gooseberry DRY

first-thoughts and the struggle

2011-12-24T07:08:00.000+05:30

Arrows from the dark bow of night,
transcending the passage to the dawn,
It cuts more, kills more.

The dark blade, of edges ephemeral
deepened with the elixir of kindling dew,
It cuts more, kills more.

an ode to my crimes non pareil

2011-11-01T21:38:00.003+05:30

at the divine altars
when He sits down to judge
what shall i depose?
what shall i plead guilty to?

that i broke the faith?
fear,love,conviction
bestowed on me with
belief unparalleled.

crimes non pareil

will it ever bail me out
that i understand, this moment.
the magnitude,the pain
a hundredth of it, by the

same trust, but of mine,
broken in return, torn in pieces
when i wanted to wear it all..

when i wanted to wear it all,
now broken, now torn,
rendered naked

like a guitar
with strings out
i am naked.

criminal non pareil

Leaves that stood still in the wind

2011-10-04T09:57:00.002+05:30

We both were supposed to be friends. Or at least that's what i thought two strangers would naturally incline to be, when they were joining a new office on the same Monday morning. I casually mistook it for the day that will link us forever.

But it was not to be.

Might be b'cos i was a fresher straight t out of college. You were the analyst quitting the plush comforts of a Mumbai life and ain investment banking job that paid well.
A skewed equation for any nascent notions of workplace buddy ship to flower!

You know what, just-out-of-college kids like me, we live inside bubbles sometime. Feeding on fantasies, often without a diet. And it was then, when you stressed on adding a "ma'm" as i called you by your first name, that you burst the first bubble. So much for the neo corporate culture, thought I.
From then on i have called you gauri ma'm.
A firm reminder that i'm just another subordinate, when you looked down the food chain from the senior managers' mahagony desk.

Everything was new for me. Where to mark the attendance, how to credit an account, to cash-fill an atm, dispense cash at the counter, face people, to talk with H.O officials on phone, find a veg restaurant, the temple for morning prayers, a place to stay, shops to buy from, people to smile at and not, sheer volume of the city and the traffic, new accents my ears strained to, the old man down the street who picked rags and collected cow dung to bake and sell, girls who walked in tight outfits unmindful & different from the the long frocked ones at my village and the neighbourhood cat threateningly black and crossing away my confidence each time it walked from my left to right, it a ll puzzled and amused me. I missed my four room home at the village. And i missed amma. Her food and the way she let me know it was morning by massaging my shoulders every dawn sitting on my bed.
These days i wake upto the nokia alarm colourlessly ringing or from the nightmares you give me. Everything was new and out of place, but the worst was going to office and hear you shouting at me.

Nobody liked you. From the beginning. You were too cold. Aggressive. Cunning, calculating and manipulative to the point of being obsessive. You were in charge of the loans and advances. You ranted and complained about lack of infrastructure, improper guidelines & procedures and bayed for the blood of poor old Iyer sir whose seat you inherited upon his retirement. Everything was in shambles you said. But you did your work. Numbers told your story well. NPA's began a steady recovery under your relentless pursuit and you went decimating each hurdle you came across. You r phone calls to customers unwilling or unable to repay were menacingly threatening, on the verge of harassment. I remember you just counted, when an old man threw a bundle of soiled 100's cursing profusely. The air was damp around you. Everyone could feel the cold.

I was assigned under you. And asked to pick up your "efficient" ways. I hated it. I hated it even more knowing you knew too. First day you sent me to a client who ran a butchery, when the whole office and you knew by now that i can't stand the sight of blood. You smiled smugly i suspect, when i brought back notes stained from there, fighting nausea in the process.
That was the first day i called you a bitch.
Out of contempt, the word echoing in my mind, never really making an attempt to escape through my shut lips, out of fear.
Since then i have lost count of the silent abuses i have indulged in. I don't know what others' choice words were, but i'm sure even the chief manager had one.
So obnoxious you were.

Nobody knew about you. When mrs.nair asked you over lunch about family, you curtly reminded her of the pending lists to be done and hinted that her lunch breaks were elaborate. Women endured the lovely sarees you draped over your curvaceous figure, as they knew none of the men looked at you. Or stopped ogling at you, since long. You looked every inch a banking goddess to unaware customers whom you would coax, cajole and sugar-coat over new loans and schemes, and a demoness of brute will to defaulters whom you would squeeze to the last penny. Lakshmi and Kali at once.

It was no surprise either when you won the bank's best performer of the month. It's just two things that speak in this industry; sheer numbers and networking. Numbers spoke for you, but i don't think the networking part did when none of us from the branch really even bothered to say congrats. Neither did it matte r to you i guess.

Life under you was hell for me. Diktats, orders and the pitch of your voice strained me tight like the wrinkles around your squinting eyes, always focused like laser beam emanators. But time did it what usually does best, making one get used to things. Months passed and I got an old style home towards the east of the city for rent. A sliding gate opened into a climbing pathway, just wide enough for the second hand 800 i recently bought for a song. Front door was a remnant of the 60's, a sliding shutter, creaking at the hinges. A 2 bedroom affair, it had a veranda so smooth that one could sleep without a pillow and mat. Weekend afternoons always had a breeze passing across the kitchen and work area, whenever i tried my limited cooking skills on the heater. And when the first of the summer showers came in one evening, the smoky dark brown roof tiles glistened in the rain, glowing again in the sunshine as dawn broke over it next morning.
Amma also came in for a brief stay, a respite from the summer and office, both grilling.

She went about setting up my new place in a quiet manner that was her own. In came the utensils with her alongside new doormats and carpets. We bought a plastic makeshift dining-cum-ironing table and she dressed it up in soft polyester for dinner and using 3 rolled up bedspreads for ironing. All the cobwebs i had let gather at the faraway corners were gone one day and the toilets smelled of harpic and bleach. When i saw the lamp being lit for the evening prayer, it sunk in that amma was home. And dinners were less Spartan and more elaborate. Yet at the end of it all, i slacked and cozied up in my chair reading the day's newspaper, relaxed and uninterested. I always took her for granted. Mothers are born to be taken for granted. That's when you can love them the most, when you realise it all one day.

