.....some of the biggest mysteries will be unfolded over the next few days, like:
Did Veeru marry Basanti, or was he just fooling around?
Did Jai make it to the North alive?
Did Jai find true love (in the form of a girl, rather than a gun) ?
Was Veeru's experience mighty enough to save their village from the ravages of the ranchlords?
Was Jai's love for the semi-automatic powerful enough to pull him back to the west?

Some teasers of the coming episodes...

....
Jai (screaming): Veeru is my friend and I can't let him go away and marry..
....

....
Ranchlords firing incessantly at the dynamic duo. Veeru doing the double revolver cowboy stunt and Jai doing a Matrixesque move to dodge the bullets...
....

....
(A girl's voice, we can't see her face) : Jai....I wanted to tell you something...I love you..
....

Black diwali

2005-11-10T00:35:00.000+05:30

You know that you are no more young when your younger brother wears three-quarters and you think it is childish. Well, atleast that's what happened to me when I met my folks for Diwali. Oh, by the way, hope all you guys and gals had a happy diwali !

Speaking of Diwali, it sure was a really black one for all of us. With the triple bomb blasts in Delhi, it was a tainted diwali for us Indians. Stuff like this has been happening for a while now. Innocent civilians have been dying every day, every week for many years now. Personally, my patience has really run out. Its really difficult to keep one's cool especially after seeing the gory scenes on the news. Its one thing to read a statistic in the newspaper and another to see victims' guts sprayed inside out on the streets and bodies of children everywhere. Its all so disgusting that its hard to feel anything but hatred. Faith in humanity seems to be lost. And then one hears about people, like the bus driver and conductor who emptied the bus and saved many lives. And some faith is restored. The driver lost one eye while disposing the bomb but many families will eternally be grateful to him.

One thing that hurts the most is the extremely low value we place on human lives. We read news of terrorist acts in the same breath as cricket scores. And we dont flinch. Not a bit. What does it take for the government to sit straight and take notice ? The parliament, the center of the democracy, was attacked not long back. And what did we do ? Move our troops to the border, made all kinds of noises. And retreated.

No, I don't want war. The lives of innocent people cannot be avenged by killing more innocent people. But something should be done to construct a very effective deterrent. A country of a billion people, a wannabe superpower, if it cannot protect the lives of its own, if a few puny mercenaries can make mockery out of its border security, such a nation will never be taken seriously.
Its high time we took off our Mahatma Gandhi robe and put on the garbs of Sardar Patel and Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose.

Breakfast finally!, not at Tiffany's though.

2005-10-23T08:19:00.000+05:30

The human mind works in funny ways. Or so it seems after pulling in a textbook all-nighter. The one where you start working post-dinner and go to bed post-breakfast. Been a while since I did that.
Just came back from the Sunday breakfast and am writing this, so it may be incoherent. What I couldn't understand about the breakfast was that what on earth were those ten other guys doing at 8 in the morning on a sunday in the mess hall !!! This is supposed to be IIT, where people are so exhausted from playing comp games on a weekend, that they develop carpal-tunnel overnight. I guess the IIT Bombay chaps are way too geeky as compared to their Delhi counterparts.

Now that some pooris are inside my stomach, I feel pretty good. The illusion of Homer Simpson guzzling a Duff has vanished and the brain seems to have come out of the twilight zone. Guess I should eat breakfast more often than once a year.

Oh one last thing though . I couldn't help recalling those 9:29 a.m. jalebi sessions on Shivalik Sundays :( . Going to bed at 7am on a sunday, waking at 9:29 and grabbing the last few pieces of jalebis from the mess hall and going back to bed - now that requires superhuman willpower.

First one bites the dust

2005-10-12T18:39:00.000+05:30

This is reporter Asterix reporting the aftermath of the Mehta-Gupta alliance ceremony which took place on 10th October in Meerut. Needless to say, this is the first LP wedding to take place and needs special attention and description. To do that, the LP group needed plenty of eyewitnesses. And just like the three magi who came to see Jesus on his birth, there were three LP-ites to witness the magic moment - PJ, Praywin and myself.

