<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?>
<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" media="screen" href="/~d/styles/atom10full.xsl"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" media="screen" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" gd:etag="W/&quot;DUEERnY7fyp7ImA9WhRaFEk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6527413796646946199</id><updated>2012-02-16T19:00:07.807-08:00</updated><title>Back Bench Talks</title><subtitle type="html" /><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/" /><author><name>backBencher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00120194996359746189</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>25</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/BackBenchTalks" /><feedburner:info uri="backbenchtalks" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEICSH46fyp7ImA9WhRVFUw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6527413796646946199.post-2456176216135076347</id><published>2012-01-13T20:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2012-01-13T20:49:29.017-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-13T20:49:29.017-08:00</app:edited><title>Opposites vs Likes: The Story of Kukoo</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zaTW2kaXTJw/TxD5-cUV7yI/AAAAAAAAFLc/ZdRgrAbo8fo/s1600/ViolinSnaps+013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zaTW2kaXTJw/TxD5-cUV7yI/AAAAAAAAFLc/ZdRgrAbo8fo/s320/ViolinSnaps+013.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Kukoo was our neighbor's cat when I was at Mountain View. She had thick, furry coat which was fully black in color. Her eyes were florescent green with narrow slits. If she looked at you from the dark, you would only see two ghostly bright dots suspended in mid-air. Curiosity was her mantra. She would want to explore everything from tree branches to random patios in our apartment complex. If you left the door only slightly open she would promptly run and place her paw in the opening as if she forgot the keys and does not want to see the house locked! She loved to chase. From squirrels to laser dots to shadows cast by the evening lamp on the floor, Kukoo would chase anything and everything. The only other thing she loved more was probably milk. She could lap up huge quantities in no time. Once done she would ritualistically lick her paw and rub it over her eyes and pointy ears, then followed by a long stretch and perhaps, a nice nap. Oh Kukoo loved to nap - be it afternoons or mornings, she had the power to sleep-at-will!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;-------- *&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; * --------&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Now like Kukoo, I too love to nap in the afternoon, am very curious about a lot of things and enjoy that glass of chocolate milk, but my first meeting with her was hardly very pleasant... It was one evening when I came home from work, did I notice two spots of green light suspended mid-air in our dark patio. Curiosity drove me to go near. But as I gently extended my arm toward the dots, a quick prick of her attacking paw scratched my hand sending sharp pain a few seconds later! My eyes got adjusted to the dark just as I saw Kukoo's swishing tail disappear into the neighboring patio. For a few days after that, I kept as far away from that rude feline as possible!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;-------&amp;nbsp; ( At First, Likes Repel ) &lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;------- &lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;---- ^&amp;nbsp; ^ ----&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Now, Kukoo had a master and a mistress - our neighbors. An irritable white guy in the late thirties and this chain-smoking, obese female whose hip was as indistinguishable from her waist as her neck was from her chin! Both were probably as close minded, boring individuals as one can get. They always bought the same canned food, the same bread and same brand of beer from the same shop, week after week. They were the type who would not come out to watch even if Britney Spears was doing a 'special' performance in their patio. Yet Kukoo was, at one time, simply smitten by them. She would rub her back on the guy's legs as if they were scratching poles, as he stopped to pick up mail. She would roll on her back as her mistress took puff after puff from her obnoxious stick of death. They couple never bought milk and probably hated afternoon naps, going by the long hours of solitaire the lady could be seen playing until sun down. Yet Kukoo was, so effortlessly, their cat!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;--------&amp;nbsp; ( At First, Opposites Attract ! )&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt; -------- &lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;---- * * ----&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Unless witnessed first hand, no one would believe that there was &lt;i&gt;abuse&lt;/i&gt;. One evening, Kukoo was outside my patio when I saw through the closed glass door (she was still that rude feline to me then)... Right on the tiny depression on her neck, immediately below her head, where were a few brown spots revealing small circular gaps in her otherwise smooth fur. Just out of curiosity I bent to take a look through the glass. Kukoo was busy trying to grab the moving curtain on my side of the glass. At first it looked like someone had tried to give her a bad haircut, but when I got a clearer look, I saw what seemed like grey ash in that cavity! Only then it dawned on me what those brown spots could have been made by - &lt;i&gt;cigarette marks that had burnt their way right unto her skin&lt;/i&gt;! Cat fur is flammable but fortunately it looked like the smoking mistress had been careful in using her live ash tray to extinguish and not to inflame! I was shocked, and thought it was someone else, but having seen the lady mercilessly shove away Kukoo when she came too close to her laptop while she was playing Solitaire, with her cigarette, it pretty clear who could be doing it. I carefully looked up CA laws on animal abuse, and the next afternoon mustered just enough courage to have a &lt;i&gt;"short chat" &lt;/i&gt;with the mistress. She denied it completely, of course, but from the look of pure terror in her eyes I could clearly see that she neither expected it nor was very prepared. I think I drove home the point well enough. Something about the cat seemed to irk her masters for sure but I never found out what or why. I could also see that Kukoo only relied on them for nourishment and really nothing more!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;--------&amp;nbsp; ( Later, Opposites Regretfully Repel ! )&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt; -------- &lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;---- * * ----&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Whatever dislike I had for Kukoo vanished quickly - one such evening when Kukoo was busy chasing the curtain on my side of the glass, I got a saucepan and poured a little milk onto it and slowly opened the glass door. Kukoo took a few steps away as if to run off, but as I kept the saucepan down, she turned around curiously to see what this nut-case neighbor is up to. Then slowly, as I stepped away, she came forward, smelled the pan, took one good long look at me, and began to lap up the milk. I waited patiently till she was done with her paw lick routine. But as I bent down to examine her wound - she took off with a sudden noiseless jump. It took many such drinks breaks before Kukoo and I became friends. But soon enough, I became one of the fewest in the world who was allowed to stroke her fur or play chase-the-shadow games! I kept a close watch on the wound on her neck - fortunately it never freshened or worsened... perhaps my talk was still ringing in her ears or maybe she just bought a real ash tray. I did not care, Kukoo was ok and I was happy! Ours became a rare bond of friendship and true trust. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;--------&amp;nbsp; ( Later, Likes Bond Beautifully ! )&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt; -------- &lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;---- * * ----&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I relocated to Foster City soon later and had to bid Kukoo farewell. The last few times that I spent with Kukoo were very different though - Through her narrow slit eyes, she would often give me this dark look every now and then. It was as if she had already heard of my plans to relocate. Her look would seem to ask me, "Hey do you really need to leave?!" Sometimes she wouldn't even play chase-the-shadow with me. It was as if she wanted to make the parting process easier. But then the day dawned and I had to tell Kukoo my last goodbye.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I never really went back to Mountain View and never saw Kukoo ever since, but her deep slit eyes converse with me in my dreams some nights even today....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Kukoo:&lt;/b&gt;&amp;nbsp; You aren't coming back are you?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Backbencher: &lt;/b&gt;I am soo terribly sorry Kukoo but most likely not.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Kukoo: &lt;/b&gt;Who am I to play with then - the grumpy old hag with the fire-stick?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Backbencher: &lt;/b&gt;She hasn't burned you again, has she?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Kukoo: &lt;/b&gt;No, uses her glass bowl instead, but they aren't very fun to play with.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Backbencher: &lt;/b&gt;Thank Goodness... but why do they hate you, Kukoo?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Kukoo: &lt;/b&gt;It's not hate, it is just that my masters and I are so different that there is a lot of friction!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Backbencher:&lt;/b&gt; Why did they pick you in the first place then?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;Kukoo: &lt;/b&gt;Haha because Opposites first attract, silly.. haven't you heard people say they FELL in love?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Backbencher: &lt;/b&gt;Yes, all the time, what's wrong in that?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Kukoo: &lt;/b&gt;Well, if it is so cool, why fall? why not RISE in love?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;Backbencher: &lt;/b&gt;I lost you there Kukoo...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Kukoo: &lt;/b&gt;It's simple, it is in our basic nature to be attracted to folks of opposite gender who are very different from us. How many stories have we heard of the religious tam-bram girl eloping with a tall ruffian on a motorbike!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;Backbencher: &lt;/b&gt;So are you saying that is bad?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;Kukoo: &lt;/b&gt;Well, the trouble is opposites first attract then soon enough the differences in personality are what start causing friction and arguments and fights and all that.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;Backbencher: &lt;/b&gt;Why don't people pick like minded partners then?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Kukoo: &lt;/b&gt;Because unfortunately like minded folks of opposite gender might tend to compare and compete with each other at first and repel! When has the class topper girl eloped with another topper guy?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Backbencher: &lt;/b&gt;Oh Yeah you Scratched me at first didn't you?!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Kukoo: &lt;/b&gt;Hehe, sorry about that, but my point precisely. See I couldn't bare to meet another clown as curious as me!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;Backbencher: &lt;/b&gt;You know I see your point, its all over the movies too... Have you watched &lt;i&gt;Kuch Kuch Hota Hai &lt;/i&gt;or &lt;i&gt;Jane Tu Ya Jane Na &lt;/i&gt;or &lt;i&gt;My Best Friend's Wedding &lt;/i&gt;or &lt;i&gt;When Harry Met Sally&lt;/i&gt;..&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;Kukoo (a little offended): &lt;/b&gt;I am a cat and cats aren't allowed to watch movies, Silly!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;Backbencher: &lt;/b&gt;Oh sorry, but all these movies talk about how friends seldom fall in love from the beginning.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;Kukoo: &lt;/b&gt;Well, yes, your most compatible partner might just be your buddy, but it does take some amount of maturity and wisdom to see the truth in this.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;Backbencher: &lt;/b&gt;Shouldn't we do something about this?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;Kukoo: &lt;/b&gt;Yea why don't you go and blog while I have a squirrel to chase...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;Backbencher: &lt;/b&gt;I miss you Kukoo...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;....but Kukoo was gone already!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Happy New Year Folks! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6527413796646946199-2456176216135076347?l=backbenchtalks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ere1yX7zqgy4N-6LjUvvk3agEFg/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ere1yX7zqgy4N-6LjUvvk3agEFg/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~4/Hws7_DK3oKU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/feeds/2456176216135076347/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2012/01/opposites-vs-likes-story-of-kukoo.html#comment-form" title="11 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/2456176216135076347?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/2456176216135076347?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~3/Hws7_DK3oKU/opposites-vs-likes-story-of-kukoo.html" title="Opposites vs Likes: The Story of Kukoo" /><author><name>backBencher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00120194996359746189</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zaTW2kaXTJw/TxD5-cUV7yI/AAAAAAAAFLc/ZdRgrAbo8fo/s72-c/ViolinSnaps+013.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>11</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2012/01/opposites-vs-likes-story-of-kukoo.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ck4BRXY-cSp7ImA9WhRREEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6527413796646946199.post-2821840564741087271</id><published>2011-11-18T22:03:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-11-23T15:29:14.859-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-11-23T15:29:14.859-08:00</app:edited><title>An Ink called Adrenaline</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;u&gt;&lt;b&gt;My Scariest Dance&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Cast upon a role, I had not foreseen,&lt;br /&gt;
by a missing Oracle Diwali queen,&lt;br /&gt;
I became main lead organizer...&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; ...of this year's annual routine!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I did what I could to my very best - &lt;br /&gt;
Passed the big choreographer quest,&lt;br /&gt;
Dances, Acoustics, all issues addressed.&lt;br /&gt;
Shot short films in a team with real zest...&lt;br /&gt;
even got out my violin from its tiny rest..&lt;br /&gt;
then decided to fill in as a dancer...&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; .....for the big fest!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dry run, Dress rehearsal they all went well..&lt;br /&gt;
Enthusiasm was building folks could tell&lt;br /&gt;
Then,&lt;br /&gt;
Oct 21st 2011, 2pm - many folks gathered ...&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; .... as the crowd began to swell!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Violin, Dance, Films all went good,&lt;br /&gt;
as per plan, as they should,&lt;br /&gt;
but just before my biggest dance began...&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; ...in shock I stood...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
At first, my costume's pant felt a little loose,&lt;br /&gt;
But I pinned it to the undie and tried to spruce,&lt;br /&gt;
But only then I realized, it may be no use!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #660000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;The pant is still going to drop, You Deuce!!&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Munni Badnaam Hui was the bollywood number&lt;br /&gt;
Palpable &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gymnophobia"&gt;Gymnophobia&lt;/a&gt; I could not encumber,&lt;br /&gt;
Shit I am gonna go nude, 1500 people ...&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; ...are gonna see the lumber!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;Adrenaline is such a good ink,&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;memories etched with it never ever sink!&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;even bigger things are forgotten in a wink,&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;but such memories can stay pink in every blink!&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Good good karma, is but useful to befriend!&lt;br /&gt;
I would highly highly recommend -&lt;br /&gt;
it came to my rescue, it did defend!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Even as my mouth went, very very dry,&lt;br /&gt;
my own choreography, I managed to apply&lt;br /&gt;
pulled up my pant, in the dance, on the fly&lt;br /&gt;
and kept it from sliding down, the bare, naked thigh...&lt;br /&gt;
....Aaand at long last, the music did die&lt;br /&gt;