Summer was drawing to a close and we were all waiting for it to usher in the rains. By that Monday evening it was two weeks since amma left for home. The cold wind that fluffed my hair had a pleasant threat of monsoon showers, as i looked up to see dark clouds gathering without order. The first drop fell as i took the right turn at the signal and by the time i was coaxing my 800 through the narrow by lane to my rented house, it was pouring. The fall was thick and filling the air with spray and fresh earth's smell. Just the sort of downpour when your windscreen wiper works full swing and yet you wish it had one more level to speed up. One such split second, when the wiper had retreated after the downward swipe, had blinded me like driving through a waterfall and the next moment i was staring at the steel grill of the SUV when the wiper came down again. I heard the bang, of metal crumpling and felt the lurch pass through my body. The pajero dragged my 800 backwards, unmatched in strength. All i remember is a spot of white light filling in from the corner of my vision and blacking me out amidst voices far away.
Later in the hospital, propped up against the iron bed, i learned that the accident scene by look didn't warrant a chance to the person inside the 800. And all i had to show for it, by God's grace, was a broken left hand and a stitch on my forehead. As my CM and other colleagues trooped off after visiting, amma said to me over a cup of coffee that you were the first to visit that night it all happened. You had stayed well into the midnight till dad and amma came in a taxi; travelling 200kms in 4 hours. You consoled my sobbing mother when i was under observation in the ICU, with scan reports yet to be out.
I felt strange and guilty. I wouldn't have come in if it were you. Why you did it?
The coffee tasted bitter.

Three weeks later when i resumed office, you were gone. Resigned i heard, reportedly for a plum offering as senior analyst for a foreign bank's newly opened branch in the capital city. Office was rife with rumours. That your pay package offered was thrice more, your divorce was on, that some irate client had issued death threats and that you were getting married again. There were more in the list of mutually exclusive stories that floated around your void, but everyone forgot you quick.
It was easy to forget you, though i had some unexpected difficulty now.
I looked for a number or an address, knowing for sure that you wouldn't be leaving one.
And i didn't find a trace. I wanted to say thanks, for that night. Feeling disappointed, I wrestled with the old perceptions of you in my mind, threatening to claw back in and paint a picture full of negativity.
"Who are you?" i asked myself that night as sleep was elusive, throbbing inside the temple of my forehead, reluctant to yield in to my repeated attempts to be one with it.

Nearly a year later I got my answer, on an April evening pleasantly punctuated with golden mellowed sunshine, a respite from the scorching heat of the daytime sun. I had started working part time for an NGO in the weekends, just to spruce up my resume later, when i will need a "catchy" "profile" for my MBA interviews. Still ironically it gave my moral compass a direction, when i clocked time for my organisation as a volunteer, never slacking even once when i was at it.
It was world autism awareness day then and our NGO was conducting half day programme inclusive of talks and seminars to start with and rounding it off with games for kids who lived with autism. Reaching up to look at the starting line, from the sheets of paper clipped on to my hand pad, i thought i saw your face amidst those children lining up for the 50m race.
No, i was mistaken, it was a little girl. With wide open smiling eyes on an oval wheatish face. I could see that she looked 5, or maybe even 12. As the whistle blew, i read from my race list. She was Gaurilakshmi on the fourth lane.

You were a proud mother when i walked upto you, sharing your smile graciously with me like never before, as she had finished the race third. I think it was not the podium finish, but your daughter's face washed in joy that flushed you with warmth. You were comfortable, evident from the way you introduced me to you daughter. Making her shake hands with me, letting her say Lakshmi with a drawl. Was it a newfound confidence in me that made you do so as i was one of the organisers?
Your daughter had your eyes, but ones with more life than yours. Might be you gave yours to her and you saw through hers' the world, in a different dimension, oblivious to the vagaries of it. You told me you shifted from our office as you saw it better for your daughter, facilities wise in the capital. You asked about my parents, on how was I doing and what my future plans were. You said you wanted me to have a tough grounding in life and with its realities, something you missed in your younger days. That i should be prepared when adversities surfaced un announced. You said you didn't regret being harsh on me as you always were confident that I knew why you were being so. You stopped trusting people since the day your husband left you, one year into the diagnosis of your daughter, when she was 5. That's what you told me when i suggested that you could've confided in us.
"Sympathy is an adulterant and sells cheaper and common than genuine concern" you said, holding her tight, as she strained from your arms to run again.
Your eyes didn't waver when a breeze suddenly strayed across your face, dropping down a veil of strands, of hair already greying at the roots.

That Night, it started with a drizzle while i was unfastening the chain securing the front shutter. Washing the dishes after dinner, I saw rivulets of rain drops falling down like a curtain of string beads loosened down, from the roof tiles lining the kitchen verandah. By the time the 10pm talkshow was over, I could hear the deluge, like bullets sprayed, on the neighbours' tin roof.
Even rain told your story, in the first showers of that summer.

the wait and watch

2011-03-19T11:54:00.002+05:30

mumbai csia.

to kochi. for my iim-k interview.

in truth another trip wasted, another subsidised iim call taken lightly.

failing to potty train my mind so that it doesnt shit around my brain 24x7 has cost me [or my dad??] some serious damage.

beneficiaries being air india, jet airways, spicejet, kingfisher, indigo.

go air is left.

a lot of images has thread through so far in this 5 day exile from bhopal.

5 day exile from stale mundane food, stagnant office, cold nights, pan stained staircases and girls riding scooties on dusty highways with improvised burkha type wraps that will put the taliban-women cell to shame.

the slum next to my office which preaches rural devp., greeny neem leaves wearing gold as i look at them being sunwashed-from my balcony @ 7am, the latin model in the big hoarding painstakingly exposing her thighs sprawled on a plush sofa so that AXE can get men hoping and buying, the taxi driver who stops midway in NH to ask the guy watering bushes on the median to hose down his car as well-and his leaky door beading which wets my sleeves in the process, the boss-speakers which play instumentals at the mumbai airport, the AMD guy who walks across me in a typical techie look,palming his iphone...

someone who hopes 4 better things when i'm going home..a friend from the mustard fields who defines an emotional spectrum-frequencies with hope n promise n cheer-but bandwidth allocated for future?

the thought of being in a plane to home, the heat and sweat n green and coconut tress n winding aluva puzha striking and filling you as u touch down nedumbassery..

the drive to home is what i like, i dont speak much, but my mind does in syllables of joy.

but i'm still plagued by the sickness of returning. of losing.

i'm in love. with people.

this is one permutation n combination u can't get wrong in life.

i never attempted p n c questions for cat.

i am always bad at that.

unstructured mind signing off with the hope of being hopeful.

of holding the right hands and moving on.