The mysterious absence of Chummi was often talked about, and the even more mysterious "I may make it" email of Aggy was frequently laughed at. Sources close to Chummi say that he had used the pretext of going to the wedding to sneak off to his own pre-marital honeymoon. Sources close to Aggy say that his email was just his usual "I am alive" packet that he sends every three months.

Anyway, coming to the wedding now. So Praywin and I reached Meerut at 11pm on 9th October after a lot of theatrics, courtesy Air Deccan and Kingfisher Airlines. We ate the customary poori-sabji-chhole-raita and witnessed some good solo dance performances from people from both the sides. Now personally I would rather be caught dead than be caught dancing solo, atleast when I am sober. So I tried all the cheap tricks in the book to hide myself. And to my relief, the choreos soon gave way to podium, where our own groomie boy gave a Salman-esque dance performance. Then the amateurs gave way to the professionals and soon Praywin was wooing the local beauties through his sleek gyrations.

The night ended with a crack-session (here crack doesnt mean weed) between Praywin, me and Mehta (the groom) till almost 6am. We ended up recalling many instances about PC and Sardar Jasdeep Singh. PC's incidents provided most of the comic relief. The next morning was pretty reminiscient of IIT Sunday mornings, as we were woken up at 9:25am, and we ate some freshly made jalebis and promptly went back to sleep after having a stomachfull :)

PJ arrived in the evening and our number was 3 now. Getting ready as baraatis, Praywin wore a revealing paper-thin see-through kurta, all whose buttons were missing, thus leaving the previously mentioned local beauties gasping for breath. The baraat itself was pretty eventful, with the band singer sucking bigtime, but we still danced away to glory (on "yeh desh hai veer jawaano ka, albelo ka mastaano ka" etc etc). Later on it was revealed that everybody was asking the groom about the 'three musketeers' who were dancing like there was no tomorrow, and the groom had replied that the three were hired in Delhi to dance at the wedding. Till now, the three of us haven't agreed on whether to feel offended or complimented at this comment.

The ceremony was a pukka north-indian one, with all the good food, all the pretty girls, beautiful arrangments, approximately 13724 photos of the couple, 1/2 ton worth of gifts, plenty of not-so-good DJ-ing, all the relatives coo-chi-cooing the cheeks of the newlyweds and so on.

The end of the marriage ceremony was also pretty interesting, with our dear groomie managing to flirt with all his newfound lady-relatives, unmarried as well as married, thus making every bachelor and married man jealous (yeah I was jealous bigtime). There was a game where the groom was supposed to make impromptu hindi 4-liner poems in order to 'earn respect' of his in-laws. What his in-laws didn't know that he was the Hindi-Samiti representative of our hostel, so pretty soon he was earning even more respect than Don Corleone in Godfather.

Overall the ceremony was pretty cool and ended at around 5am when none of us could bat an eyelid without dozing off. Our return journey back home was made even more eventful when PJ "man-handled" Praywin in the backseat of my car (remember the zero-button kurta ? :))

-Asterix
PS: Some real and nicknames have been changed to protect the identity of the victims. All the other things took place as described.

No love on the beach

2005-09-26T13:46:00.000+05:30

Wow, that was a really long break from the blogging world. How long has it been ? 3 weeks ? Jeez man ! Down with the mid-sems !

So I was back at my favourite haunt - the Bandra Bandstand, with His Holiness Mr. Manish Bhide. The goals were simple - cheese masala pav for the stomach, jogging beauties for the eyes and pelting a couple of stones at SRK's house for the general good of mankind. Ok ok I made the last one up. I mean who would throw stones when much bigger rocks are available on the shore ;-)

Well, finishing a glass of awesome pineapple juice, I began looking at the couples sitting on the rocks nearby. Me and Bhide were trying our best to add to the gay romance angle, but lets face it : both of us are heteros at heart. So I was looking at these couples and most of the girls seemed to be paradoxically unhappy to me. In some cases, the guy was trying to convince the girl about something, his most convincing tactic being holding the girl's hand. Its not the fastest arrow in the quiver my friend ! Logic and women are like vodka and whisky. They just don't mix, and whats more, even if you put them forcibly together, you get a pukey feeling in the stomach and a headache the next morning.