I thanked the heavens up at the sky!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I lived to tell the tale as a very..&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; ....thankful, &lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;decent &lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;guy ;)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6527413796646946199-2821840564741087271?l=backbenchtalks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/VD8LgQZHKmajDhQAARDfiHIflE8/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/VD8LgQZHKmajDhQAARDfiHIflE8/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~4/vp1k6W2j3XI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/feeds/2821840564741087271/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2011/11/ink-called-adrenaline.html#comment-form" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/2821840564741087271?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/2821840564741087271?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~3/vp1k6W2j3XI/ink-called-adrenaline.html" title="An Ink called Adrenaline" /><author><name>backBencher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00120194996359746189</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2011/11/ink-called-adrenaline.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkEEQH48fCp7ImA9WhdREE0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6527413796646946199.post-9026067595831357930</id><published>2011-07-29T22:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-07-29T22:43:21.074-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-07-29T22:43:21.074-07:00</app:edited><title>A Matter of Life and Death!</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;Some people say,&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;"&lt;i&gt;Unless it is really a matter of life and death, always refrain from giving out un-asked-for gyan&lt;/i&gt;".&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;This blog has been written with full understanding of the above statement.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Ever since I got a drivers' license, I have had friends who like to make me their "&lt;b&gt;designated driver&lt;/b&gt;"! And it was surely fun. The gyaan from the inebriated would make the drive back very enlightening! I have many fun stories I can share only in person. Stories right from my engineering days in Mumbai to recent times at California bay area...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-e6ZyibAP3U8/TjOFvTagSmI/AAAAAAAAFKs/IhyrbqWdi48/s1600/bar-dating-2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="212" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-e6ZyibAP3U8/TjOFvTagSmI/AAAAAAAAFKs/IhyrbqWdi48/s320/bar-dating-2.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;"The Drinking Damsels"&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Nearly every bar or lounge in SF where desis visit, one may spot, surrounded by a bunch of burly dudes, this cute Indian girl, (trying to be) all hep and cool sipping from a cold colored glass! If you stick around long enough and are &lt;i&gt;unfortunate &lt;/i&gt;enough, you may even see the poor thing regurgitate stomach fluids silently on the floor when no one is looking. But still she would continue to hold on to that glass like it is her very chalice of life... her holy grail of existence.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Sitting next to her might be this bulky guy wearing a shirt such that the intentional absence of a baniyan is very evident! From his super-clean-shaven face, one can even guess the brand of razor that he had painstakingly swiped or his brand of cologne that is enough to short-circuit the entire olfactory system for days. Now, an otherwise care-free dude, suddenly before this girl, he can't but help become the kindest of Samaritans, holding on to the drinking damsel like Mother Theresa nursing an injured leper!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;"Simple Facts - Good or Bad - You Decide" - UCB Prof&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;I once got to audit a lecture at &lt;a href="http://nst.berkeley.edu/"&gt;University of California Berkeley&lt;/a&gt; on a basic introductory course called Nutritional Sciences (NS-10). One beautiful thing, in general, about courses taught in world-renowned places like this, is that they will never pass value judgements. They seldom tell if something is good or bad. They just give you the unbiased facts. It is up to you to figure the rest out. Here is a small excerpt from what I remember the Professor talking about...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qCTAWXR6eLo/TjOQMklsnGI/AAAAAAAAFKw/IF5B9JlKb2Y/s1600/alcoholtoacet.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="135" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qCTAWXR6eLo/TjOQMklsnGI/AAAAAAAAFKw/IF5B9JlKb2Y/s200/alcoholtoacet.gif" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;"The human liver takes part in most of the processes that happen in the body and can handle over 500 chemical reactions. But when alcohol enters the digestive system, it is treated as a priority food. The liver will want to break it down first before other things. Alcohol will be broken down into &lt;a href="http://hamsnetwork.org/metabolism/"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Acetaldehyde &lt;/i&gt;&lt;/a&gt;in the mouth and then broken into acetic acid radicals by the liver with an enzyme called ALDL and then perhaps into fatty acids to be used for energy. Now &lt;b&gt;acetaldehyde which is the first metabolite of alcohol &lt;i&gt;made in the mouth &lt;/i&gt;can interact with cell membranes to make them stiff and resistant to DNA damage repair. Such cells with damaged DNA cannot be repaired and may multiply and become cancerous&lt;/b&gt;. Acetaldehyde is toxic to human organs in several other &lt;a href="http://info.cancerresearchuk.org/healthyliving/alcohol/howdoweknow/"&gt;ways&lt;/a&gt;. Folate is one of the Vitamin B that is needed by human body to create new DNA to repair damaged ones. Alcohol reduces available folate making this harder for cells. Any amount of alcohol consumed will be metabolized the same way. Cancerous cells, once formed, may take even decades to cause noticeable harm." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-p6uNqZiI5-4/TjOFbCWoArI/AAAAAAAAFKo/opUtW9OqCB0/s1600/cocktail1.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-p6uNqZiI5-4/TjOFbCWoArI/AAAAAAAAFKo/opUtW9OqCB0/s200/cocktail1.jpg" width="150" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;"Alcohol - A Racist and Male Chauvinistic Food!" &lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;If an Asian lady goes drinking with an American guy in a bar, chances are the lady would be seeing stars right after her second drink while the white guy would be capable of solving calculus even after his third! The reason is Alcohol Dehydrogenase or ALDL which is needed by the human body to break down the toxic acetaldehyde is not produced equally in all humans. A man will have nearly twice as much as a woman. A white Caucasian have an usable form that many Asians do not. The reasons are historic and genetic. Which simply means women and non-white folks would get 'high' sooner. &lt;b&gt;Which also means women and non-white folks have a much higher risk of cancer from alcohol consumption.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;"Even Road Accidents Kill - So? Stop Driving?"&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;A proposition's Risk is evaluated by a simple formula -&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;b style="color: #990000;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #741b47;"&gt;Riskiness =&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: blue;"&gt;Probability of Occurrence&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: black;"&gt;x&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: #cc0000;"&gt;Severity of Consequences&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Now  both road accidents and cancer from alcohol may have somewhat similar chances of happening but is the severity the same? Both may result in death  right? So what's the difference?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;To answer here is a small conversation from Harry Potter series between two main wizards as they duel...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;Voldemort:&lt;/b&gt; You do not seek to kill me Dumbledore? Above such brutality are we?&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;Dumbledore: &lt;/b&gt;There are things far worse than death.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;Voldemort:&lt;/b&gt; Death is the worst, Dumbledore!&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;Dumbledore:&lt;/b&gt; Indeed, Your failure to acknowledge that there are things far worse than death has been your greatest weakness!&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Cancer or AIDS are one of those terminal illness that are far far worse than death from a plane crash or even being hit by a meteorite. Most of these patients reach a point where &lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;death becomes the most desired luxury&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;. Any risk factor must be kept as low as possible because the severity of the consequence is far worse than anything else today. Alcohol and its link to cancer is not new. It has been proved repeatedly in numerous studies across the world.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;I am definitely not against anyone who drinks. The last thing I want to do from this blog is to alienate my friends who do. I publish this in the hope that the few who do read, understand the risks clearly before they take up that glass of alcoholic beverage and ironically say "Cheers".&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6527413796646946199-9026067595831357930?l=backbenchtalks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/0l2TfRVfHSoQ5ym5tkTCr8UkjrU/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/0l2TfRVfHSoQ5ym5tkTCr8UkjrU/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~4/mEUfhjyvFuA" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/feeds/9026067595831357930/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2011/07/matter-of-life-and-death.html#comment-form" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/9026067595831357930?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/9026067595831357930?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~3/mEUfhjyvFuA/matter-of-life-and-death.html" title="A Matter of Life and Death!" /><author><name>backBencher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00120194996359746189</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-e6ZyibAP3U8/TjOFvTagSmI/AAAAAAAAFKs/IhyrbqWdi48/s72-c/bar-dating-2.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>4</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2011/07/matter-of-life-and-death.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUUDRn84eyp7ImA9WhZXGUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6527413796646946199.post-5790683695709389167</id><published>2011-05-05T18:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-09T17:27:57.133-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-05-09T17:27:57.133-07:00</app:edited><title>Gender Inequality</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;It was a charity show, for a noble cause,&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a href="http://www.giftofvision.org/"&gt;To gift someone vision,&lt;/a&gt; while earning applause,&lt;br /&gt;
I was part of the skit, written with wit,&lt;br /&gt;
For which we slogged, must truly admit,&lt;br /&gt;
We practiced and practiced, day after day,&lt;br /&gt;
Our brand of humor, was easy to convey,&lt;br /&gt;
And came Apr 16th, our big show day!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Scene after scene we acted it out,&lt;br /&gt;
Gave it our best, without a doubt,&lt;br /&gt;
A few small issues we, but, had to face,&lt;br /&gt;
Spotlight cast shadows, limited our space,&lt;br /&gt;
We still gave our best &amp;amp; lost no zest,&lt;br /&gt;
Nor lost track, of our noble quest,&lt;br /&gt;
Yet the audience's applause, was but modest,&lt;br /&gt;
A little bit repressed, not very impressed.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Well that's that, we consoled ourselves,&lt;br /&gt;
Why to lose faith, in yourselves?&lt;br /&gt;
Sat to watch the show, after our segments,&lt;br /&gt;
Then it happened, the big turn of events....&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The show was running, really really late,&lt;br /&gt;
Stage owners came, looking almost irate!&lt;br /&gt;
But just when we thought, we'd get kicked out,&lt;br /&gt;
Fashion show started, white smoke throughout,&lt;br /&gt;
The angels came in, healthy femininity to tout!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PfhiyBPA4NE/TcNp1zaZdUI/AAAAAAAAEro/x1JzPtm278Q/s1600/Copy%2Bof%2Bfashionshow.JPG"&gt;&lt;img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603438734433940802" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PfhiyBPA4NE/TcNp1zaZdUI/AAAAAAAAEro/x1JzPtm278Q/s320/Copy%2Bof%2Bfashionshow.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; height: 211px; width: 320px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"TURN ON THE LIGHTS", yelled out a bloke,&lt;br /&gt;
"&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Oh, NOW you realize?" - &lt;/span&gt;(Grr I wanted him to choke)&lt;br /&gt;
Murmur vanished at once, a new vigor awoke!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
A little bit of &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;jhatka&lt;/span&gt;, a little bit of &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;matka&lt;/span&gt;,&lt;br /&gt;
Hips went like this, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;pallus&lt;/span&gt; went like that,&lt;br /&gt;
And the lovely audience, just, fell, flat!&lt;br /&gt;
Not a single complaint, not even a spat!&lt;br /&gt;
Bright Hall lights, quickly turned on,&lt;br /&gt;
Folks seemed ready, to gape till dawn!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Drool, Drool Drool, formed a big pool,&lt;br /&gt;
wide open mouths, like a stunned mule,&lt;br /&gt;
people drooled at those hips, "&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Whattay cool"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Our poor witty director, looked like a fool!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Is the future of equality really so grim?&lt;br /&gt;
Where's &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anna_Hazare"&gt;Anna Hazare &lt;/a&gt;when you need him?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
What can one do - it's just plain fate,&lt;br /&gt;
Gender Inequality - get used to it, mate! :-P &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6527413796646946199-5790683695709389167?l=backbenchtalks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Qk4yHpPvpZw6_PRCSDLQlk2L8m8/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Qk4yHpPvpZw6_PRCSDLQlk2L8m8/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~4/kwgcGHLUS3A" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/feeds/5790683695709389167/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2011/05/gender-inequality.html#comment-form" title="3 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/5790683695709389167?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/5790683695709389167?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~3/kwgcGHLUS3A/gender-inequality.html" title="Gender Inequality" /><author><name>backBencher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00120194996359746189</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PfhiyBPA4NE/TcNp1zaZdUI/AAAAAAAAEro/x1JzPtm278Q/s72-c/Copy%2Bof%2Bfashionshow.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>3</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2011/05/gender-inequality.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0AGSXozeyp7ImA9WhZTE00.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6527413796646946199.post-2290348136136940610</id><published>2011-03-06T00:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-03-16T11:55:28.483-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-03-16T11:55:28.483-07:00</app:edited><title>Thousand Reasons to Thank</title><content type="html">A little before I was born, God must have asked me, “&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;would you like to be born as the best of the best but live a lonely life, or, would you like to be born as an about-average person who is in the constant company of some of the best of the best?&lt;/span&gt;”  &lt;p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;I made my choice and today, overwhelming evidence lets me say with confidence that I had chosen the latter. As a kid, it was clear that I was endowed with none of the “super-powers” that many of my peers possessed. I was never a math wizard, or a painting Picasso, or a dancing Hrithik, or a singing Sonu. But from childhood until now, I am proud to say that I had been surrounded by folks who would effortlessly fit the bill. They surrounded me not just as relatives or best friends but also as selfless exceptional mentors and teachers. No matter what ups or downs that fate throws on me, these wonderful people will always be my thousand reasons to smile. This blog is nothing but an expression of my deepest gratitude for the things that my friends and mentors have helped me achieve in 2010.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;As a child growing up amongst the cool, I would always dream of being able to just stand before lot of people one day and somehow make them smile or applaud. In 2010 alone, thanks to my mentors, teachers and friends, that dream had been fulfilled several times over - Not once or twice, but in over &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;NINE &lt;/span&gt;packed shows!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DLeqSeUbw80/TX-kL1zyZXI/AAAAAAAAEqk/aAxaSD1nuGg/s1600/NattamaiScene.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 386px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DLeqSeUbw80/TX-kL1zyZXI/AAAAAAAAEqk/aAxaSD1nuGg/s400/NattamaiScene.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584362586292512114" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;The first and probably a very apt example was Sangamam’s May 1&lt;sup&gt;st&lt;/sup&gt; Kondattam show in Sunnyvale temple... With over thirteen actors, eleven singers, eleven dancers, seven songs and four dances, this multi talented group comprising mostly of my CMU batch-mates Rocked! What I am thankful most for and will remember fondly, even more than the actual show-day are the wonderful times we spent preparing for it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;In 2010, my first big musical event was playing violin in Kalai Vizha, the annual flagship program of the Tamils of Northern California. Accompanying Carnatic singers on the violin is just as difficult (if not more) as performing solo. One has to quickly adapt to the whims and fancies of the main artist in case he or she starts improvising. &lt;span style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9vGw1jdg2nQ/TX-j8Uvn9aI/AAAAAAAAEqU/NYVvB_FnF0w/s1600/kalaivizha.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 258px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9vGw1jdg2nQ/TX-j8Uvn9aI/AAAAAAAAEqU/NYVvB_FnF0w/s320/kalaivizha.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584362319718643106" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;To say I was intimidated at first would be like calling bungee jumping a casual stroll by the bridge. Fortunately I was not alone - I got a radio artist in Sri Lanka, a dedicated mother of two and a simply amazing human being as my mentor. She patiently corrected me as I made mistakes and had me repeat stanzas many times till I played it right. It did not come easy - I spent several months preparing with hours and hours on weekends, and even after coming back from heavy days of work.