Beast Route

2011-03-10T21:22:00.004+05:30

Stalking away in the dark
Preying on my elusive destiny
Stooping fate tempts me
“take a turn back, crossroads ahead”
Lying- complaining
Cribbing-running
Passing destinations –in search of a fake one.

I pause, to breath.
Broken mirrors reflecting everywhere
Mirages, your past and future;
Condemning the present to a stabbed death.

I breath, to run.
1000 swords drawn
A Question, a life and 998 options.
Chasing in the blackhole of stuffed answers

Shackled, the beast runs,
Chain melting, as flames salsa
With every thought burned
Every alternative charred.

The name is Raj

2010-10-21T20:04:00.002+05:30

I know its sort of unfair.

Some people [allegedly including me] tend to read some delicate stuff as they grow up and it tends to leave a shadow of considerable proportions following you, especially wen u speak/write...

but that doesn't stop me from seeing it lightly!!! [ofcourse as long as its not me!]

ICC debacle illustrated!!!! (non cricket fans dont read)

2010-10-21T19:58:00.003+05:30

Pawar can't wait getting things done in his ishtyle it seems..

check this out folks, then probably u wud understand wat i have stripped down!

cafe with the lights

2010-09-20T18:38:00.001+05:30

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

“man it’s a mess on the screen! There are a zillion icons, I can’t find MS Word, help me out, can u come here for a sec? “

Perspiring heavily in my café cube, I called out to the only guy in charge. It was a hot march Sunday and I dint have this laptop then to type out a character certificate for my mba interview. And I only had this ‘Light Years’ internet café nearby.

What a queer name I thought. Silly science freak.

“sir please look up on the 7^th row 5^th column, you found it?? “

“oh mate…” I said perplexed at his memory matrix coordination “that’s one hell of a recollection, don’t tell me you know the entire desktop! “

“sir..” I could imagine him smiling mischievously from the adjacent cabin “..its easier for me this way”

“some iit’ian…” I muttered double clicking mercilessly on the W icon. The blank and white page opened reluctantly, as if disturbed from sleep.

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

Its dark here. Been an hour and something since power went off, but I amnt complaining for a change. Since 4 pm it’s been raining well, interspersed with the white streaks of lightening in between. Like God testing out His new dig cam in low light mode. The flash is strong, I can tell, as for every split second it lights up the world around me. The wet trees, water streaming down in new rivulets down the road…only to disappear as if some one had pulled the power plug of the TV off. Only to plunge into smoking darkness, loud darkness. But I decided to see through it. I began typing, I had decided to see through darkness, I had discovered eternal light. Long time ago.

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

Summer of 2009. Trivandrum.

It was my first job and not a bad one as I saved 10 grands every month. Atleast.

Bank was some 250 kms from home so I had rented a house, still there was plenty to save form the salary. I was stingy. I regarded Warren Buffet as competition.

That stinginess often took its toll on me. Insipid breakfast couldn’t be tolerated for more than 5 days at a trot. Not at all if the menu and cook was the same for all 5 days. Since I have started and associated myself with the word cook, cooking, dishes etc let me make it clear to you. Let us have no misunderstandings. If ever it comes down to me, you and a kitchen , go in yourself. The food and agriculture ministry would give you a certificate.

It would read something like this…

“ To Mr/Ms xxxxxxx, for timely intervening and averting culinary disaster of unimaginable scale and intensity. Govt of India remains indebted and recognizes the sense of alacrity and presence of mind displayed.”

Truly like a gentleman though, I keep my ‘skills’ to myself. But 5 days is the max time I can test my taste buds from not going senseless. This was the 6^th day and I left home early at 7am to hotel aryas pure veg restaurant nearby. Now if you’ve cared to observe, all the tamil veg hotels name themselves aryas. Some will be sree aryas, some will be aryas pure and the rest simply aryas. Its some sort of a brand I guess, though it would be nice to know which is the original one. This one near my rented place was the fake nike , no doubt. Small and ugly, it had a psycho manning the counter with blood shot eyes, bald plate and a shabby lungi hitched so up that one wished he was a kareena or for that matter karol gracias. His wardrobe always malfunctioned this way so that till date I haven’t seen any ladies in the hotel except for the octogenarian who sells fish at the roadside nearby.

This guy glared at me as he came to take order.

“whaddya want you…..”

“dosa and tea”

That was it. I never said plain dosa/masala dosa/butter roast. One reason was fear. That guy was atleast 75 kgs more than me. And one day I got iddli when I ordered onion dosa.

That was the second reason. Third reason was that idlis couldn’t sustain me till 2pm in a bank. For the sake of historians reading this, I have heard our madman attempted IIT JEE thrice when he was ..err…75 kg less and 30 years younger…after effects can be brutal and everlasting, especially on hapless hotel customers.

[PS; I don’t have anything against IIT’ians except that I don’t’ like them much].

It was 7.25am and pocket 30rs. lesser when I boarded an “ananthapuri”. The ride to office would take 20 minutes on a normal traffic day. I was too early today. Even if I ambled along at a leisurely pace from the secretariat bus stop to office, I would reach by 8 am max. 8.30 was my time. Chances were high that some guys would be there at the faulty onsite ATM with complaints. Kumar sir reached by 8.15 everyday and I find him on all days engaged with some talk [heated/soothing/argumentative/mellifluous---depending on the customer and sir’s breakfast] near the ATM.

I was never some one to let go easily off the strategic advantages of 8.30 am!

But today I had to kill time till 8.15. I wanted to make sure Kumar sir always had the chance to talk mellifluously to a “might-be-young-and-hot-womens-college-chick-with-a-stuck-atm-card”. I always respect seniority. You’ll never find me distinguishing.

Misers and stingers never suscribe newspapers. They read it off the banking hall coffee table. I had to make an exception today. Nearby newsstand was not yet crowded and Mumbai Indians had won yesterday and I heard in radio that Sachin scored a 50. Some habits and heroes die hard. So I never minded when todays account went to rs.34.5 debit balance.