It was then that I started to wonder about one of the foremost questions plaguing the mankind. The likes of Socrates, Plato and Aristotle have spend countless frustrating nights pondering over this, not to mention our own medieval boys like Voltaire and Kant. Apparently the question drove Descartes so mad, that all he could come up with was - "I think therefore I am". As you may already have guessed by now, the question is - "Why are the best looking girls always to be found with the most idiotic looking guys ?". [Disclaimer: This question is nowhere related to my loveless single life].

I began a thought experiment : I imagined going over this question with a good looking girl. Now being with a gorgeous babe is no different than any guy's 'usual' fantasies, except that in this case, there was some talking going on.

So here goes the thought experiment. Me and the gorgeous looking babe (GLB):
Me : Why do you go out with that stupid surly looking fellow ?
GLB : Excuse me ! Do I know you ? Why are you even talking to me ??
Me : Hey! This is a freaking thought experiment. Come on man ! please cooperate.
GLB: Oh ok.
Me : So tell me what do you see in him ?
GLB : You mean apart from the great physique ?
Me : Err....yes. I meant is he nice and jovial ? Does he make you laugh ? Can you discuss a good book with him ? Does he hold your hand while walking on a moonlit beach ?
GLB : Well he spends a lot on me. Buys me superficial gifts. Takes me to pubs and discotheques, buys me clothes that leave nothing to the imagination. Sends his car to pick me up and drop me.
Me : And there are no negative aspects ?
GLB : Sure there are tons! He treats me like a prize trophy. He is happy to be my boyfriend not because he is happy to be with me but because he feels 'extra cool' in his circle of gym buddies. Plus he is a total jerk.
Me : So why not go out with someone more full of substance ?
GLB : Half of them are geeks, just like you....
(Me : sheepishly smiling and also feeling smug as being marked 'full of substance')
(GLB contd)... and the other half dont have the nerves to approach the girls they like.
(Me : feeling confused...aren't I in both these halves? Thats it , I am a spineless geek. Woohoo!)

So there you have it. My thought experiment was conclusive after all. Girls do want to go out with intelligent, sensitive and funny guys. Looks isnt everything. All they want is that the guys should make the first move. As for me, I am an enlightened soul. I know exactly what to do. Its time to pick up those dumbells and pump it up !!! There sure is no way in hell that I will land up a GLB , writing all these crazy blog entries.

No ether in the net

2005-09-03T18:55:00.000+05:30

First they announce a quiz barely after I complete 2 assignments. I dont complain but study and give the quiz. Then on the same day, I get _another_ surprise quiz in another lecture. I feel betrayed and robbed off all my innonence, but still I stay quiet. As expected, I screw up the quiz but calm down after just half an hour of hysterics. This is life, I think.

But then, horror of all horrors, my ethernet card dies on me. This one breaks me completely. I can live without food, clothes, water, girlfriends, but I cannot, I repeat, I simply cannot live without those sweet little packets of internet traffic. Suddenly life becomes devoid of all meaning and I feel like dialing the Indian equivalent of 911.

Guess Monday will bring some good news about my replacement card. If that doesnt work out, I can always move back to Delhi - the land of redundant internet connections and the home of the 24x7 tech support.

My world this week

2005-09-02T11:41:00.000+05:30

This has been a very hectic and forgetable week. Began with me having long bouts of beer-drinking..sometimes 3-4 nights in a row, just to make up for lost time. Have to admit, watching Australia lose to England, while drinking beer, is one of the most cherishable moments of my life :)

It went downhill from there. Because then came a couple of ultra-sobering assignments, which took longer than usual to complete - thus involving me and Bhide in long marathon sessions of coding and analysis. I dont recall ever spending 3 consecutive days on a single assignment back in undergrad time. Celebrated the assignment completion by a beer drinking binge (what else?) at a local seedy pub, thus causing my first ever beer hangover. Although all that beer induced gas did help me float the next day in the swimming pool :))

Then somewhere between beer and coding, I realised that I have a quiz to study for. I dont remember being so blasphemous in my entire life. I guess if I can pull this week through, I can deal with anything.

As always, thanks for reading.