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;But finally the result on Oct 2nd 2010 was the fulfillment of my one of my earliest childhood dreams. I was able to play for nearly 12 songs spanning both proper Carnatic and light music to over 8 singers! ....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Now how about I make a senti-senti, peelings-peelings but "from-the-heart-true", statement here -&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Much more than the audience applause, what gave me utmost joy was that nod of acceptance from my mentors and peers who considered me worthy of their time!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Around the same time, another wonderful thing happened. Thanks to one of my sweetest friends, I got introduced to Dr. Devendra Sharma to become part of his Nautanki troupe. When I first heard about it I assumed it would be just another acting role. But the first day I went for the rehearsal, I found a number of folks gathered around a dude with harmonium! Devji gave me the script handwritten in beautiful Hindi and asked me to repeat. I did not understand, I can speak Hindi fine right? The next moment answered that question. Starting off at the high pitch set by the harmonium, he began full throat-ed singing - asking me to follow! My jaw dropped as I stared around. Not one soul was laughing. That’s when it dawned on me that this was by no means a laughing matter! Nautanki is easily one of the &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;toughest&lt;/span&gt; performing arts because the artists may have to sing, dance and act with perfection ALL AT ONCE! Compare it to figure skating while doing a Soprano. The living legends Dr. Devendra Sharma and his even legendary father Dr. Ramdayal Sharma tutored me, trained my voice, fixed my acting with such diligence and dedication, that for those three months, I did not want anything more than to do the best for them….&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-adeURuqmL3o/TX-kF1ZQ-yI/AAAAAAAAEqc/nVmSB8BtxH4/s1600/aurdulhadevesh.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-adeURuqmL3o/TX-kF1ZQ-yI/AAAAAAAAEqc/nVmSB8BtxH4/s400/aurdulhadevesh.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584362483102055202" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;and we rocked! Our team of some of the most multi-talented artists performed to a packed enthralled audience in SIX shows - Four in downtown San Francisco and Two in San Ramon.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-A_NT9Z6oYwE/TYEHhM8lO7I/AAAAAAAAEqs/bc6aQ3_nfkY/s1600/GabrooCourageBhangraDance.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-A_NT9Z6oYwE/TYEHhM8lO7I/AAAAAAAAEqs/bc6aQ3_nfkY/s400/GabrooCourageBhangraDance.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584753279908527026" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Then came the biggest company sponsored event in the bay Area – Oracle Diwali 2010. Eight songs with a talented kind group of singers and two amazing dances! First time a quiet, violin playing, tam-brahm danced to a fast paced Bhangra! But every time I hear someone praise any of those performances, I waste absolutely no time in explaining that it was all due to the amazing choreographers and fellow mentors. Nov 12&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt; 2010 would become one of the most memorable days in my life. About 80 participants and a whooping 1400+ gripped members in the Oracle Diwali audience are certainly amongst the thousand reasons for me to say Thanks!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KLvljkqQwvM/TX-j20rvxTI/AAAAAAAAEqM/AC3fWVNOKQs/s1600/animalpark.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 211px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KLvljkqQwvM/TX-j20rvxTI/AAAAAAAAEqM/AC3fWVNOKQs/s320/animalpark.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584362225213097266" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Towards the end of 2010 at thanksgivings is my next reason to thank. Five bachelors made a trip to &lt;a href="http://www.seaworld.com/sitepage.aspx?PageID=354&amp;amp;utm_source=google&amp;amp;utm_medium=ppc&amp;amp;utm_term=sea%20world%20san%20diego&amp;amp;utm_campaign=sea-brandresidenttp_seaworldsandiego"&gt;San Diego Sea world&lt;/a&gt;, &lt;a href="http://www.sandiegozoo.org/park/"&gt;San Diego Wild Animal Park&lt;/a&gt;, &lt;a href="http://www.universalstudioshollywood.com/"&gt;LA Universal Studios&lt;/a&gt;, a&lt;a href="http://www.madametussauds.com/hollywood/"&gt; Madame Tussauds wax museum&lt;/a&gt; and even &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Malibu_Hindu_Temple"&gt;a temple visit&lt;/a&gt; on our way back! Well these places might look like the "hep" kewl places for uncles and aunties. But our Five-O did something very common yet unique. We covered every single show, ride or exhibit that these places had to offer within a day each and  without any compromise to the many multi-angle photography shots to boast about! A simple travel record even the most disciplined uncle or aunty would have a tough time beating. Now that's something to be thankful about!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Well that's my humble attempt at trying to explain my nearly year long sabbatical from blog-sphere.. Who knows what the future has in store... If I will get to do theatrics and shows in the future at all... For now, to all those who shared those wonderful moments with me in 2010, I can only conclude with a big, heart-felt,&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" &gt;T H A N K   -  Y O U !&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6527413796646946199-2290348136136940610?l=backbenchtalks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/WvBiSJPgxhriEZGTcUP0fGIT4dw/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/WvBiSJPgxhriEZGTcUP0fGIT4dw/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~4/iaxjvefClUs" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/feeds/2290348136136940610/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2011/03/thousand-reasons-to-thank.html#comment-form" title="3 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/2290348136136940610?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/2290348136136940610?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~3/iaxjvefClUs/thousand-reasons-to-thank.html" title="Thousand Reasons to Thank" /><author><name>backBencher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00120194996359746189</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DLeqSeUbw80/TX-kL1zyZXI/AAAAAAAAEqk/aAxaSD1nuGg/s72-c/NattamaiScene.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>3</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2011/03/thousand-reasons-to-thank.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CU8MQn88fSp7ImA9Wx5REUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6527413796646946199.post-4491802024080311821</id><published>2010-06-12T14:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-18T21:58:03.175-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-08-18T21:58:03.175-07:00</app:edited><title>Kayaking Channel Islands</title><content type="html">When we decided to go camping at &lt;a href="http://www.nps.gov/chis/"&gt;Channel Islands&lt;/a&gt; for the Memorial Day weekend I was a little intimidated. Not really because of the 12+ miles of ocean kayaking or dark scary sea caves or sleeping in tents next to foxes - these are ok! It was rather the fear of whether or not I would be able to empty bowels in mud pits. The islands were rumored to be devoid of electricity and other civilized facilities such as ceramic commodes. This fear did, however, help reduce a lot of load before heading out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ours was a 2 day visit with one night of camping. A fast stomach-swirling speed boat brought us to the island within an hour. Then on, it was just manual labour - right from the human conveyor belt that unloads luggage at the docks to hauling bags to campsite, to propping up the tents. But soon enough the 5 of us and our guide were all paddling away into the open ocean in our bright yellow sun-lit kayaks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/TGyzB1NCmSI/AAAAAAAAEm8/gN0kJt4G2fU/s1600/IMG_0756.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/TGyzB1NCmSI/AAAAAAAAEm8/gN0kJt4G2fU/s320/IMG_0756.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506973288410290466" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We got a really awesome guide - a chilled out kayaker who was thoroughly familiar not only with the sea caves and their &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;safe&lt;/span&gt; entry-exit points but also with the flora and fauna around. Every location we would group up he would tell us a story. Hallmarks of a great guide is knowing how to transform a pelican poop covered rock into heroic remnants of an ecological bio-cycle drama.  We did not explore just sea caves - but rather historic caverns that mother earth carved with molten hot lava, where the mighty sea goddess boomed though the crevices, where the surf sank many hapless vessels, where careless kayakers were meted severe punishments and  where seals huddle for warmth. Entering and exiting some caves required abundance of courage coupled with kayaking expertise for safe navigation. Adrenaline seems to be such a good ink when it comes to etching long term memories.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Camping is a different experience all together. It did not take long for me to learn that voice travels far and loud across the campsite. So singing &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Aagaya vennilaave&lt;/span&gt; at night en-route to the restroom (the campground did have them, phew) can wake and irritate sleeping campers in their tents. Few other lessons learned were, island foxes are timid creatures and there is no need to run top speed from them, shaking tents are not to be investigated and fluid intake before bed time can result in long nocturnal hikes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6527413796646946199-4491802024080311821?l=backbenchtalks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/RcLmI29RMB2nc8tOFLXl9oToSlo/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/RcLmI29RMB2nc8tOFLXl9oToSlo/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~4/HSriDMisjn8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/feeds/3674479869098579669/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2010/05/reminiscing-cmu-i-inappropriate-act.html#comment-form" title="20 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/3674479869098579669?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/3674479869098579669?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~3/HSriDMisjn8/reminiscing-cmu-i-inappropriate-act.html" title="Reminiscing CMU I - An inappropriate act" /><author><name>backBencher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00120194996359746189</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>20</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2010/05/reminiscing-cmu-i-inappropriate-act.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEcDR3w_cCp7ImA9WxBaGEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6527413796646946199.post-2350349469114048253</id><published>2010-03-27T19:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-29T12:47:56.248-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-03-29T12:47:56.248-07:00</app:edited><title>Holi at Stanford II - Mein Kampf</title><content type="html">&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;22nd Mar 1989, Borivali, Bombay:&lt;/span&gt; A little boy was filling his plastic water-pump from a bucket. Hardly a preschooler, his tiny arms were working hard to fill the pump up quickly. After all this was his new pump and he wanted to impress his friends. There were many coloured up boys and girls of various ages that day celebrating Holi in the terrace of his apartment building. His parents were looking elsewhere when it happened...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try  {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/S6-2B9bSNuI/AAAAAAAAEfw/pUZap7B6vKg/s1600/HoliHands.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 242px; height: 182px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/S6-2B9bSNuI/AAAAAAAAEfw/pUZap7B6vKg/s320/HoliHands.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453777818554087138" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;A really naughty older bully kid, coloured all over in dark violet and green, barged in to fill up his own pump from the same bucket. The little boy gracefully gave way, a little intimidated looking at the older one's face. Without warning, the bully lifted his violet coloured hand and brought it down in a hard painful slap onto the tiny one's back. The Whack was so hard, the bully's hand not only imprinted the little one's white shirt in violet but also his skin below in pink!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Wincing in pain, the little one screamed out, "&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Aww, Kyun Kiya aise?&lt;/span&gt;" (why did u do that?).&lt;br /&gt;Grinning in pure evil, the bully replied, "&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Isse CHAPA kehte hain&lt;/span&gt;" (This is called an imprint!)&lt;br /&gt;Knowing he'll get into a lot of trouble if he were to hit back, the little one just gave the bully a cold fuming stare.&lt;br /&gt;Bully knew this and smiled again before walking away, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"Darpok log CHAPA nahin de sakte"&lt;/span&gt; (cowards can't slap imprints)&lt;br /&gt;The tiny boy vowed then that one day he'll prove the bully wrong........&lt;br /&gt;(If this were a bollywood film, it would have starting raining in torrents immediately with background music)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;20 years later....&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;27th Mar, 2010, Sandhill fields, Stanford:&lt;/span&gt; A young man in his mid-twenties stepped into the Holi grounds. &lt;a href="http://www.ashanet.org/stanford/"&gt;Asha Holi&lt;/a&gt; at Stanford whose proceeds are to fund education in India, relentlessly attracts the young and old alike. Flanked at the entrance were two angels, randomly smearing faces of unsuspecting new entrants with pink and yellow powder. Expecting (or rather hoping :P) to get smeared, the young man slowed down in front of one of the angels and closed his eyes. An embarrassing odd pause followed, to be broken not with gentle coloured palms but by a rather harsh slap on his back. Eyes opened, instead of the delightful angel, he met two of his grisly old time acquaintances, "HAPPY HOLI man!"... Greetings followed but when his acquaintances left, the young man couldn't help realize that his first colour was a pink imprint of a hand on his shirt!! Memories raced back 20 years! The &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;CHAPA&lt;/span&gt;! The bully... The vow! It was time to pacify some very old demons, he thought :-P ...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/S6-11jM2_uI/AAAAAAAAEfo/LIaRe2uMCOo/s1600/holiStanford.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/S6-11jM2_uI/AAAAAAAAEfo/LIaRe2uMCOo/s320/holiStanford.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453777605355831010" border="0" style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Change is the only constant of time.&lt;/span&gt; A lot of time had passed by... a lot of things had changed... there was no bully around ... there was no little boy either! Just a sea full of colourful people gleefully smearing and dousing each other with sweet smelling organic powders. No one to take revenge on! Arms that can pump over a hundred and fifty pounds - quite useless in this context. The young man could only see one way to pacify those old demons. Just prove that he was no &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;DarPok&lt;/span&gt;! (coward). Loading up his palms with green powder, he began...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;No force necessary and no slapping either. Courage is all that is really needed. Some would appear a little annoyed, but "Happy Holi" would cheer them up. Some would colour him back. Most others wouldn't even notice! This continued for a while until our guy met up with his friends. The latter did not quite understand why this otherwise gentle person was going around imprinting the shirts of totally &lt;i&gt;random&lt;/i&gt; people with his colour laden palms!! But  by then, the task was more than done! Any direction he would look he'd see a dozen shirts imprinted with the green hand! No more a &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Darpok&lt;/span&gt;, his &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;CHAPA&lt;/span&gt; demons were finally laid to rest! It was time to go home and blog ;-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;"Happy Holi&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6527413796646946199-2350349469114048253?l=backbenchtalks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/CbBOz5VtNxBdpAvUxMwy1wKepCc/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/CbBOz5VtNxBdpAvUxMwy1wKepCc/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~4/S-2gyVod9Do" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/feeds/2350349469114048253/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2010/03/holi-at-stanford-ii-mein-kampf.html#comment-form" title="6 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/2350349469114048253?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/2350349469114048253?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~3/S-2gyVod9Do/holi-at-stanford-ii-mein-kampf.html" title="Holi at Stanford II - Mein Kampf" /><author><name>backBencher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00120194996359746189</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/S6-2B9bSNuI/AAAAAAAAEfw/pUZap7B6vKg/s72-c/HoliHands.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>6</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2010/03/holi-at-stanford-ii-mein-kampf.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkADQXg_fyp7ImA9WxBbEU0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6527413796646946199.post-7803330817231162261</id><published>2010-03-01T19:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-08T19:19:30.647-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-03-08T19:19:30.647-08:00</app:edited><title>Me versus the kid</title><content type="html">&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Getting to play violin in at the &lt;a href="http://livermoretemple.org/"&gt;Livermore temple auditorium&lt;/a&gt; this Saturday for a &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Purandara_Dasa"&gt;Purandaradasa&lt;/a&gt; event was a big thing to me for multiple reasons. First it was on stage and before my violin teacher - I had never done that before. Next it was in a raga called Behag which I had never played before. Lastly, I had just a week to prepare!