The Hindu. I will tell The Hindu, if you ask me where to read your sports page from. You pick up your language and the range of columnists is awesome. From Roebuck to Dinakar you get your game funda right. Ofcourse editorials are good, but save them for better philosophically inclined [hard] times.

I was leaning on the green secretariat walls near a police constable reading manorama, analyzing sachin’s stance and elbow position in the back page foto. It was then I noticed the walking stick flipping open. It was the bus to the railway station and he was getting down here. Without lowering the paper I watched as a dark goggled young man got down slowly, one hand on the footboard railing and the other clutching the stick and groping forward. He was blind and cautious, yet sure.

Blind people have always been the cause of intrigue in me. I felt pity in my young age which in the process of growing up assumed the form of an informed compassionate image and understanding. I have helped blind people cross roads before. This time I felt no different and walked up to him and put my arm around his shoulder.

“I will help you cross”

He removed his goggles and I felt he wasn’t blind at all. The look was direct, eye to eye.

“Valare upakaram chetta. Thank You”

It was the eyes that held me, that detached me from his clear voice.

They were live, apparently so, but it wasn’t light that guided them.

I found them still trained at my earlier position, as I was taking a step forward.

It was sound bytes response, which for a second or two I mistook as a pair of normal bright pair . His eyes were a mirage of vision for mine.

We just made it before the lights turned green again. Peak hour traffic began buzzing past us.

“Where are you going, should I get an auto for you?”

“Venda chetta. No .Once again thanks a lot. I’m going to the nearby computer shop.We are..” pointing to the left he said “….very near to it”

“Ok, you are going back by bus? Where do you stay”

“Chetta bus undu. I stay near the medical college, lots of direct buses”

“Oh then we are neighbours, I stay at a rented house in that street near to college”

“Is it so, then you must visit my shop if you’ve any need chetta. I’m Raghu by the way”

He handed me card. I pocketed it thinking blind or not businessmen are businessmen.

“ok Raghu, I’m Rohith, I work at the bank nearby , I’m getting late , see you sometime”

“Thanks Rohit chetta, have a nice day, thank you.”

“Its ok” I muttered and headed off.

The ATM would be cash out by now, I was sure.

7.10pm. Early ‘end of the day’ I must confess. Customers and load was less today. Bless the Banking God. So target was the Aryas coffee shop. Buses plied regularly till 8.30, meant I could take it easy.

Nothing like a tamil hotel tea after evening, they serve you in those small steel glasses but its smoking hot and tasty. Called for a bit of finesse to savour it without burning your tongue tips off, which I was accustomed to by now.

While fumbling for a 5 rupee coin at the bill counter, a 10 rupee note and a piece of paper fell out of my shirt pocket. Collecting my change back I noted that it was that guy Raghu’s businees card. Had completely forgotten that. Flipping back the blank area, I walked to the bus stop reading his card.

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

The rain is incessant, like a toddler at a toy shop pestering his mother till she bought him the HotWheels car. Its like a phase in our lives, when we cant see through anything, cant see off anything, when we have to stand and endure, get ourselves drenched in depression to our bones with the every passing minute, hour and day.

Sometimes months and years. And more years.

Before I wouldn’t have seen through this dark sheet of rain. I would have stood perplexed and confused, cursing and fuming. Not now. Now I wait, I give space, I try. To see through this all. To see where its all going, what its all about.

Like Raghu would be doing now, by the shade of his emergency lamp which he light up for others in times like these. In times of darkness and self doubt.

Surely for a disillusioned me of the past, he held forth an emergency lamp too.

It made things clearer, help me put them in perspective.

It was a business card.

“Raghu. P.V [Owner], Light Years Internet Café, Near medical college road”.

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

number THEORY [unintended for Einstein descendants]

2010-03-04T09:34:00.008+05:30

Please stop thinking Scott Adams and i have a tie up to turn all of my blog readers
[2 and counting(since last 2 years)...] into moronic dilbert fans.
Even if we have collaborated, i assure u he isnt paying me.
ok i have exhausted my PJ quota for the morning and count urself lucky if this is my only post for the day.As these days i don't [P]joke in afternoons at all. That's the time MTV ticker runs full of them.

speaking of numbers, i have always been a big fan.
i remember how many
..runs sachin scored in 96 world cup [523],
..marks i scored in my VIth std chemistry test[9.5],
..times tresa wud pass thru the corridors for her labs in college[2,forth n back],
..times i have read sherlock holmes[umpteen],
..days i was sick wen i saw exorcist 3 [7],
..years later dr.license amma allowed me to drive the xing[2,watched f1 thos days!],
..calls IIMs and premier bschools gave me dis season[0],
..times i got employee of the month award[0, easy guess no brownie points there!]
..years I took to mature out [still counting..no stopping nytym soon by d look of it]
..times i bored people into wilderness and other despicable acts[ engineers its an infinite for loop, non enggs.its a vicious circle]

talking of numbers i cannot help but narrate a trivandrum folklore that's so embedded deep into the banking chronicles of the erstwhile princely state.infact his highness would vouch for it with his sword drawn out full length.lets not get up to dat point though..a sword is a sword.the story goes like this...

once upon a time wen customers formed snake queues and bared their banking fangs on a september 1st morning, a manager thought it was time enough to launch his young stud protege probationer[read hero] into the realms of cash counter...

for the uninitiated, the cash counter is a place in a bank wer u sit and thousands of people swarm around you, all wanting their loot of money from that pile in front of you, and would go any distance to get that (options available to them are to curse,abuse,hurl bricks,spit,snarl,bark,disembowelling kindred souls and shoot).
P.S. subject to individual ammunition availability and size of the cashier.

back to the story that reverbrates thru d bricks n souls of every tvm bank...