Non-linear morale curve

2005-08-26T13:09:00.000+05:30

With Monday meetings with my guide being the norm, I thought it would be useful to plot my fluctuating states of anguish, panic or euphoria. So here goes nothing, (inspired by PhD Comics)

Salient points on the morale curve:
a) Prev meeting with guide went well. Realizing that the next meeting is far off in the foggy future, morale is at an all time high.
b) Realize that half the week is over and nothing has been done. Panic is beginning to set in.
c) Realize that the problem is harder than thought on Tuesday. Red 'panic' button pressed.
d) A brief spurt of motivation to solve the problem, no matter what. The spirited moment is, however, shortlived.
e) Other students say that the guide is sort of cool if you dont work for a couple of weeks. This news serves as a straw to a drowning man.
f) Realize that you _have_ to work this week because you haven't worked for the previous 3 weeks. (e) is not an option.
g) Unable to solve the problem. Become comfortably numb and stoic. Adopt a "main aisa hi hoon" (this is what I am) attitude for the meeting which is only 2 hrs away. Morale increases slightly because of the 'martyr attitude'. Spend the remaining time calling loved ones and writing the will.

To swim or not to swim

2005-08-23T13:19:00.000+05:30

A post after a long time. I was slightly busy with business (if you can believe that!) and pleasure. On the pleasure front, I went to Hyderabad over the weekend to meet a college friend. No I didnt visit the Charminar or have Hyderabadi biryani at a midnight buffet, but I did relax around the Hussain Sagar Lake and checked out the Imax at Hyd's only multiplex.

In other news, I have started swimming. Rather, I have started trying to swim in the IIT pool.
In a daring show of courage and determination, I defeated a kid in a photo-finish breadth-crossing race yesterday :) My coach and manager Mr. Manish Bhide will attest to this fact.
Ofcourse, there are other pool-related cheap stunts, like lingering around the pool area during the ladies slot but more on that later...

PS: Bhide got 5 kgs of grub from his fiancee, so suddenly I have started making demos at his room instead of mine :)

Lecture karma

2005-08-13T15:19:00.000+05:30

So we have this compulsory course on Communication Skills that has a 2 hr lecture every week, and that too at as early as 10:30am, which really gets on my nerves sometimes. So this time, Bhide and I decided to unilaterally end the lecture after 1 hr had passed. The plan was to occupy the seats closest to the exit, sign on the sheet and then slink away when the time came. We did take the front row seats but little did we know that God would be so benelovent upon us that the sheet would come to us in the first 20 seconds of the class. Like evil twins who can read each other's mind, we quickly signed our names and ran away like fugitives from prison before the instructor could say "good morning". Bhide created quite a show by taking a fake mobile phone call while going out. Me ? I was just running like there was a pack of dogs behind me. Guess I haven't got Bhide's grace :) Anyway, we behaved like real scumbags and it felt really gooood. Pretty nostalgic, huh ?

Little did I know that the lecture karma would come back to haunt me. A couple days later, I had an afternoon class at 3:30pm. With nothing else to do, I went to my workstation in the institute and was getting pretty bored. Then I decided that I would surprise myself by entering the class at 3:25 and be before time for a change. Well, as I entered the lecture hall, I realised that my supposedly 3:30 class was actually at 2pm and it was in the process of ending when I made my grand appearance. My eyes met the disapproving eyes of the professor and I made an oscar-winning portrayal of a guy who had casually ambled into the wrong lecture room. I slunk away before the professor could stop me and give me the third degree. All's well that ends well.
[Update: All definitely didn't end well. There was a quiz in that lecture in which I got a grand zero :( ]

Oh by the way, did I mention that Bhide is off to meet his in-laws. He flew business class, because, in his own words, "there was no other option".

Front row ka mazaa

2005-08-11T23:48:00.000+05:30

Since my only class today got canceled, and I had to collect my air ticket from one of the Air Sahara offices, on an impulse I decided to go to the farthest possible ticketing office in Bombay. Ofcourse Bhide came along since he has nothing better to do anyway. So off we went towards Nariman Point. Realised that to reach the ticketing office, we used quad-modal transport (walked till main gate, auto till Kanjur Marg, train till VT, bus till the office). The highlight of the trip was ofcourse getting to sit on the very front row seats of the top floor of a double decker bus at VT. This was a first for me and was pretty exciting. From up there, every turn and lane-change seems to defy the very laws of physics !! :) When the bus takes a sharp turn, one almost feels that the unstable vehicle is going to topple.