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Naturally nervous, I was rather restless as I awaited my turn to go on stage. A little American born Indian girl, barely ten years old, wearing a green checked frock (&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;pavadai&lt;/span&gt;), thick spectacles looked side ways at me with folded arms and smiled. I think I tried to smile back. "First time on stage?", she asked. A little taken aback, I replied, "No, No, I have played before, just been a while... that's all". Then hoping that I won't seem like a complete newbie, I went on to show off, "Yea, I used to play violin in my college's musical society". The little girl was &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;hardly&lt;/span&gt; impressed, "Whose student are you?". I told my teacher's name. "How long have you been learning?". Now I was taken completely aback! This little juvenile mistress was actually sizing me up!! But before I could ask her back these questions, our turn to play on stage came and I had to leave to meet my fellow violinists. But It was ON! Little sister! "&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Sizing me up eh? We'll see who gets the better applause&lt;/span&gt;", I told her with my looks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The trouble with playing in events like these is that every Tom, Dick and Harry  in the audience might be a Carnatic expert. We were playing to a thisra nadai talam which was hardly very common and to my shock, there were folks in the audience who would clap along the correct tala! Now my rendition of the song on the violin wasn't really to flawless perfection. I played the swaras  mostly right, but hurried up on the tala in at least 2 places. But I didn't care, looking daggers at the little girl, I finished my rendition with a rather stylish, Pa Ma Ga Ma Gaaaaa.. as if I had been playing &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Behag&lt;/span&gt; since the day I was born.&lt;br /&gt;Well, for what it was worth, the audience applause was reasonable, at best.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now it was the little girl's turn. A vocalist, the way she went on stage and sat down, she could have given &lt;a href="http://www.sudharagunathan.com/index.asp"&gt;Sudha Raghunathan&lt;/a&gt; a run for her money. Not a remote shred of fear, she began her Purandaradasa keerthana in Mohana raga slowly, then sang in second speed, then third. At the end of the stanzas, the way she would roll her eyes in a slow blink, it would look like she's doing the song a favor by singing it!! Ok, so it was admittedly immaculate, flawless even. When she finished the astounding audience applause rang defeat in my ears. Hey Cmon! I played &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Behag&lt;/span&gt; (much harder than &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Mohanam&lt;/span&gt; that she sang) and that too I did it with bow and strings! But No! The audience clearly loved her rendition way more than mine. I conceded defeat with slow clapping of my own, the good sport that I am :-P&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From next time on, I have decided to shave my face as thoroughly as possible and look as much as a kid as I can. For in art, the older you look, the higher seem to be the expectations!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6527413796646946199-7803330817231162261?l=backbenchtalks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/0y8Wcj7afUXhG0qgXBOlBcp924w/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/0y8Wcj7afUXhG0qgXBOlBcp924w/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~4/Az73cwufATQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/feeds/7803330817231162261/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2010/03/me-versus-kid.html#comment-form" title="13 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/7803330817231162261?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/7803330817231162261?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~3/Az73cwufATQ/me-versus-kid.html" title="Me versus the kid" /><author><name>backBencher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00120194996359746189</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>13</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2010/03/me-versus-kid.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0cAQH4-fyp7ImA9WxBQEUo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6527413796646946199.post-8694682623888055859</id><published>2010-01-06T19:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-10T19:04:01.057-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-01-10T19:04:01.057-08:00</app:edited><title>Context Sensitivity</title><content type="html">&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Before I get to 2010, let me quickly pen down, in chronological order, three of my very small stories from 2009 that  taught me an interesting lesson. They show how important it is to watch what you speak and how heavily our language relies upon established context. Context Sensitivity is the reason we don't have too many computers that can talk back to us. If you, like me, have spent a year or more writing a compiler, you'd readily agree that human conversations are true evolutionary marvels! Of course, when we don't watch our mouths, even we, make mistakes....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;************&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; Mangoes and Girls ************&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Early 2009, I went in a inter-team outing to the &lt;a href="http://www.mountainwinery.com/"&gt;mountain winery&lt;/a&gt; at Saratoga for wine tasting. It's amazing how perfectly acceptable it is, in modern professional culture, to drink (read binge) in front of your managers. I don't drink, so hopped in a conversation with a group of desi folks with a can of coke. The discussion went on for a while on &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Alphonso mangoes&lt;/span&gt;. How they are small, yet very tasty and how many people own their own orchards. I felt there was this one new guy who was getting distracted (read high). Now the group had many older folks who had children and the conversation drifted to &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;teenage daughters&lt;/span&gt; and how hard it is to discipline young girls etc. Perhaps this guy just wanted to impress his managers or he was just plain drunk, but he had clearly lost context. At a pause he decided to break the silence... still with the context of Alphonso mangoes, he boldly went to give his take on teenage girls, "Ya... but I like to taste them when they are young and not very ripe"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;************ Donuts ;) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;************&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Sometime mid 2009 was our product release date. Typically on such occasions the director of one of our teams, a fair healthy looking lady, would buy sweets and send out emails to invite people to her office (on the thirteenth floor). This release date however, it was a manager from a different team who decided to place donuts in her office (on a different floor) and send out the email. Now I am in a team which knows both managers. Soon after the email was sent, I was talking with the fair director lady (the one who did not know about the free donuts yet) in her office on the thirteenth floor. A happy guy walked into our conversation. The director lady paused and looked askance at him. In the most sweetest of voices and with utmost humility and gentleness, but to the wrong lady, he requested, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"Ma'am, may I help myself to one of your donuts please?"&lt;/span&gt; !!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;************ Mental Snowboarder &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;************&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;For Christmas 2009, I went with friends to the &lt;a href="http://www.kirkwood.com/"&gt;Kirkwood Ski resort &lt;/a&gt;at South Lake Tahoe. Having skied before I decided to learn snowboarding. People say skiing is easy to learn but hard to master and snowboarding is hard to learn but easy to master. They are right! What they might not tell you is that it is an impartial sport -- every part of your body hurts as you fall, roll over, crash, and it's not just your butt or knee, as you might imagine. For the first few hours, to me, the snowboard was like a magic carpet. Not having mastered turning yet, I would shout out verbal commands hoping it would make my "carpet" move in the right direction, "LEFT LEFT, ok RIGHT ok RIGHT". Fellow skiers and snowboarders would mostly just ignore me with nothing more than sympathetic glances at my deranged state.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But on one such run, one little expert-snowboarder kid kept staring down at me as I went on my mostly useless verbal command spree. I wished he would go away but he kept staring at me. I wanted to say "&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Shoo!&lt;/span&gt;" but before I could, he suddenly shouted, "&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;You are coming loose&lt;/span&gt;". Thinking it was rather rude of him to make fun of my pitiable mental state, I found myself sarcastically snapping back, "&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;YA, I KNOW, BIG THANKS!&lt;/span&gt;" It was only after my next fall, did I realize that the poor kid was merely pointing out that my back leg's snowboard strap had, indeed, come loose!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;**********************&lt;br /&gt;(Lesson to self - Be context sensitive or risk being insensitive)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;HAPPY NEW YEAR!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6527413796646946199-8694682623888055859?l=backbenchtalks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/zy_GCtRIqWmJP0R_JvJL0KTnXaA/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/zy_GCtRIqWmJP0R_JvJL0KTnXaA/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~4/Sai6-JhSEPU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/feeds/8694682623888055859/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2010/01/context-sensitivity.html#comment-form" title="10 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/8694682623888055859?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/8694682623888055859?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~3/Sai6-JhSEPU/context-sensitivity.html" title="Context Sensitivity" /><author><name>backBencher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00120194996359746189</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>10</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2010/01/context-sensitivity.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUEERHw8eCp7ImA9WxNaF0U.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6527413796646946199.post-5983664041035747026</id><published>2009-12-01T23:44:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-02T13:00:05.270-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-12-02T13:00:05.270-08:00</app:edited><title>Kids n Kalahari - A Wonderful Thanksgiving</title><content type="html">This thanksgiving holidays, I flew to Chicago to meet nearly all my relatives residing in the US. Four families with seven kids in total were to spend thanksgiving at &lt;a href="http://www.kalahariresorts.com/"&gt;Kalahari water resort&lt;/a&gt; at Wisconsin Dells. It had been a while since I had been near both theme parks as well as little cute kids. So it was easy to predict correctly that it would be one of my best thanksgiving vacations till date.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/SxYokn2h8lI/AAAAAAAAD_s/CBN228cAXNs/s1600-h/Thanksgiving09+216.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/SxYokn2h8lI/AAAAAAAAD_s/CBN228cAXNs/s400/Thanksgiving09+216.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410556611970331218" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold;"&gt;****** Confusion at Kalahari ;-)   ********&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Kalahari is one of the world's largest indoor water parks and makes for an excellent family destination during winter. Complete with an indoor surfing setup, it has several awesome "rides" which are pretty much water slides that splash into a pool. The best of them was this one called the Tasmanian Twister... Meant for only "experienced swimmers", this fast water slide ends with a free fall into a 9-foot-deep pool out of which one has to swim out deftly before the next rider can enter the tunnel from top.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Since sometimes inexperienced swimmers end up trying this ride and nearly drowning, there was a lifeguard stationed at the free fall deep pool. Now I am relatively good at swimming underwater and had tried this ride twice. So for kicks, the third time, I thought I'd free fall head-first and upside down instead of leg-first and upright into the pool at the end. Unfortunately, as I dived below head first into 8 feet deep water, the lifeguard stationed on top thought that I was one of those inexperienced swimmers and jumped in to rescue me! He flung his lifeguard rescue pad which hit me hard on the head. Not knowing what was going on, I assumed that the next rider had entered the tunnel too soon! So while I was trying to swim deeper and away from this guy, I did not understand why he was trying hard to catch me!! A nice game of hide and seek went on underwater for some time before the exhausted lifeguard finally caught and pulled a confused/angry me out of the water :-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;******* Learning with Kids *******&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;I totally love kids. Surrounded by not one or two but nearly seven really cute adorable children, I could not have asked for more. At the waterpark, I would happily volunteer to watch over the kids while their parents would go for rides. Of course they would cast their suspicious eye on me first wondering if I was some kind of a nut case.  Kids say the darnest things. My 2 year old cute cousin went to sleep in the van on our way back and woke up in the van after nightfall. She looked up at the night sky and informed her mom, "Amma! Look someone turned on the Moon!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course I learned a few lessons after being with them for five days...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Lesson 5: &lt;/span&gt;Don't try to play proper piano in front of 2 year olds, they will often jump in and add their own sound track.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Lesson 4: &lt;/span&gt;If you want to role play star wars light saber with 4 and 7 year olds, it's a good idea  to be one of the good characters. Playing Darth Vader simply means they are all going to gang up and hit you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Lesson 3: &lt;/span&gt;If a one year old lady likes to grab your nose, picking it up and trying to teach it other parts of the face might just be futile. She is going to keep pinching your nose no matter which part of the face you mention.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Lesson 2: &lt;/span&gt;"TIME-OUT" is a disciplinary mechanism for kids 7 year old and lower only. If you are over 20, you do not have to sit on the floor with them and count till 30.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Lesson 1&lt;/span&gt;: If a little one says either "Poo Poo" or "Pee Pee" don't bother trying to clarify which. Better to just take it there asap. Otherwise chances are the kid would have already completed the job in-place.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6527413796646946199-5983664041035747026?l=backbenchtalks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/8VI1V8GkbDYESJJq_SANSQcG8PM/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/8VI1V8GkbDYESJJq_SANSQcG8PM/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~4/5vBxxQN5zE4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/feeds/5983664041035747026/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2009/12/kids-n-kalahari-wonderful-thanksgiving.html#comment-form" title="5 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/5983664041035747026?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/5983664041035747026?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~3/5vBxxQN5zE4/kids-n-kalahari-wonderful-thanksgiving.html" title="Kids n Kalahari - A Wonderful Thanksgiving" /><author><name>backBencher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00120194996359746189</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/SxYokn2h8lI/AAAAAAAAD_s/CBN228cAXNs/s72-c/Thanksgiving09+216.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>5</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2009/12/kids-n-kalahari-wonderful-thanksgiving.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0cNSXgzeip7ImA9WxNXF08.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6527413796646946199.post-529794100333994887</id><published>2009-09-27T23:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-04T23:44:58.682-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-10-04T23:44:58.682-07:00</app:edited><title>Of Gujjus, Dandia and Sanedo</title><content type="html">&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;I, like many many Mumbai brought-ups, have known &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;gujjus &lt;/span&gt;for as long as I can remember. A lot of important people in my life have been or are &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;gujjus &lt;/span&gt;- my project partners from my undergraduate era, my cool dude roomies from cmu days and some of my best friends here in the bay area. Now, although I am very familiar with several Gujarati  traditions,  customs and can even understand parts of their tongue, back in India, I had never really been able to pass off as one of them. I can recollect how some new folks I would meet during my college days would automatically shift to speaking Hindi or English, from Gujarati, when they would talk to me in the group. Something about my &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;tam-bram-ness&lt;/span&gt; I guess was involuntarily forthcoming. I thought this could never change... until I went to attend bay area's biggest dandia event - &lt;a href="http://www.giftofvision.org/events/2009/dandia/SEFDandia2009.htm"&gt;SEF Dandia&lt;/a&gt; 2009 at the &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Santa_Clara_Convention_Center"&gt;Santa Clara Convention center&lt;/a&gt;.... Well, almost!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/SsBcufUUshI/AAAAAAAADvM/BV3hufDMPV0/s1600-h/dandiya_sef.