..in walks our gallant hero, like the trooping salman khan in veer,ther is suddenly a
shhhhhhhhhhhhhh in the gathering, as they eye him curiously from head to toe.hero wonders by the look of it all whether annual tvm gay meet'08 is today and settles in his seat..
hero had never seen a salary day rush at d bank before, and that too from the creepy confines of a cash window.to cut a long story short hero was tossed, wrecked n reduced to a bag of nerves at d end of 2 hours, counting,distributing,system data feeding, counting,distributing..counting...distributing..cash non stop..

sympathetic fellow bankers looked down as hero shut d counter for lunch break at 2pm.
wen he went to eat out at the local hotel, the blinding sunlight exploded into his eyes..he cud see only denominations everywhere..
long tall 1000rs buldings, the 50rs lottery seller, the magazine shop like a soiled 100rs note, vegetable shops full of 5rs coin aloo and 2 rs coin tomatoes...
and cheques of long queues of vehicles at the signal awaiting their turn...

the chapathi n veg curry smelled like mint fresh rbi notes...
and wen he went to pay at the hotel counter, first time in his life he tendered him exact change, smiled at the counter guy and said thank you.
that guys jaw dropped.
i have read somewhere that the last man to do so was M.K. Gandhi.
jaw droppable reason enough!
cash counters are the temples of modern India, said Jawaharlal Nehru once.
our Priest has no hesitation what so ever in agreeing hands down.

later wen hero closed shop by 3.30 pm, w/o further spectatcles the number game remained. he had to balance the days cash flow, i.e. how much came in n how much went and how much is left.
by now the hero who counted notes manually like a 3 year old at morning, was doing so like the black ticket seller by evening...
he found the tally to be a minor issue.
he ws found short of rs. 1,80,000.
means 1.8 lakhs which was shown credited to the banks' system records at his window, was found missing physically.
hero's first reaction was to go to toilet.
after some soul searching n dispersals, he came back and broke d news.
manager fainted.astonished colleagues started counting the mess.hero freaked out.
even the pune [who knew more than the PO hero anyway] joined in.

meanwhile hero went into number theory and probability for solace.

..how much shud i sell? how much wud 7 year old 3 pairs of levis and flying machines wud fetch at current market price...can i trade my grandfather gifted hmt watch under the priority antiques section of ebay...can i mortgage 1 year salary...what rate of speed can a non-athletic human body can sustain if i were to run non stop from TVM to satyamanagalm forests..wat r d alternate career options, do they still recruit naga sadhus....

it was then that aryabhatta and old saints came to his rescue[might be the naga probability appeased their heavenly souls..]
someone told him that he had entered a 0 more to a lady's account.
wow.
instead of crediting 20000 to her a/c hero had donated 200000.
an extra zero added by the sleight of hand in the keypad.
in banking terms, our hero was told, its christened as "oversight".
philanthropic streaks at an young age can lead to ascetic life styles, huh!
now that was the extra 1,80,000 bucks.hero gratefully thanked all.
hero's grandfather, for his erstwhile hmt watch, was probably a relieved man in heaven!

and yes i will remember this number story of our hero too, forever.
hope any unsuspecting reader, who was dumb enough to read dis much, wud remember it too!

hey sorry, u have got company,i forgot to tell u all...
some eminent writers are visiting my blog and emailing me off late.
i will drop u some clues...
he did his engg from dtii and amii..
he writes about different states of our country, showed the courage not to just use one index finger but the whole 5 to point at someone and blame...is always worried abt the mistakes of his life, particularly 3 or 4...and is so broke dat he spends nights at motels,railway sations and call centers...
u got the drift right?

excerpts from a conversation/chat between urs truly and the prominent writer..

PW: ding!
me: hello, u again? [arghh..]
PW: hey need ur help.
me: now what? i told u na, now write abt that investment bank job of urs..
PW: nope i can't buddy, waise hi i already sort of mentioned it in last book..
me: so whats up, heard u sent a pink chaddi to a@m(r k(-)@n?
PW: I had ordered it online 4 myself, but i typed the address field wrong buddy.
me: i've read that's his fav color, otherwise he wud hav tweeted!
PW: talking of tweets, thats my new thread.
me: [saved OMG]..yes yes..what's the grapevine like?
PW: meeting tharoor 2day,it's almost certain- i'm going to do his autobio,in twitter!
me: OMG, Holy Cow!

Respect; for people i deem to be MEN.

2010-03-03T22:35:00.009+05:30

this is a piece of conversation i had just few minutes ago.
still fresh my conscience, w/o any strings attached.....

and all our issues r trivial.. here we r 2 strangers under the anonymity of web 2.0, discussing mba blues wen a pilot n co pilot tries to save max lives [excluding theirs] in hyderabad.

we hv dis sagar pawan pilot team perform regularly here.i hv seen it at close quarters.[kochi s a naval command]..
so 2 ppl die and i guess it ws just brave enuf.

still ndtv ws reporting like it ws ther fault, they burned d place n tried to eject..nt so openly, bt tone ws like dat..

wen i see all this, i feel like blogging.
just wasting my time here nyway, why dnt i waste it for my brave fellow guys.
its nyway better than watching an ipl ad wer foreigners [including shane warne who confessd he hs slept with more dan 1000 woman] r shown at d back drop of saare jahan se acha..
ipl is just a WTF i-sell-u buy-we make money thing.
some 1 shud sue them 4 using that song.

CATasTROPHY 94.04

2010-03-01T08:47:00.003+05:30

well well...
neither do i have the trophy, nor the runners up..nor is it a damned result.

its like a beautifully timed lofted shot in cricket which sails over the fielder effortlessly, only to land a few yards from the boundary line.
and worse,not cross it.

meanwhile the batsman expected it to be 4 runs wen he hit it, now he can manage only 2 runs.He can't run 3 bcos he thought it would be 4 runs, and didn't run hard enough.
that's the only mistake batsman made.probably.
i don't know really.

at the end its 2 runs.not a 4.but yet 2 runs.but nt yet a 4.

excuse me non-cricketers.
this is my cat story.

i had my result yeserday.on 28th february 2010.
culminating the wait since may25, 2009.

and today morning, march 1, i'm like a little boy searching for his new toy gifted yesterday.little boys always do that first up right, wen they get up, and wen its a new toy?

boy: "mummy this toy doesn't run fast as tinku's 98.56 toy or tomy's 99.99 toy..."
cat mom: "son, let me luk at ther toys.u wait here..."

boy: "mummy why are u walking away?"

are we HUMANS?