Came back to IIT for some welcome meeting for the new PhD students. Our primary concern was, ofcourse, the free snacks that were to be served after the meet. It is good thing to have a person like Bhide as a food partner because the guy never touches anything oily, desserty, too sugary - in short anything worth eating :) .

Not so Great Punjab

2005-08-07T14:26:00.000+05:30

Went to this eating joint on Linking Road with Vikram. The placed is called "Great Punjab" and I was rubbing my hands together in eager anticipation of some atleast "slightly great" Punjabi food. The ambience was ok at best and so was the food. The servings are not ample and the taste...well it was average at best. Oh and did I mention that they serve alcohol :) Ultimately cost me 450 bucks per head . Guess I will stick to Papa Pancho the next time I am in that neighborhood.

Delhi and Mumbai

2005-08-06T23:29:00.000+05:30

I have been thinking of doing a serious post about my perception of Mumbai and how it compares to Delhi. I have stayed in Delhi for almost 8 years and as expected, the city flows in my veins. A full blown comparison against Mumbai was thus inevitable :) .

Ok Delhi first. Well the city is much more spacious than Mumbai - wider roads, much more greenery, parks, no rampant skyscraper construction. In terms of infrastructure, it has _many_ more roads and did I mention that the roads were a lot wider :)
In terms of food, Delhi beats Mumbai hands down in my fav cuisine department - North Indian (Mughlai/Punjabi). Any average roadside Delhi restaurant can offer you yummy tikkas, delicious kadahi paneer and tasty naans. Till date I have only found Papa Pancho in Pali Hill, Mumbai that even comes close to offer competition.
Then there are the 'people factors' - viz the average Delhite is more generous, stylish, extravagant and in general slightly loose with the purse. The 'spend and enjoy' first and think later is the prevalent attitude in Delhi. (Dil pehle dimaag baad mein :) )
And for the middle class and above, commute is much more comfortable in Delhi. The fact remains that one can travel 25 kms in Delhi inside of one hour on road on his/her own vehicle.
Things will become even better when the metro spreads.
There are other minor pros in favour of Delhi - booze is roughly 20% cheaper :) , petrol is much cheaper, proximity to the awesome Himalayan treks and hill-stations, clear cut four seasons etc and etc.

Mumbai now. Where should I begin ? The city has bowled me over with many pleasant aspects.
And many of these things are sorely lacking in Delhi.
Firstly, its a great leveller. I feel that the rich and the poor are sort of alike because this city still respects one with merits than those with means. I have seen executives with laptops and expensive cellphones sharing local berths with the neighborhood chai-wallah on their way to work. And nobody seems to mind even the slightest bit. I can almost imagine some Delhi snobs turning their nose up at this remark. I guess the most endearing thing about Mumbai is that an outsider can see how the average Mumbaikar really sweats for his daily bread. From standing in queues at the bus stop to cramming into the already jammed up local train , spending 3-4 hrs in commute everyday and still maintaining a it-doesnt-matter smile on the face.
Another factor is the level of professionalism in the city. Be it the auto-wallahs (do they rock or what !), or the commendable efficiency of the trains/BEST or the general civic sense in the residents (making queues for the auto/bus etc), everyone makes it his/her duty to maintain order in this chaotic city. [I got scolded by a gentleman at the Bandra promenade today evening. I inadvertantly entered the promenade while eating some snack and an elderly gentleman who was jogging by made sure that I finished my food before I got anywhere near the waves.] Delhi on the other hand has the apathetic "Chalta hai" attitude written all over it.
Finally, Mumbai has the monsoons to offer. Irritating (and inconvenient too) at times due to its abundance, it surely is a welcome change for me, one who has just arrived from a scorching desert called Delhi.

Will add later as and when other factors arise.

First post

2005-07-30T14:35:00.000+05:30

Wow!, I have my own blog now. Guess I will start with this first good-for-nothing post. Just wondering why didn't I create this blog earlier when I had more time to kill :) .