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/SsBcufUUshI/AAAAAAAADvM/BV3hufDMPV0/s320/dandiya_sef.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386407108085592594" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Dressed in a red &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;kurta&lt;/span&gt;-&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;pyjama &lt;/span&gt;and armed with two bamboo sticks, I stepped, prepared, into the super huge Convention center hall. Throbbing and pulsating with live music, there was an ocean of multi-colored &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Ghaghra Cholees&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;kurtas&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;salwars &lt;/span&gt;and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;sherwanis&lt;/span&gt;. Following a durga puja, was a series of garba and dandia numbers. Garba being the harder of the two, joining a garba dancing group takes a little getting used to. It is a rhythmic sequence of steps and rapid turns that I had taken some time to get familiar with last year. So this year was much simpler. I was in-sync with doing garba with a bunch of true blood &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;gujjus&lt;/span&gt;. Here's the fun part ... whether it was my ability to move with them easily, or perhaps because I appeared prepared with dandia sticks, I could not tell, but the &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;gujju &lt;/span&gt;dude next to me assumed that I spoke Gujarati and started giving me instructions in Gujarati. I followed what I could understand, and by his response I think I might have guessed the meanings right! Finally, after long years, I felt happy -- I had managed to pass off as a gujju!! :-P The feeling was exhilarating!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Alas, everything was good, until &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sanedo"&gt;Sanedo &lt;/a&gt;started! It's an interesting "game", where the song is divided into 4 poetic lines, now for the first three, following &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;gujju &lt;/span&gt;instructions from the singers, the whole ocean of dancers all across the floor sit down low on the floor and beat their sticks to the ground making one hell of a racket. Then on the last instruction, they jump high up into the air throwing their arms about, yelling, "&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;SANEDO SANEDO&lt;/span&gt;" and dancing furiously, until the singer instructs everyone to sit down again!! We could barely understand what the singers were saying, so just followed the crowd and jumped up after they jumped up. This repeated a number of times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Still pretending to be a &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;gujju&lt;/span&gt;, I asked the dude next to me if he understood the commands, in the best Gujarati I knew. He responded saying its too noisy to hear. But there was too much excitement in my head created by my feigned &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;gujjuness&lt;/span&gt;. For some who-knows-what reason, I ended up thinking that I could decipher the singer's instructions on my own in the next round of jumping and dancing. I wanted to be the leader and not a follower! Alas, I so wish I were lucky. Instead of jumping at the 4th instruction, I started off at the third! While the whole hall of dancers were low on the floor, only I was high up in the air, yelling "&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;SANEDO SANEDO&lt;/span&gt;" like a crazy maniac. Time slowed down as I felt a thousand eyes turn toward me, several with sympathetic glances, others with sinister HA-HA smiles. All cover was blown. A cocktail of embarrassing emotional currents coursed through my spine. I held time with frozen breath until the singer's last instruction brought up everyone else into the air with the same din I had started off with earlier. Phew!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;The cool thing about dandia is mistakes are easily forgotten and forgiven. Back to being myself, I was glad, my fellow dancers feigned, if not truly felt, short term memory loss and continued to dance with me! Sanedo after-all means sneh or love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Happy Navarathri&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6527413796646946199-529794100333994887?l=backbenchtalks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/jPXzeVJ1q5cvQGQVeh-WE0REhIA/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/jPXzeVJ1q5cvQGQVeh-WE0REhIA/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~4/hycPJRAr95M" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/feeds/529794100333994887/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2009/09/of-dandia-sanedo-and-gujjus.html#comment-form" title="12 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/529794100333994887?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/529794100333994887?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~3/hycPJRAr95M/of-dandia-sanedo-and-gujjus.html" title="Of Gujjus, Dandia and Sanedo" /><author><name>backBencher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00120194996359746189</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/SsBcufUUshI/AAAAAAAADvM/BV3hufDMPV0/s72-c/dandiya_sef.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>12</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2009/09/of-dandia-sanedo-and-gujjus.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkUDQHw_fSp7ImA9WxNRFEU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6527413796646946199.post-7447409189071267992</id><published>2009-09-07T20:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-09T01:17:51.245-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-09T01:17:51.245-07:00</app:edited><title>Labor Day Weekend at Catalina Islands</title><content type="html">&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;What started out as a pointless  hey-what-are-you-doing-for-long-weekend type phone call on the  Friday night, became a let's-leave-right-away plan in less than an hour. Shoving down chapatis, dosas, we hurriedly packed and left  house Friday night itself to the car rentals at San Jose airport. Our insta-mix plan was to spend 2 days and a night at the beautiful &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Santa_Catalina_Island,_California"&gt;Catalina Islands&lt;/a&gt;!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Pulikachal (Tamarind rice) in a convertible at LA&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Fortune favors the brave.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/SqX_Tq6drSI/AAAAAAAADsU/1RckLhqqCxo/s1600-h/mustangConvertible.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 186px; height: 139px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/SqX_Tq6drSI/AAAAAAAADsU/1RckLhqqCxo/s320/mustangConvertible.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378986043366026530" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Four mavericks reached the car rentals at 2.30am Friday night only to discover that   Hertz had run out of regular economy cars to rent and ended up giving us a free upgrade - a Ford Mustang Convertible! YEAH!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We drove to LA all through the night, taking turns. By morning, it was show off time -- with the top down and AR Rahman tamil songs in full volume, we scoured the streets of Beverly hills, as if we were kewl dudes who have been doing this since ages. Perhaps the only contrast came when it was breakfast time. My friend's wife who was with us, had made delicious pulikachal rice or spicy tamarind sauce rice. Now the very scene of us, four desis, eating pulikachal in paper plates from a ford mustang convertible, with its top down in downtown LA, amidst curious onlookers, is something I am not going to forget very easily.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;The Enchanting Catalina&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/SqdNMPatXwI/AAAAAAAADs0/n1zA0FNgoAA/s1600-h/LB-CatalinaExpress.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 381px; height: 171px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/SqdNMPatXwI/AAAAAAAADs0/n1zA0FNgoAA/s320/LB-CatalinaExpress.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379353152609672962" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/SqdNlCHQySI/AAAAAAAADs8/VmS-xti6ZCM/s1600-h/catalina_groves.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 378px; height: 171px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/SqdNlCHQySI/AAAAAAAADs8/VmS-xti6ZCM/s320/catalina_groves.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379353578535176482" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;It is truly a pity of the human condition that although we have two eyes, we can only see one "item" at a time. At Catalina, this condition sorely gets exacerbated. Even a simple walk to our cottage became a problem of economic choice. Let's put it this way - when looking at a scene with a rose, the moon and some pigeons, the wise thing to do is to look first at the pigeons, since they might fly away, then at the moon, since clouds could block it and later at the rose, since it probably isn't going anywhere. If one looks the beautiful rose first, one could miss out on the pigeons!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, our hearts went out to all those poor island inhabitants -- while we all had good clothes to wear, several members were dressed in nothing more than the very bare essentials. If &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kofi_Annan"&gt;Kofi Annan&lt;/a&gt; had walked there, I suspect, he might have had UN air-drop clothing relief packets to these poor island dwellers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Snorkelling and Scuba diving&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/SqdSVmOUzyI/AAAAAAAADtU/Cwxme4_LDUo/s1600-h/Snorkel.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 179px; height: 264px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/SqdSVmOUzyI/AAAAAAAADtU/Cwxme4_LDUo/s320/Snorkel.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379358810908708642" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Snorkeling"&gt;Snorkeling&lt;/a&gt; is probably one of the most fun things to do on the island. The water was just warm enough and the fish, colourful and plenty. Many thanks to our hotel manager who gave us this idea of carrying bread with us. One handful of bread crumbs into the water and the whole marine ecosystem came alive in an eye-candy feeding frenzy!&lt;br /&gt;It takes a little getting used to breathing through the mouth via a pipe, but once comfortable it is just pure fun!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After spending the morning snorkeling, we headed out to the main highlight of the visit - SCUBA DIVING! Two divers are accompanied by a scuba diving instructor. We being four in number, made perfect pairs for the dives. My instructor Frank, was a very experienced professional. He helped us with our air tanks, the breathing regulator, the wet suits etc. He also gave us instructions on equalizing pressure in our ears as we descend and the most important under water hand signals.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"I am OK, why do you ask?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/SqdVh9cxqJI/AAAAAAAADtc/PPTIPVmCXJ4/s1600-h/scubaOKsignal.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 176px; height: 133px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/SqdVh9cxqJI/AAAAAAAADtc/PPTIPVmCXJ4/s320/scubaOKsignal.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379362321836648594" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The signal shown to the left means "I am OK" and Frank told us to show this when everything was good and we could descend further. Now, since we were first timers, Frank started out by holding each of our hands and guiding us lower and lower. Me and my roomie started out ok, but soon my roomie started experiencing some discomfort in his ears and decided to go back up before coming back down. I, on the other hand, had already reached down. Frank was with me for some time, but suddenly shot back up, asking me to wait. So I spent my time trying to touch some beautiful bright orange fish. After a while, I saw the familiar green oxygen tank and so quickly swam up and grasped his hand. To my surprise, he turned and made a hand motion as if to ask "What". Wondering what Frank meant, I responded with a "I am OK" signal... A few confused moments passed between us. It was only after I saw his underwater video camera did I realize that this guy wasn't Frank!! The poor cameraman's look was as puzzled a look as a scuba diver can possibly make :-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After nearly an hour of under water fun, it was time to head back. A beautiful 1 hour boat cruise brought us back to the mainlands. What started out as an unplanned outing, became one of my  most memorable trips till date!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6527413796646946199-7447409189071267992?l=backbenchtalks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/h-uao_clKYkISlQR5Fsk0P0w68Y/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/h-uao_clKYkISlQR5Fsk0P0w68Y/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~4/9SewjRzt5DY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/feeds/7447409189071267992/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2009/09/labor-day-weekend-at-catalina-islands.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/7447409189071267992?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/7447409189071267992?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~3/9SewjRzt5DY/labor-day-weekend-at-catalina-islands.html" title="Labor Day Weekend at Catalina Islands" /><author><name>backBencher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00120194996359746189</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/SqX_Tq6drSI/AAAAAAAADsU/1RckLhqqCxo/s72-c/mustangConvertible.jpeg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2009/09/labor-day-weekend-at-catalina-islands.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEcHSHs9cCp7ImA9WxNSFk8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6527413796646946199.post-4820571533928720327</id><published>2009-08-29T23:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-30T01:47:19.568-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-30T01:47:19.568-07:00</app:edited><title>Modak Conquest - A humble tribute</title><content type="html">&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;As a Mumbaikar for most part of my life, I have seen several pompous celebrations of Ganesh Chaturthi. Many people choose to keep idols in their homes/colonies and drown them later in the sea, some travel far to visit temples without footwear and a few others break coconuts loudly near other people's feet :-) As a  silicon valley engineer far from home, I thought that any tribute to the elephant god, should be both refined as well as humble ...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;In Hindu mythology, lord Ganesha is called by several names. Two such names are Modakapriya (lover of sweet rice dumplings) and Sarvasiddhanta (Bestower of Skills). Putting these two together, I felt I had found the best way to offer my tribute - to hopefully learn the coveted skill of preparing kozhakattais or modaks and feed my roomies, after presenting one before the god's idol of course (the former are generally hungry and hunger knows no taste, the latter is known for tolerant silence). But, this is not an easy matter for a guy at all! The art and skill of preparing these rice dumplings is known to reside only deep within the bastions of the culinary secrets of select Indian women. Few men are even known to dare attempt this undertaking, let alone achieve success at them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My first attempt lasted about an hour and a half (inclusive of cleaning vessels and preparations).  The results lay here in pictorial form...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/Spo5MOlzifI/AAAAAAAADr0/9AYs7IYO5Hs/s1600-h/ModakServed2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/Spo5MOlzifI/AAAAAAAADr0/9AYs7IYO5Hs/s400/ModakServed2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375671987457985010" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I will spare the gory details of the effort but jot down a few quick random lessons to self...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Lesson 1 - Do not be ashamed to ask&lt;/span&gt;: Sometimes this first step that seems so easy might be really hard. As long as you have your reasons, there ought to be nothing to be ashamed of in asking women for help. Many many thanks to my ever helpful Maharashtrian friend at Rayleigh for giving me guidance and sound advice regarding this matter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Lesson 2 - Even old dogs can learn new tricks&lt;/span&gt;: The human brain is  known to be an adaptive organ. It may have its imperfections that may seem to manifest more stubbornly with age, but with sustained interest, it can be taught just about anything. No worries if the few modaks don't come out well, chances are the next one will look better than the current unrecognizable blob.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Lesson 3 - Watch out for surface ruptures&lt;/span&gt;: Modaks contain a sweet stuffing in the core, which may boil in the cooker. If the covering isn't prepared adequately, the latent steam may choose to find the weakest point in the surface and tear apart the covering. The resultant mass may still possess taste, but may make the hands oily before touching the camera ;-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Lesson 4 - Take pictures even at intermediate stages&lt;/span&gt;: This allows for shameless boasting even if the end product were to be a disaster.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Results...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My first attempt had 8 modaks (since 8 bits make up a byte)&lt;br /&gt;1 resides before god as I type this... 7 have been consumed with content smiles!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Ganpathi Bappa Morya&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6527413796646946199-4820571533928720327?l=backbenchtalks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/bRvgwOEixXxDp_yJG5Q-708hLIE/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/bRvgwOEixXxDp_yJG5Q-708hLIE/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~4/7FBeTfpx6gc" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/feeds/4820571533928720327/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2009/08/modak-conquest-humble-tribute.html#comment-form" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/4820571533928720327?