2010-02-26T20:07:00.001+05:30

The Hindu : National : Police killed villagers, say Gompad witnesses

it just pains to read such articles.
my first instinct was to say "f%$# you PM.f@#! you system".
then i mellowed down, thinking i'm being like a naxal, and this is how they get people show up for recruitment.
then i thought of writing to gurcharan kaur, pm's wife.

then i sort of forgot it all.

its a reality.we r losing our sensitivity.
wen srk and mnik and thakeras r concerned we are on fire.
but this.

dear rajdeeps, barkhas,arnabs and the local 24x7's...please.
show some mettle.
atleast that's what is supposed to differentiate between me and you.
or am i giving excuses for my inablilty?

this is one of those moments i felt ashamed to be an indian.
this time i will type india and not India.
belittling.

are we human?
can we afford to keep dat tag?
its an excess, a luxury with the state of our nation being this.

Is our life 'sub judice' ?

2010-02-26T16:38:00.004+05:30

What is it with autumn that makes me fall in love with it?
it seems i just can't get enough of it!
making me go to extreme lengths like typing...

"Solemn is the grace of her fall
Lady, melancholic is your call"

I have always felt its a season that closely resemble our lives at one point of time.
at 24 i'm not xactly the authority to profess on that.
but that's the reason i like autumn i guess.
it is vulnerable in age like a Ms.World at a paris nite club, yet stubborn n "i've-seen-it-all-dude" in memory and time.

perhaps its the age we all pass out of the school of life, and make important decisions.
Like Ray Gosling did.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/england/nottinghamshire/8516499.stm

I find that we are not God.But at certain occasions He just passes the buck to us.
And we take it, out of commitment, to a life of purpose.not just mere existence.
So isn't it time the laws of the land looked into this and treat it fairplay?

To whom shall we answer?
to the courts or the soul?

Sachin Tendulkar's unbeaten 200: The ultimate ODI innings | STATS

2010-02-25T09:03:00.000+05:30

Sachin Tendulkar's unbeaten 200: The ultimate ODI innings | Cricket Features | India v South Africa 2009/10 | Cricinfo.com

Annai, its Chennai!

2010-02-24T13:21:00.004+05:30

Chennai nagaram.
a oneliner can probably go lyk ds.
Wide roads, wild autos and wider mouthed junta.

u cnt miss ny of these wen u 1st land up there, especially if u get down at chennai central like i did.on a sunday morning.21st february, dat ws the date of MHCET exam, and chennai ws my nearest centre, a good 600odd kms away frm home.

hopped onto the famed chennai mail frm aluva station by satday evening.but even the news dat my boggy was populated with girls aged nywher between 23-25 [i avidly study reservation charts before boarding everytime due to some inherent advantages present], did nothing to lessen the pain that was my cramped side upper birth.i had to virtually snap myself into 2 to fit in and sleep.even all my preparatns to sleep well [which included less no. of bags n stuff and a workout previous day to get myself sleepy-as i'm a poor sleeper classer]weren't good enuf for my comfort.

i woke up atleast 5 times and once to find that my cell had slipped away from my chinos pocket, but thank God it was that mch crammed up in there that it din't fall down. wedged between me n the crappy sidewall it was quite safe.not that ny1 wud even care to steal a nokia 2006 model with a loose back cover n a keypad resembling an old soiled bumpy mattress with all the letters faded. its actually in the recycle- ur-fone- n -save- planet- ad by nokia.

well saving the planet thing i will leave to superman n kryptonites untill they feel tired.
i hope any climate change activist isn't reading this.not that my blog is actually RSS'd/burned/bookmarked/oversuscribed by some poor soul in south pole or nebraska, but my hunch is not to trust my google analytics freaks at all. They say my blogvisit count hasnt changed in the last 5 months, and still stands at a 7.since june 2008.

excuse me.reading too much of dilbert off late. so where were we?or me?

at 5 am sunday i pop out of my berth like a moron..at early morning u dont want to jump down from an unfamiliar place and land on an young girls berth. u might find dat convenient but certainly not the girl and her neighbours [read family members,impressionable menfolk around if d concerned lady is good looking, ready-to-shriek-anytime-cronies-fellow-girlfriends etc etc...], unless she is one
ms/mrs[choose the salutation u like untill the next syamvar].rakhi sawanth. but she doesnt travel by train these days it seems...

so i climb down like a debutant monkey learning to climb down and head for the loo.it says indian style n western style.there r two options.but the end result is just the same.might be u can differentiate it lyk dis.ther's no water in the indian one..[remember lagaan? 1890's?waiting for rain and water? xactly]..and the western one has a chained cup n working water supply..[these britishers knew xactly how they wanted to hardwire indian railways way back 150 years itself! nw wat cn mamata 'didi' bannerjee do nw na...???]..[i wonder will it change by the time we have our 1st bullet train in 2154ad.i guess only karunakaran n rajnikant wud make it till then to see it and tell their grandrobots.."once upon a time ther ws this thing called s%$#.."]

ok guys i said no water at the 'bharat' option. but i discovered that nly wen i gt in.and i found that others had probably discovered that a bit earlier than me.[probably the guy who ws clutching his stomach near to my seat some hours ago..gee i remember looking at my watch n finding it ws 2.24 am n this guy ws awake..]

i just said " wtf.shit" and got out of "bharat" with my dear life. and the usage of the second mentioned expletive coincided exactly and "literally" with the circumstances of usage for the first time in my whole holy 24 years of existence.

ok lets leave d finer details. i reached central by 7.10am. its a maze of platforms you know.and its exactly like the harry potter boarding station..[forgot the name, kings cross?] at some place... i remember seein platform no.12 smwhere..don't knw if there're more!
appeared huge!than bangalore atleast!

got out quickly by following the crowd.light weighed luggage helped.acted like a secret agent, jason bourne, caliberated my internal gps n found the pre paid auto centre. while in the queue u have all these non-pre paid autowalahs just pestering you to come and get in ther autos.bloody hell they're aggressive!
and WTH they dnt even knw a smattering of hindi/english!

i smhw survived the queue time, and made it in2 an auto.my room ws booked, so hd got rid of dat trouble!and i tendered the xact change of rs.66 [for a 7km journey] to the autoguy [lest he ran away if i gave him a 100 rs note!!!]
these guys were so cute dat it looked as if they were rehabilitated from the erstwhile chambal valley!

they got their horses traded for auto's.only difference.life moved on.

hotel was a decent one. new woodlands, mylapore. if u wudnt mind 1040rs/day rent.
after a smooth check in, the bellboy showed me the tv was in working condition, but the moment he left the plug socket failed.it ws abt 8.15 nw and i hd to leave by 12 for my exam and wanted to charge my phone. so called the electrician..but he took some time coming..