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/4820571533928720327?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~3/7FBeTfpx6gc/modak-conquest-humble-tribute.html" title="Modak Conquest - A humble tribute" /><author><name>backBencher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00120194996359746189</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/Spo5MOlzifI/AAAAAAAADr0/9AYs7IYO5Hs/s72-c/ModakServed2.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>4</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2009/08/modak-conquest-humble-tribute.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUINQXw9cCp7ImA9WxNTFUk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6527413796646946199.post-8205497689414107465</id><published>2009-08-16T18:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-17T14:13:10.268-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-17T14:13:10.268-07:00</app:edited><title>The Swapped Towel</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/SojOcylt59I/AAAAAAAADq8/yq76UBS1oe0/s1600-h/mens_room.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 212px; height: 282px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/SojOcylt59I/AAAAAAAADq8/yq76UBS1oe0/s400/mens_room.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370769549650946002" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Few days back, at the gym in my work-place,&lt;br /&gt;I went to take a shower after a workout phase&lt;br /&gt;I had hung my towel outside, on a hook,&lt;br /&gt;but later when I came out to look,&lt;br /&gt;I realized a guy from the next shower room,&lt;br /&gt;had gone with my towel leaving his to loom!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Only two grim choices I could see on inspection -&lt;br /&gt;Either drape his towel around my mid-section,&lt;br /&gt;risking the possibility of some weird infection&lt;br /&gt;Or nude-walk to the towel rack, risking detection!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I made up my mind and chose the latter,&lt;br /&gt;but this was hardly an easy matter,&lt;br /&gt;as the towel rack was nearly a hundred feet away!&lt;br /&gt;So like a secret spy on a trail of a prey,&lt;br /&gt;I tip-toed to the nearest corner after much delay,&lt;br /&gt;waited to ensure the coast was clear my way,&lt;br /&gt;took a deep breath hoping my fears would allay,&lt;br /&gt;And made a Big Bold Dash with Everything on display!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Time seemed to slow down and the towel rack afar&lt;br /&gt;my birthday dress was dripping wet, it was bizarre!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But finally after what seemed like eternity,&lt;br /&gt;I had made it, no sneak peaks to the fraternity&lt;br /&gt;The soft towel covered critical real estate&lt;br /&gt;phew, I was relieved ... never felt so great!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But just as I thought none had seen me zoom,&lt;br /&gt;a gentle voice went, "It's ok man, you're in the Men's room"&lt;br /&gt;!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6527413796646946199-8205497689414107465?l=backbenchtalks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/aapDjteGabI3OBFltc3iq9TD1Tg/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/aapDjteGabI3OBFltc3iq9TD1Tg/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~4/4HUR12mQjzk" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/feeds/8205497689414107465/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2009/08/swapped-towel.html#comment-form" title="5 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/8205497689414107465?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/8205497689414107465?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~3/4HUR12mQjzk/swapped-towel.html" title="The Swapped Towel" /><author><name>backBencher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00120194996359746189</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/SojOcylt59I/AAAAAAAADq8/yq76UBS1oe0/s72-c/mens_room.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>5</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2009/08/swapped-towel.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DE4HR344fSp7ImA9WxJbEEs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6527413796646946199.post-903768529607965674</id><published>2009-07-19T18:48:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-19T22:15:36.035-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-07-19T22:15:36.035-07:00</app:edited><title>Lessons from Surfing</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/SmP1eSmV0TI/AAAAAAAADns/8M0V9Q0U2mw/s1600-h/surfsup2.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 156px; height: 117px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/SmP1eSmV0TI/AAAAAAAADns/8M0V9Q0U2mw/s400/surfsup2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5360397882238554418" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Everybody has a at least a little craving for "new experiences". I am not really an always-hungry-for-adrenaline type at all, but when my cool ex-roomie asked me if I'd like to join him surfing today, I just couldn't say no. After my first nearly three hours in a wetsuit with the surfboard and waves, I suspected I have reflected enough upon life itself that I'd be writing this blog. My top 10 lessons in decreasing order of relevance are...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Lesson #10: &lt;/span&gt;To begin surfing (in bay area at least), you need both a wet suit as well as a surfboard else the water may be too cold. In life too, if the surfboard is like food, clothing and shelter(basics for survival), the wet-suit may be like a stable job and decent income - without which life may be too harsh for fun. Family and close friends are like that rope from the surf board that is tied to your right leg (reason may get clearer later).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Lesson #9: &lt;/span&gt;Surfing isn't just about riding the wave, although that is the part people see and notice easily. There is lot more to it... for starters you need to paddle against the current and waves for at least sometime to be able to catch a good wave to ride on. If riding the wave is like &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;success &lt;/span&gt;in life, the paddling against the current and smaller waves would be like the &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;effort &lt;/span&gt;needed to get to it. The paddling or the overcoming of smaller waves, are harder to notice but extremely important and often the reason for the result.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Lesson #8:  &lt;/span&gt;Identifying and catching a good wave is an important part.. It need not be the perfect wave, for there may be no such thing, but a good wave that you can at ride on till you get as close to the shore as possible. In life, this is like waiting for a partner or a business opportunity or a good time to do something big. There may never be a perfect choice, just good and bad ones. It does not matter if you have picked the perfect one, it's just nice if you can pick a good one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Lesson #7: &lt;/span&gt;Bigger waves start deeper. To get to them you need to paddle harder against smaller waves. Sometimes while doing this, you might fall off your surfboard. That's ok. Just need to get back on it when the big wave seems to be coming. In life, it's ok if you have setbacks while in your efforts, what matters is you still catch a wave.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Lesson #6:&lt;/span&gt; Once you have caught a wave, the job isn't done, it actually gets interesting. Surfing the wave without toppling over is just as important. You need to balance! Some manage to stand up straight and do noticeable things, others just manage to get half up without falling. In life this is like marriage or commitment to a post or business. In your pursuit to do stunts make sure you are still on the surfboard. If you don't balance well, you might fall badly. That's probably why your leg should be tethered to the surfboard just in case (decipher yourself).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;[Ok were those too deep? Better not attach double meaning to these notes to self..]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Lesson #5:&lt;/span&gt; Don't surf on an empty stomach.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Lesson #4: &lt;/span&gt;While carrying the surfboard to the water, either look at the ground for sharp stones or wear surfing footwear. Better to not get distracted at this stage.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Lesson #3:&lt;/span&gt; After battling the waves, if you are terribly exhausted, please &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;look&lt;/span&gt; before falling like a dead log on wet sand... you could be squishing a dead jellyfish or yucky sea weed!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Lesson #2:&lt;/span&gt; If you are not wearing spectacles do not try to squint at not-too-far-away but possibly good-to-view beach members, no matter how interesting their er... "attire" might be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Lesson #1:&lt;/span&gt; While lying on the sand out of of exhaustion, do not talk to who you &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;think &lt;/span&gt;is listening, esp if you eyes are closed. Dogs do not respond well to foreign languages.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6527413796646946199-903768529607965674?l=backbenchtalks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/NKf1k2SCXag02MeK6yUZW1OVk30/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/NKf1k2SCXag02MeK6yUZW1OVk30/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~4/jHPk1tiSrLM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/feeds/903768529607965674/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2009/07/lessons-from-surfing.html#comment-form" title="12 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/903768529607965674?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/903768529607965674?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~3/jHPk1tiSrLM/lessons-from-surfing.html" title="Lessons from Surfing" /><author><name>backBencher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00120194996359746189</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/SmP1eSmV0TI/AAAAAAAADns/8M0V9Q0U2mw/s72-c/surfsup2.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>12</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2009/07/lessons-from-surfing.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEANQHY6eSp7ImA9WxJUEkw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6527413796646946199.post-6325625395825799596</id><published>2009-07-10T00:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-10T02:06:31.811-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-07-10T02:06:31.811-07:00</app:edited><title>A "Rocking" Long Weekend</title><content type="html">&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Even if it did not involve the near death experience and flying roomie, this 4th July long weekend would have been a thing to blog about. When three busy-at-work-but-otherwise-super-lazy bums can almost fully plan a long weekend road trip, you really got to hand it to Americans and their infrastructure. Click here, click there and Lo!, its time to go! I can't help but reminiscence those days, my dad used to hire travel agents to stand in long lines to buy RAC railway tickets so our family could go places. Our plan to visit &lt;a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&amp;amp;source=s_q&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;geocode=&amp;amp;q=Crater+Lake+National+Park&amp;amp;sll=43.194664,-122.055359&amp;amp;sspn=0.407478,1.087646&amp;amp;ie=UTF8&amp;amp;ll=42.897095,-122.133636&amp;amp;spn=0.409456,1.087646&amp;amp;z=10"&gt;crater lake&lt;/a&gt; and &lt;a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&amp;amp;source=s_q&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;geocode=&amp;amp;q=Mount+Shasta,+CA&amp;amp;sll=37.397701,-122.100474&amp;amp;sspn=0.007364,0.016994&amp;amp;ie=UTF8&amp;amp;ll=41.334932,-122.315598&amp;amp;spn=0.055682,0.135956&amp;amp;z=13&amp;amp;iwloc=A"&gt;mt shasta&lt;/a&gt; on the way was made with less than an hour's effort.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;[Day 1 - Shasta Caverns at Mt Shasta]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/Slb8na1-9EI/AAAAAAAADmg/hZe56Qmj1ag/s1600-h/shasta_caverns_1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 220px; height: 223px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/Slb8na1-9EI/AAAAAAAADmg/hZe56Qmj1ag/s320/shasta_caverns_1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356746560954627138" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/Slb8xPeeEGI/AAAAAAAADmo/xiibytQMH-4/s1600-h/shashta+caverns.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 325px; height: 243px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/Slb8xPeeEGI/AAAAAAAADmo/xiibytQMH-4/s320/shashta+caverns.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356746729701904482" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"The Desi Reassurance factor" &lt;/span&gt;- If you are visiting a famous place around say California and not sure if your GPS has brought you to the correct place, just look around - if you can spot a few desis, well, rest assured, you have probably come to the right spot ;-) No kidding! The first day, we weren't completely sure if we came to the correct place where the mt shasta caverns tour was supposed to begin, but we were quickly reassured by the sight of a number of desi faces.&lt;br /&gt;Now, people say an average guy's dream is to have, an European house, a Japanese car, an American salary and an Indian wife. I don't know about the first three, but it appears several silicon valley gentlemen choose to go great lengths for the last. I dare not attempt to guess why, but along with us on the tour were several couples, clearly discernible as newly weds. Our tour began with a boat cruise to the actual caves, where a tour guide explained the science and history behind those beautiful stalactites and stalagmites formations. Now every time the guide would pop a question to the tourists, something like "Can anyone tell me what translucence means?", there was this one young gorgeous newly wed desi female who would put up her hand like an eager school girl and reply with an accent so thick one can almost pin point the lattitude and longitude of her geographical origins, "thee yeability to paess laite tHroo"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/Slb8KFa4y8I/AAAAAAAADmY/zV4BDz_qGlI/s1600-h/craterLake.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 153px; height: 117px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/Slb8KFa4y8I/AAAAAAAADmY/zV4BDz_qGlI/s320/craterLake.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356746056987626434" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;[Day 2 - Crater Lake]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Crater lake offered us several scenic views of the pristine lake along its 33 mile rim drive. I think there is only one place where you can hike down to the water, and again we located that place by spotting numerous persons from, yup, the Indian subcontinent :-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;[Day 3 - Lava beds National Monument and power boating on Lake Shasta]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Our concluding day was clearly the most eventful. After a quick visit to the lava beds national monument where we explored underground volcanic caves on our own with torch lights, we headed back to lake shasta for some action. After all, we are all young unmarried youthful men right? Enough of these caves and tours man, gemme some real action, some real adventure, yeah! Ah, well, that was pretty much our attitude when the four of us rented a high performance speed boat to ourselves. None of us had operated speed boats before and I was the only one who knew swimming. But the way we ravished with it, taking sharp 360 degree turns at 50 miles an hour, we would have easily passed off as regular daredevils straight from a mountain dew ad. There is something about that adrenaline rush you get as the wind rips through your hair at 50 miles an hour over an open blue lake surface. Our speed boat explored nearly every part of lake shasta. Being the only swimmer, I even sort of attempted jet skiing. All was fun, until it happened...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At first it felt just as if we were attempting another one of those fierce 360 sharp turns, but on my first glimpse of my roomie literally flying through the air and tumbling across the boat surface, I could tell all was not right! The boat had hit that dreaded thing that has sunk many vessels - a rocky landmass in the middle of the lake. The fierceness of the crash,  had knocked the speedometer out, screwed up the propellors and damaged the steering rims, but fortunately the boat had not toppled over like the last scene in Face Off movie. As if hitting a rock wasnt scary enough, few bikini babes from nearby boats began to yell out, "You are going to sink, if there is water in your boat". By the grace of some divine overseer, the boat did not choose to sink, and allowed us to make it back to the docks in, one badly shaped albeit single piece.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were charged heavily for the damages caused, but no one cared. We were just thankful to be breathing..... to be alive!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6527413796646946199-6325625395825799596?l=backbenchtalks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/3RVplBknrM_fNfJOXgqHlMEXIEQ/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/3RVplBknrM_fNfJOXgqHlMEXIEQ/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~4/IpKatkhm-10" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/feeds/6325625395825799596/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2009/07/rocking-long-weekend.html#comment-form" title="5 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/6325625395825799596?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/6325625395825799596?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~3/IpKatkhm-10/rocking-long-weekend.html" title="A &quot;Rocking&quot; Long Weekend" /><author><name>backBencher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00120194996359746189</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/Slb8na1-9EI/AAAAAAAADmg/hZe56Qmj1ag/s72-c/shasta_caverns_1.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>5</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2009/07/rocking-long-weekend.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0cASXk4fip7ImA9WxJWEE0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6527413796646946199.post-719950354188145826</id><published>2009-06-08T11:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-14T10:37:28.736-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-06-14T10:37:28.736-07:00</app:edited><title>Horn OK Please</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/Si10xRWswrI/AAAAAAAADOM/tySe2kzuIII/s1600-h/hornOkPlease.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 180px; height: 135px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/Si10xRWswrI/AAAAAAAADOM/tySe2kzuIII/s320/hornOkPlease.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345056722579669682" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the many Indian roads I had just been,&lt;br /&gt;few new lessons I learnt from what was seen&lt;br /&gt;Motorists seem to have a road goddess to appease,&lt;br /&gt;and too often use the mantra, "&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Horn OK Please&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Driving style's bit different from the likes elsewhere,&lt;br /&gt;for moving objects may intercept you from anywhere&lt;br /&gt;Not just cycles, rickshaws, lorries or bikes&lt;br /&gt;but dogs, pedestrians, even buffaloes yikes&lt;br /&gt;Angry cow on your path? Well don't freeze,&lt;br /&gt;just remember to "&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Horn OK Please&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Waiting for intersections to clear may take forever&lt;br /&gt;we just pray and move forth with a brave endeavor&lt;br /&gt;Motorists love you, so may come very very close,&lt;br /&gt;Don't worry, smile at them and say cheese,&lt;br /&gt;but don't forget to "&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Horn OK Please&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A lone light may not be a bike on the highway,&lt;br /&gt;but a truck with just one headlight &amp;amp; a sway&lt;br /&gt;It's risky to investigate so put your fears at ease,&lt;br /&gt;better be safe, chant with "&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Horn OK Please&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Red lights in some places mean nothing, folks,&lt;br /&gt;lane lines are mostly decorations, practical jokes&lt;br /&gt;Looking over the shoulder? don't bother mate,&lt;br /&gt;there are always vehicles there, sometimes 7 or 8&lt;br /&gt;you'd rather want to scan ahead in an alert state&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Driving Indian roads may take some expertise,&lt;br /&gt;but it seems to begin with the mantra, "&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Horn OK Please&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Based on what I recently saw, I feel Indian driving expertise come in 4 levels.&lt;br /&gt;1. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Newbie: &lt;/span&gt;Waiting and yielding, shy of using the horn, driving within lanes, fearing the cop etc&lt;br /&gt;2. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Beginner:&lt;/span&gt; Just starting to get brave, moderate to regular honking, foot ready on brake etc&lt;br /&gt;3. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Intermediate:&lt;/span&gt; More brave, not yielding, heavy honking (even in heavy long traffic) and most importantly gentle swearing at other motorists&lt;br /&gt;4. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Advanced:&lt;/span&gt; This stage requires certain prerequisites in addition to that of the Intermediate level, such as knowledge of swear words in native tongue of that locality and physical strength (since many road accidents seem to get resolved by hand to face combat)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6527413796646946199-719950354188145826?l=backbenchtalks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/NcIZqjRGKMRojf17F8fxw_bvtP0/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/NcIZqjRGKMRojf17F8fxw_bvtP0/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~4/1clJi19ufnQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/feeds/719950354188145826/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2009/06/horn-ok-please.html#comment-form" title="6 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/719950354188145826?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/719950354188145826?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~3/1clJi19ufnQ/horn-ok-please.html" title="Horn OK Please" /><author><name>backBencher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00120194996359746189</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/Si10xRWswrI/AAAAAAAADOM/tySe2kzuIII/s72-c/hornOkPlease.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>6</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2009/06/horn-ok-please.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ck4CQHc6cCp7ImA9WxJRGE0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6527413796646946199.post-5077339439885014236</id><published>2009-05-19T15:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-19T23:29:21.918-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-05-19T23:29:21.918-07:00</app:edited><title>The Charm of the Mirror</title><content type="html">&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Someone once told me that if you begin your day by first looking at yourself in the mirror then your day will go well. For some reason, I decided to give it a try. This other morning, after my alarm rang, I groped my way to the bathroom and opened my eyes in front of the mirror. Instantly there was dazzling light everywhere, as my eyes got adjusted to sunlight, but after it did, I couldn't help wonder for an instant, "will this really be a lucky day?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I carpool to work everyday, and so after dressing up, I put on the helmet and rode my bike over to my carpool partner's place. Along my way all signals seemed to turn green as I neared them and traffic too seemed totally minimal. The weather was pleasant and a few passersby actually smiled at me... Nah.. all this is just coincidence, I thought, the mirror's lucky charm can't really work this real, can it? I put the bike at my carpool partner's place and then we drove in her car to work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All throughout the day, was it my imagination or was it real, I could not tell, but for some reason, I found people noticing me much more than usual. It felt like they were holding on to their gaze a bit longer and smiling a little more! Right from the security personnel, to some workplace acquaintances, to some of my own team-members, everyone seemed happier to see me!  In fact at lunch time, as I walked my way to the cafeteria, I found  people, even ones I didn't know,  smiling at me. More so, as a flock of ladies passed by me, one of them kept staring at me until she actually broke into an unmistakable smile, which I managed to shyly return.  Wow, I told myself. My last straw came when this cute lady on my floor actually smiled at me  as we met at the kitchen (she typically never smiles at anyone!). Bless you Mirror Magic Charm, I thought. But wait, I had to be sure...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I walked over to my friend's desk and told him about how people (esp of opposite gender) were noticing me more than usual. He too gazed at me for a moment, but then turning to his computer, he said in a rather matter-of-fact tone, "Yeah, that's probably because you are looking very horny today". Without thinking I snapped back, "Are you sure no one slipped vodka in your coffee this morning?". Not turning back, he lazily replied, "Go look at the mirror if you don't believe me."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One look at the mirror and I almost burst out laughing myself... Jutting out of my scalp, result of wearing my bike helmet incorrectly, were these two naughty standing bundles of hair, making me look like I had horns on my head!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6527413796646946199-5077339439885014236?l=backbenchtalks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/kt3dzHiiaFe_qEEPc1UoJTk88Lg/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/kt3dzHiiaFe_qEEPc1UoJTk88Lg/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~4/pgzpEr5XjHo" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/feeds/5077339439885014236/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2009/05/charm-of-mirror.html#comment-form" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/5077339439885014236?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/5077339439885014236?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~3/pgzpEr5XjHo/charm-of-mirror.html" title="The Charm of the Mirror" /><author><name>backBencher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00120194996359746189</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2009/05/charm-of-mirror.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUAHSXcyfCp7ImA9WxJSFUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6527413796646946199.post-1697201379164106494</id><published>2009-05-06T01:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-06T01:15:38.994-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-05-06T01:15:38.994-07:00</app:edited><title>The Unforgetable Look</title><content type="html">&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/SgFE6aKyR1I/AAAAAAAADMo/GCDNhqmirxY/s1600-h/scenic_drive.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 256px; height: 170px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/SgFE6aKyR1I/AAAAAAAADMo/GCDNhqmirxY/s320/scenic_drive.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332619204031039314" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just last Saturday that went by,&lt;br /&gt;we went on a drive, roomies and I&lt;br /&gt;Deep down south on page mill road,&lt;br /&gt;a forest so scenic, like god's abode&lt;br /&gt;Dense dark clouds above the head,&lt;br /&gt;we just drove, where the roads lead&lt;br /&gt;A gentle drizzle blessed our way&lt;br /&gt;A fresh    breeze  made it  a  spray&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I lowered the window,&lt;br /&gt;                        put out my face&lt;br /&gt;as the car picked up some pace&lt;br /&gt;Opened my mouth, lowered my tongue,&lt;br /&gt;to taste these drops so very young&lt;br /&gt;The wind and water felt so great&lt;br /&gt;I was in one, really happy state!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then our car stopped at a red light,&lt;br /&gt;beside us was another car, in close sight&lt;br /&gt;Staring at me was a poodle so white&lt;br /&gt;Our eyes met - the moment felt like eternity,&lt;br /&gt;it gave me this look - all smart and witty&lt;br /&gt;I pulled in my tongue, but it was too late,&lt;br /&gt;it had already made its statement, mate,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;       "Behave yourself, will ya?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6527413796646946199-1697201379164106494?l=backbenchtalks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/iMMrKTeMXHYdT5PsZSHFG6PqLRA/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/iMMrKTeMXHYdT5PsZSHFG6PqLRA/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~4/hDtVujTil1A" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/feeds/1697201379164106494/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2009/05/unforgetable-look.html#comment-form" title="13 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/1697201379164106494?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/1697201379164106494?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~3/hDtVujTil1A/unforgetable-look.html" title="The Unforgetable Look" /><author><name>backBencher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00120194996359746189</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/SgFE6aKyR1I/AAAAAAAADMo/GCDNhqmirxY/s72-c/scenic_drive.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>13</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2009/05/unforgetable-look.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CE4NSHw9eip7ImA9WxJTGEs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6527413796646946199.post-527018986416206542</id><published>2009-04-26T21:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-27T13:09:59.262-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-04-27T13:09:59.262-07:00</app:edited><title>A Tamil Day - Part II (Comedy Drama)</title><content type="html">&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Continuing on the tribute to our tamil roots, I and my friends headed toward the Sunnyvale temple from &lt;a href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2009/04/tamil-day-part-i-ucb-visit.html"&gt;UCB visit&lt;/a&gt; where the &lt;a href="http://www.batamilsangam.org/"&gt;Bharati Tamil Sangam &lt;/a&gt;was having its Tamil New Year Celebrations. We were there to check out a tamil comedy drama by CMU students working in the bay area, most of whom graduated in the same batch as me. We reached well over an hour early for the play but were glad that we did! Entertaining us were a number of really talented performances by young and old alike. I particularly enjoyed the &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Pattimandram&lt;/span&gt; or a debate. These debates are one of those things that make you happy that you understand the language :P The topics they select are typically controversial (this one was, "Who are more responsible for marital bliss - men or women?") and so brings out some cool debating action and some really funny retorts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our final takeaway for the day was of course the tamil drama. Titled, "worstu begaviouru" it was about this indian dude and his 'hot nondesi gal' who he is dating. Things start to get interesting as his very cultural parents come over to US from India for his birthday surprise. Now, perhaps it was just something leftover from the morinig ucb visit where I er.. discovered some facts about my ancestral history or it was because these were all CMU alum, I once again found this sense of pride welling within me as I watched their hilarious performance. Fortunate to have been carrying my cam with me, I managed to shoot the whole drama and put it up on youtube. If you understand tamil and have some time, I would certainly recommend checking it out. It  may start off with some random &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;mokkaification&lt;/span&gt;, but gets you giggling soon enough.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/tiCZpSk1THo&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/tiCZpSk1THo&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/dILsGNV97nQ&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/dILsGNV97nQ&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/53gUVadF2fA&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/53gUVadF2fA&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kudos to you ppl! Keep it up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6527413796646946199-527018986416206542?l=backbenchtalks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/cNMuAAmLvJ5CviLX1faQhc4LBVI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/cNMuAAmLvJ5CviLX1faQhc4LBVI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~4/NSmQbNIlqew" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/feeds/527018986416206542/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2009/04/tamil-day-part-ii-comedy-drama.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/527018986416206542?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/527018986416206542?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~3/NSmQbNIlqew/tamil-day-part-ii-comedy-drama.html" title="A Tamil Day - Part II (Comedy Drama)" /><author><name>backBencher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00120194996359746189</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2009/04/tamil-day-part-ii-comedy-drama.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkUNRn89eip7ImA9WxJTGUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6527413796646946199.post-3481834427293164095</id><published>2009-04-26T17:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-28T17:18:17.162-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-04-28T17:18:17.162-07:00</app:edited><title>A Tamil Day - Part I (UCB visit)</title><content type="html">&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/SfUoLzYEioI/AAAAAAAADME/0ixvFQtvPEY/s1600-h/ucb_sather_gate.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 129px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/SfUoLzYEioI/AAAAAAAADME/0ixvFQtvPEY/s200/ucb_sather_gate.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329209917297691266" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;With the dual intent of visiting the famous campus and also attending &lt;a href="http://tamil.berkeley.edu/Tamil%20Conference%202009/Conf2009Begin.html" target="_new"&gt;the annual ucb tamil conference&lt;/a&gt; held there, I left with my friends &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;early &lt;/span&gt;in the morning. UCB campus is really worth visiting if you live in the bay area. Apart from the panoramic Sather tower views or the beautifully architected buildings and museums, every street corner or park may help you understand why US is such a big consumer of sunscreen lotions ;)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After shamelessly helping ourselves to free lunch, we made our way to the room where the annual berkeley tamil conference was held. If the feeling of being back at campus, attending lectures was anything great, it was only to be surpassed by an even more pleasant surprise - many panelists in that room were of non-Indian origin and were telling us about some of the most intricate details of the tamil era of kings from 14th -17th century. I felt a strange sense of pride welling up within me as the professor recreated the history of pandiya kings and their valor in battles. For all I knew perhaps these were my very ancestors, my own blood! As the prof spoke, I felt myself instantly being transported to those ancient lands of glory...