meanwhile i went and had a heavy breakfast.bcos i cudnt afford to hv lunch at noon and sleep at my exam table at 2.30.hd butter dosa n onion uthappam.i felt guilty like a criminal.dosa was 48 and uthappam 55rs. i decided not to plead guilty again and avoided the rs.22 tea..a vegetarian hotel, but non veg pricing!ok food though.and a well preserved ambience like an old time hangout of the 70's.and a lady with accented but good english takes ur order.it was like a breath of fresh air.knowing that u r conversing meaningfully at both the ends!

i just looked around at the crowd..it ws almost full. 2 or 3 foreigners at a corner and rest all were locals.there were 2 old hus-wife pairs..rest were full fledged family breakfast affairs..
the hus-wife pair at my right was quite disappointed at the menu, myt be nt finding the right variety of dosa[they hv abt 108 dosa types here, really,dosas were born here]. the pair upfront were connoisseurs. i mean they were really hungry [i saw them ordering 3,4 times], but they really were dissecting the cooking nuances of each dish, pointing out the shortcoming to the hapless waiter who nodded like hell evrytime and said "aama aama" everytime in a baritone that would put amitabh bachchan in2 shame..Bt he ended up with a 20rs. tip!worth the trouble.
and a just returned-home expat mother ws indianising her 2 little girls to the food here at my left.one of the little girls talking like hermione granger ws saying "mummeey thdeh fooood is ghettin leyit"..i could notice it ws atleast a month since she landed as the brit accent ws slowly wearing off..welcome back!

my waiter ws cocky and arrogant and i paid him back with a next to nothing tip.
went back n had an hours sleep, worked out some problems, and hd some biscuits n started out for exam. had a real brawl with the auto driver, he ws trying to argue n muscle me in for an obscene fare and i just stompd off and managed another auto, bt with jst 10rs less! ws exhaustd and dint want to waste all my mind b4 the exam.

the venue ws opened very late and had to stand and wait for long.ws drenching by d time i sat down.a girl frm kerala sat behind me.some cusat students wer also there.gave a pen 2 a guy who dint hv a black one.exam wet fast.we had a examiner who ws very vocal in his accented tone and attracted a few groans but i found him ok n caring.much better than the going-thru-the-motion type ones back home i have seen.
i guess the cutoff wud soar this time.super humans from mars have infiltrated this seasons' test taking junta.plenty of evidence mind you.check www.pagalguy.com

i ws back at d hotel by 5.45pm.
hd biryani and icecream.it ws hot.might be thats an excuze for the ice cream excess.checked out by 7.30pm.

at the station a malayali hus-pair wife asked me to read out their no. frm the reservation chart as they'd forgotten ther reading glasses.but man they asked to me in tamil!
wow.
one day in chennai and i was looking the part already!
and they were mallus.come on fellas, recognise ur brethren!

i gt an upper birth this time.at 10pm i asked the guy below to switch off the light and he glared at me.i gave him a sleepy "come on-cut-the-crap-man" look..

i dnt remember him switching it off, i ws asleep before that.long day out.
and that was chennai.nantri for sparing me from more.

amma - the woman the machine.

2010-02-18T19:53:00.003+05:30

her wishes r simple. and justified.
she is d 1 who always asks less, n get lesser.

n whatever God conspires for this rare-taken-for-granted- breed called mothers....i just wish He conspires the best of the lot for my amma...

for all my deeds gone wrong n yet to go wrong....

sorry n loads of love.
happy birthday too.

seasons change, do we?

2010-02-17T18:07:00.007+05:30

"congrats buddies. SNAP snub still hurts."

i posted dis 5 mnts ago in testfunda as they announced SCMHRD final results.

this was d line that broke my bloggers block since last november!

nothing special abt it, myt be dis medium is my resort wen d mind s that much closer to the tipping point...so dat probably xplains the sometimes- intended-sometimes-unintended sabbatical..

chetan bhagat has an apology lined up for mocking the s.indians in his 4 th book...

well i took dat with a pinch of salt as chetan is always all about spice, salt n common sense..

might be i shud agree a bit with him today, [even though i'm a practicing mallu], but after a call i made to a hotel in chennai 2day i cant agree to disagree more..

call got connected to the fon line in kitchen i think!

one cud hear something frying, and since it isnt march yet, i guess i can safely assume it to be the kitchen ...

n i guess d cook picked it up!

bt dat guy knew dat much english to atleast understand me n make me understand him..he politely agreed to connect to resayptionnu..

the horror was the 'reception' guys..

i xpected it to be better dan kitchen, but i wud as well have spoken to a mexican better..

i'm havin second thots on goin 2 dat hotel now..

it went like dis...

"hello is this reception?"

"sollunko swami.."

"err..hmm..english teriyuma.."

"yesu yesu neenke enthu venam?"

"i'm calling from kerala,is dis hotel near railway station?"

"railway station alla...rong nambarru.."

"no no dont keep the fon..fon vaykammattee[i learned tamil by now]..is it near railway station ur hotel.."

"nneenke kocncham hold pannunko [something like dat]...."

i'm holding...i cn hear some tamil music blaring [luckily from the street]..its still loud enuf to reach me as i picturise the 20 year old heroine in 10 year olds dress n 65 year old hero trying to play catch up n other stuff....pss pss i cn hear footfalls n fon bein picked up..

" saar...toow toow foru anchu tennu onennu... 2245101...railway station nambarruu..."

"ok thanks."

now why i said thanks. dont think i am here to see the fun makin side all d time, you dudes dudettes..

whatever english or language ppl let u face with...the attitude i just got was awesome.

that guy just showed what people with heart n a mind can do. even if it was just a small gesture, its magnitude was gud enuf to leave me light hearted for some time after that.

magnanimity was just only a word i found in my vocab flash cards somedays ago, i learned it today.

after that call.