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As the mighty prince &lt;a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://www.indianetzone.com/21/jatavarman_sundara_pandya_i_pandya_dynasty_india.htm" target="_new"&gt;Jatavarman Sundara&lt;/a&gt;, I feel the hot afternoon breeze in my hair as I stand watching over my splendid kingdom with ministers and princess. My fair lady huddles close to me worried, "O noble prince, look, the evil Kongu king and his armies are marching here. Will you go to battle?" Taking a deep breath, I return a reassuring smile to her, "That will not be necessary, O fair princess. I am the &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;powerful&lt;/span&gt; warrior of the lunar race and I shall unleash the mighty strength of the sun god on these insolent fools"... My wise ministers eye me skeptically, but they dare not question my power! I step forward and eyeball the situation - it is true, the Kongu king army is mighty and is marching fast at the horizon, but he will be defenseless against the power of the sun god. Reaching inside my robes, I take out my canister of deodorant and spray liberally into the air, chanting some deep incantations. As the pressurized canister empties itself, its vicious CFC compounds rise high up into the atmosphere. The &lt;a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ozone_depletion" target="_new"&gt;ozone layer&lt;/a&gt; is temporarily wiped away because of this and the sun's harsh UV rays scorch the marching Kongu king's armies... his mighty men burn to the ground as ashes. After I complete the incantation, I turn back to my people. They are rejoicing, "Hail King Jatavarman!". I hear the Azeem-O-shaan shahenshah song being sung. In the midst I see my fair princess walking toward me. Her face as splendid as the moon. As I smilingly reach out for her, suddenly without warning, she kicks me hard in my shins!! "Why did you do that? my lady", I am shocked. But she does it again, even more hard this time. "Princess! STOP IT" *...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly, the whole scene transforms and I find myself back in the ucb conference hall.  I think my last words had broken the silence in the room and a few educated heads had turned to look in my direction. The prof made a momentary pause before resuming with an unmistakable smile. It wasn't my princess kicking me, it was rather my roomie kicking me awake, "Get up you sleepy lazy bum! We need to leave now, or we'll miss the CMU tamil drama at the Sunnyvale temple".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; &lt;a name="" scene="" alt="This is a classic example of what is known as veeti scene or khalipili shaanpatti" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2009/04/tamil-day-part-ii-comedy-drama.html"&gt; to be continued...&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* - Jatavarman tales date nearly a thousand years ago. Ozone layer depletion is happening right now. Yet to some of us the latter interests us no more than the former.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6527413796646946199-3481834427293164095?l=backbenchtalks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/XZtBeIMnVWg4HMLy1NSRByeBKXc/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/XZtBeIMnVWg4HMLy1NSRByeBKXc/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~4/gpMoJW1xmm0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/feeds/3481834427293164095/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2009/04/tamil-day-part-i-ucb-visit.html#comment-form" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/3481834427293164095?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/3481834427293164095?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~3/gpMoJW1xmm0/tamil-day-part-i-ucb-visit.html" title="A Tamil Day - Part I (UCB visit)" /><author><name>backBencher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00120194996359746189</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/SfUoLzYEioI/AAAAAAAADME/0ixvFQtvPEY/s72-c/ucb_sather_gate.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2009/04/tamil-day-part-i-ucb-visit.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Dk4MSHg5fip7ImA9WxJTEUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6527413796646946199.post-7445263429426866317</id><published>2009-04-18T19:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-19T16:49:49.626-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-04-19T16:49:49.626-07:00</app:edited><title>The Incredible Restroom ;-)</title><content type="html">&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(S&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;ome facts mentioned here can be verified by visiting the &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&amp;amp;source=s_q&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;geocode=&amp;amp;q=ihop+near+4200+Great+America+Pkwy+Santa+Clara,+CA+95054&amp;amp;sll=37.393226,-121.976287&amp;amp;sspn=0.006956,0.017037&amp;amp;g=4200+Great+America+Pkwy+Santa+Clara,+CA+95054&amp;amp;ie=UTF8&amp;amp;ll=37.394317,-121.976888&amp;amp;spn=0.006955,0.017037&amp;amp;t=h&amp;amp;z=16&amp;amp;iwloc=A"&gt;IHOP &lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;restaurant at Santa Clara)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;If you like pancakes, chances are you probably love the ihop restaurants. Apart from their array of different pancakes and waffles, every table has this "sugar boat" with different sweet syrup dispensers - strawberry, blueberry, butter pecan and so on, which are fun to experiment with, if not just delicious. Sometime back I had gone for dinner to one such restaurant at Santa Clara. My friend had chosen this place after looking it up on an i-phone (it seems to be a hip thing to do these days for some reason :P ). At first sight I somewhat felt like this place was a little oddly located, but didn’t know what was exactly odd until much later...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Towards the end of our dinner, I decided it was time to answer Nature's call. The thing about nature calls is that there is a limited number of times you can hit the "busy" button before running the risk of either prostrate distress or taking the call in public! Therefore, I excused myself from the table and hurriedly made my way toward the door where the signboard clearly read "RESTROOMS". The moment I entered this door, though, I knew instantly that I had made a mistake - before me was a small carpeted room with four comfortable looking chairs, a little table and a young lady in uniform who seemed to be waiting on something. Before this lady could notice, I hurried back through the door and asked the nearest IHOP waiter where the restroom was. To my surprise he pointed back at the same door! I was confused, but my nature's call was getting louder. So I suspiciously re-entered the neat room. This time the uniformed lady was expecting me, "How may I help you?", she asked in a thick accent. "Er.. I'm just looking for the restrooms?” I stammered. As if expecting this question and barely letting me complete, she quipped, "Please take a seat sir, someone will be here to assist you"!! I was aghast, "Excuse me?! I think I'd rather do this on my own!", I replied back, but the lady wasn't even listening, instead she quickly disappeared behind another door. Honestly, I didn’t know what was going on... I truly appreciate Americans and their professionalism but this had got to be the heights...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seconds later; another officious looking lad, entered the same door the lady had disappeared through. "What may I help you with today?” he asked in a rather pompous manner. I was a bit restless, but I repeated my question patiently. "Oh", he smiled, "please follow me, sir, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I can help you with that&lt;/span&gt;"! ... It felt a chill run down my spine. Did I really look like I needed assistance with this thing? Before I could object, the lad was already leading me via another door and a small corridor. Not too far away was a more familiar pair of doors with the men's and women's room symbols. I felt a wave of relief, but before I entered, I curtly, said a "Thank you" and saw to it that this lad walked away before I entered my much sought after restroom!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Relieving minutes later, as I exited the restaurant, my friend pointed out that this ihop joint din't really have restrooms of its own and so they just made people go to the Holiday Inn lobby in the building right next to their place when needed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Phew.. what an experience!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6527413796646946199-7445263429426866317?l=backbenchtalks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/fl-zW1-OD0iJV1Ad9JMouZP_kYQ/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/fl-zW1-OD0iJV1Ad9JMouZP_kYQ/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~4/1ZAwO8sh8MQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/feeds/7445263429426866317/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2009/04/incredible-restroom.html#comment-form" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/7445263429426866317?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/7445263429426866317?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~3/1ZAwO8sh8MQ/incredible-restroom.html" title="The Incredible Restroom ;-)" /><author><name>backBencher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00120194996359746189</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>4</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2009/04/incredible-restroom.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEANQH4ycSp7ImA9WxVbFE4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6527413796646946199.post-4826348314716244487</id><published>2009-03-29T08:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-30T10:06:31.099-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-03-30T10:06:31.099-07:00</app:edited><title>Holi at Stanford</title><content type="html">&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;An invitation to go to an event at Stanford, whose proceeds will be used to &lt;a href="http://www.ashanet.org/stanford/"&gt;fund education&lt;/a&gt; in India was quite irresistible. Now here's my little secret - I am not really a big celebrator of Holi. Back in Mumbai, my definition of Holi was pretty much to not get wet during those 2 days while making trips to the grocery shop or to the nearby temple. Over the years, I had become somewhat adept at spotting those small wet explosion marks on the ground and immediately scouring the high rise buildings for some clown with a ready balloon missile. Oh these missiles quite often met their targets - unsuspecting meek creatures like the postman or a slow old man on his walk or little kids or me. Even in the odd years that I participated, it was always about filling water balloons and practicing casting projectiles at friends and dodging theirs. We never really played around much with colours other than to mark each others' faces with 'war paint'. In fact some of these paints were those Y-U-C-K-Y oil paints and the powders were rough arsenic mixtures that sometimes wouldn't come off for days. Coming over to the other end of the planet, my experience was somewhat different...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/Sc-tMHIYXwI/AAAAAAAADEM/t9w-QIQ-1Os/s1600-h/Stanford+Holi+077.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 271px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/Sc-tMHIYXwI/AAAAAAAADEM/t9w-QIQ-1Os/s320/Stanford+Holi+077.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318660108532080386" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lazy as usual, I reached Sandhills fields a bit late and my friends were already in the fray and their cellphones were totally unresponsive. So as I stepped out of my car I felt a little odd noticing that everyone else had company. Some with hands around one another - the usuals (&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"hey I'm in the US of A - I can do whatever I want"&lt;/span&gt; types). But along my shy walk over to the registration desk, I noticed another guy looking somewhat just like me, wearing a white cisco t-shirt, also alone. At first I felt a bit sympathetic to him, but was I to be proven otherwise or what!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For now let's call him Mr.Confident (I never found out his real name anyways). Both of us entered the grounds at about the same time. What lay before us was a sight worth remembering - an enormous playground filled with a thousand colourful faces. Handful of colour powders were distributed at a desk. Not fully sure what I would be doing with them, I just followed Mr.Confident over to that desk. Along the way as hard as I tried, I couldn't help but get distracted by some uber-gorgeous angels gleefully bobbing along with colours and shouting "Happy Holi". I think I may have even tried mumbling something incomprehensible back with little effect. Now following Mr.Confident, I too filled up my fists with colour powder. His next step was of course much harder to follow.. Bobbing over toward us was a really beautiful looking young lady. I couldn't help notice that her immaculate cheeks were relatively void of colour, perhaps no decent person had the heart to taint them. Mr. Confident stopped her dead in her tracks, and as I watched in dumbstruck silence, without warning, grunting "Happy Holi", he brought both his colour powder laden manly palms down her gentle soft cheeks, instantly transforming a thing of heavenly beauty into something virtually unrecognizable. "Oh you are so dead, dude! ", I thought to myself. But to my utter shock, her sweetness lifted her palms and coloured Mr.Confident's grizzly face back with a chirping "Happy Holi!", before bobbing away. If anyone had noticed, my jaw would have probably been a few inches lower. "Wow", I thought, not only did he survive, he even got rewarded for it. Then I watched as he repeatedly achieved the same success with others. "It's all about confidence", I had decided to myself, but the shyness in my DNA wouldn't let me attempt it initially.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then the most amazing thing happened, without warning, another nice looking lady (a few inches taller than me), caught me off guard and doused my hair, face and specs mercilessly with green colour powder. For someone who was used to handling rough coarse powders for Holi, this felt like talcum! From where I got my confidence, I have no idea, but I actually found myself returning the favor to her, albeit with trembling hands, before she walked away. Knowing that I was coloured and probably unrecognizable, with all niceties locked away in some corner of my heart, I then launched on my own simpler parade, catching not the unsuspecting ones but the rather expecting ones, class B, C not class A ;) and smearing them with yellow, pink and green. This went on for quite sometime, and was super great fun.. I was wearing a mask, unrecognizable, free! Of course, soon later, to much dismay I heard my name being called out.. It was one of my undergrad friends. Sheepishly I asked them, "am I really recognizable?".. Well once you are with friends its a different story all together. But I shall always remember the inspiring Mr.Confident as the man who taught me Holi!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Happy Holi"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6527413796646946199-4826348314716244487?l=backbenchtalks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/QD3Y-R2bNRnViPUbk8-l6STyQHI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/QD3Y-R2bNRnViPUbk8-l6STyQHI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~4/qeLZ8QUkH6Y" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/feeds/4826348314716244487/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2009/03/holi-at-stanford.html#comment-form" title="8 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/4826348314716244487?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/4826348314716244487?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~3/qeLZ8QUkH6Y/holi-at-stanford.html" title="Holi at Stanford" /><author><name>backBencher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00120194996359746189</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_G5pxQsuZaUQ/Sc-tMHIYXwI/AAAAAAAADEM/t9w-QIQ-1Os/s72-c/Stanford+Holi+077.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>8</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2009/03/holi-at-stanford.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0MCSXk8fyp7ImA9WxVUF0Q.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6527413796646946199.post-4716249986413506271</id><published>2009-03-22T20:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-23T01:04:28.777-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-03-23T01:04:28.777-07:00</app:edited><title>A Humble Tribute to Back Benchers</title><content type="html">&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;They're the daring destroyers of boredom,&lt;br /&gt;drawing sweet smiles in their kingdom..&lt;br /&gt;Should any lecture ever go sore,&lt;br /&gt;they'll bring laughter with a roar..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;History or chemistry, it doesn't matter,&lt;br /&gt;class too quiet? silence will shatter..&lt;br /&gt;A few wise cracks,  sounds once or twice,&lt;br /&gt;mischief is hatched with splendor n spice,&lt;br /&gt;often the end effects are just so very nice..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes teachers might give up,&lt;br /&gt;sometimes principals get fed up..&lt;br /&gt;They're but a wise teacher's pet,&lt;br /&gt;for they are not too dumb, you bet..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like a good press in democracy,&lt;br /&gt;cracking up stupidity, lies n hypocrisy..&lt;br /&gt;They're unsung heroes of the rear,&lt;br /&gt;might even top the class, beware!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being a back bencher is good fun,&lt;br /&gt;I was proud to have been one..&lt;br /&gt;What's one to do - those days gone past,&lt;br /&gt;Little more time, I wish they would last..&lt;br /&gt;But past is gone and the future yet to come,&lt;br /&gt;so many memories, thought I'd share some..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Blogging seems to be fun, sounds so cool,&lt;br /&gt;its' like your online diary, your own tool..&lt;br /&gt;Just put up these bits for all to see,&lt;br /&gt;servers will replicate n preserve, for free..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But donno if i'll have time - all day I slog,&lt;br /&gt;nevertheless here goes, my very first blog!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6527413796646946199-4716249986413506271?l=backbenchtalks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/S49SVW7EeEdyf1C_xlXw8KJ79ys/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/S49SVW7EeEdyf1C_xlXw8KJ79ys/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~4/pnZdU4XseUE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/feeds/4716249986413506271/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2009/03/humble-tribute-to-back-benchers.html#comment-form" title="7 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/4716249986413506271?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6527413796646946199/posts/default/4716249986413506271?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BackBenchTalks/~3/pnZdU4XseUE/humble-tribute-to-back-benchers.html" title="A Humble Tribute to Back Benchers" /><author><name>backBencher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00120194996359746189</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>7</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://backbenchtalks.blogspot.com/2009/03/humble-tribute-to-back-benchers.html</feedburner:origLink></entry></feed>