................................................

coming bak to my title head, thats a line from dis mallu movie ritu.season it stands translated.thats d theme.

yes they do.

i knw my case atleast to testify that.but is that change beyond a few set mentailities shed or being out of ur comfort zones?
does it catapult you to a whole new world, wer dimensions n boundaries r redrawn n relationships rephrased?

the answer is a an yes.its also a no.

uncertainties r rarther permanent i hv discovered...its nly d format,the level,or the package that changes...we get old, but the mindset ages like a guy with a feb29 bday...

i still got angry wen a rash van broke my rear view mirror, as it happened today morning.

but i gotover it better n quicker,unlike a few years ago.

i liked dat movie.ritu.seasons change, do we?

yes, subtly n wisely, unwittingly n painfully, sometimes wen fate reconciles with life n morale, change is inevitable.

.................................................................

so mahcet is coming up.cat results will be announced dis month.

next month i myt be/cud be- working/stdying/sleeping/blogging/jogging hard...

possiblities r xyz.

endless.

somethings n d uncertainty, they just dont change for the average human.

right?

the lure of the medium

2009-11-01T17:30:00.004+05:30

ta da!
long time and back.
its been unquantified but surely sometime since i stopped active blogging. reasons being many n beyond the scope of this blog!
;-)

due to external factors n after some intrinsic inner calls later..here i'm once again blogging. this time i hope its going to be better.
better written.better stuck to.better read..and better fun.

creative embers fail to die down. even in hibernate mode they fume somewhere inside, fomenting a stifling desire to break out, to burn full. n thanks to all who have been appreciative of it and enduring, of my faltering grammar.

you have stoked it n i hope we can have a bonfire going sometime, sooner or later.

so whats hot in news for the week?
something dat struck a chord somewhere?
my generation never went thru dis so called monster of emergency.. we are familiar of curfews n stuff in J&K, and though Pakistan seems to be ready any minute to go in2 another emergency the point is that we aren't Pakistanis.

So the fact that Indira Gandhi, and that too being a woman PM [i amnt interested in adjectives lyk first PM, 1st boycut woman leader and all...please! for everything there's bound to be a first !period.] was instrumental in proposing, bringing it about and implementing it, is in your face for any of us.

And it happened to be the 25th death anniv. of that leader [ leader bcos she did lead ok, despite her fair share of blunders] who died with bullets pumped in to her by Sikh body guards. Apparently getting back for sowing religious extremism for the Punjab votebank. and thousands of Sikh died, in a wave of retaliation that swept thru the capital n U.P.

Human lives traded for fundamental errors in the mental make up of a few erring politicians.

The wounds of the wounded stiil fester with maggots that call for justice.
But justice too is subsidised, to those wielding influence. for others it comes at a lucky premium.

1993 mumbai.2002 gujarat riots.history repeated.most of the perpetrators still @ large.
i will stop blogging when modi appoints Muslim body guards.

political tone isn't the sweetner for many a blog reader so how about saying that SRK's latest airtel ads sucks? it does! he looks old, repetitive..the same style , a squint of n eyebrow..a pause b4 d dialogue...i mean airtel is a bit hungover still after the MTN deal fell over!

more of my thots on the latest mobile wars is saved for the next blog considering the fact that if i bore u 2 death now no 1 will read my next post!

So leaving u with the image of the day, which alas is shot by the selfless me.

the squirrel can never let go of its nuts. and i think i still love blogging!

T4R.

Bouncers To be Ducked at all counts!

2007-11-29T21:34:00.000+05:30

Suggestions from the Kangaroo pouch

“His feet aren’t moving well. So you pitch it short & later pitch it up. And then wait for the nick in the slips. You’re bound to get one soon.”
This’s the abridged version of former Australian Cricket team coach John Buchanan’s neo technology aided thought process on How To Get Sachin Tendulkar OUT. It’s called Operation Sachin or something like that.

Oh yes, I can see devout Pakistani bowlers, led by Shoaib Akhtar already sending John Thank You cards & mails. Brett Lee has made it clear that no one else’s going to be his Chief Guest on the Thanksgiving Day. And the WBA [World Bowlers’ Association] is reportedly “Buchanizing” the local newspaper columns for “FAVOURS RECEIVED”. McGrath & Shane Warne in particular is moving court to sue Buchanan for not confiding this piece of info during their playing times. Shane Warne for his part has even expressed willingness to return from retirement, this time as a fast bowler. He has also urged Mark Waugh to dust up his baggy green & be ready, because Warney doesn’t want any dropped slip catches this time.

Oh Mr. Buchanan, after 18 years, 28000 runs & casualties amounting to hundreds of psychologically scarred bowlers and now you’ve got a plan? Come on mate. Get out of your computer aided coaching hangover. Tim Nielsen has taken over. Jibes apart I’ll still agree to certain facts brought out by John. Batsmen on the wrong side of their 30s get past their prime [unless they’re Husseys, Pontings & Haydens who weren’t naturals/ or deprived of chances. It’s curious that all late 30 form hitters are Aussies because it’s a tribute to their hard systems & resolve] and tend to slow down. It applies to the best batsmen too. Now Mr. Coach, let me ask you a simple question. Can you find me a batsman whose footwork’s nimble & in the right places from the ball 1 he faces? [Unless he has scored a double century in the previous innings that is] Somebody who’s technically correct in every aspect for his first 10-15 runs/minutes in the crease? Don Bradman, including himself, would give me an honest no for an answer, if he were alive.

And is this idea of yours out of the anvils of fresh innovation? Isn’t it a tried & tested method? Setting up a batsman by pushing him to backfoot & then bowling a fuller one for that miscued drive? And aren’t you too good a coach to know that every Australian bowler and also any 6th std. gully cricketer from Mumbai matching his wits in Shivaji Park would be familiar with this “new found” theorem of yours? I’d love to have some answers.

So I can see only other reasons for your new theory originating at this point of time. As a high performance manager of the Cricket Australia academy you want to [or are you forced to as a part of your job?] contribute your share of mind games because the Indians are due to hit Down Under soon for the Tests & ODIs. Or it might be your timely reminder that when it comes to the “brainy intellectual video footage aided thought process as a coach of repute” your position’s undisputable.

And yes Mr. Buchanan, Sachin in the latest of his 3 tours to your country, did hit a double century. And he did that without driving a single full ball on the offside. Sources say Sachin wasn’t sure about his front foot driving. So someone who can score at will by eliminating one of his most productive strokes must have some sort of caliber & skill still left to score runs this time too. Hopefully so for us. Advanced X’mas & New Year wishes John. We know & appreciate that you still haven’t lost your laptop.

N.B: Consider upgrading it.