Just another blog, but funner!

The joke is mightier than the tabloid, but not nearly as good a coaster.

noreply@blogger.com (inconvenienceregretted) — Sat, 19 Sep 2015 13:20:00 +0000

Stand-up comedians are my heroes! If I wasn't reasonably happy and satisfied being an average Telecom/IT engineer with optimistic prospects and average wage, I'd be a rich lucky lottery-winner, an overweight happy cookery show host, a tired hungry travel show photographer or -more relevantly here- a broke pitiful stand-up comedian. But I'd be living the dream, just like the thousand others scampering for nervous minutes in an already overflowing stand-up scene.

I am pretty confident that I would soon realize that it's too much trouble for too little, that I'm not as funny as I think I am (side note: I'm hilarious sometimes, usually awkward and mostly frustrated at not being able to make my point) and that the profession isn't nearly as gratifying or forgiving as blabbering a few amusing observations at the lunch table.

The one thing I do envy though is the freedom to say anything with impunity- sometimes the rules seem to be: 'the more offensive, the better' (I'm of course not referring to violations of freedom of speech by Big Brother). These guys proudly make objectionable, sexist (read misogynistic), racist or just plain mean comments to thunderous laughter and rapturous applause. I often feel guilty later, when I recall some of the things I giggled at- things that would raise eyebrows anywhere else and make cafes use their 'RIGHT OF ADMISSION RESERVED' card.

For someone who hasn't witnessed a stand-up, I'd suggest youtubing it (to those complaining that it's not a word, I say 'not yet'). That's basically where I personally became familiar with the art form.

In the beginning you're enthralled by these people and their wit, spontaneity, intelligence and otherwise keen sense of observation. You later see patterns, 'hey, didn't he make that same joke in the other video', 'hmm... she's just repeating herself again'. I'm not claiming that they don't deserve credit or that they don't work hard. It's just so much more impressive when you actually believe that they're making up so many jokes while on stage with judgmental and bored eyes staring up at them.

It appears to me that there are 3 categories of stand-up comedians. The cheap jokers, the clowns that observe and the pokers of the heart.

The cheap jokers are basically ticklers and caters to those who like beer and tons of it. They don't have a strong point to make. By repeating popular, mundane topics to those who're there just to get tickled, they make comedy a joke. Who hasn't heard a million jokes about men not getting women, politicians being silly and I don't care enough to think of more examples. A happy ending doesn't really need dexterity.

The observing clowns cater to wine lovers. Your time is filled with 'Aha' moments. The show stays with you for a day or two. You most likely try to repeat your favourite lines to friends, fail miserably, get embarrassed and try again.

The pokers of the heart and those you cannot ignore. They make you sip your bitter whiskey. Your vision gets fuzzy but you see more clearly. You hate them for holding your hand and pulling you out from the comfortable gutter of ignorance. They let go once their time is up, but not until they make the gutter a little less comfortable.

Now that your attention and my imagination have reached their ends, could there possible be a better way to end this post than a joke? Well, yes perhaps there is. But I'll take the easy way out.

Why did the billionaire have bad breath? Because he hadn't brushed his teeth.

Outdoorsiness

noreply@blogger.com (inconvenienceregretted) — Fri, 31 Jul 2015 22:59:00 +0000

A week ago, I hiked in Koli National Park. This was my first, kinda serious hike. TMB was something else. We bought a tent, sleeping bags & mattresses; dehydrated food, mobile kitchen utensils & lighting fuel; backpacks, trekking shoes & walking poles. We hiked for 45 km, chugging along 15kg backpacks, over 3 nights. Most of that time, it was damp, rainy and wet-muddy. Yes, I am exaggerating. No, 3 is not my lucky number. Which one is it, you ask? It doesn't matter.

Though these facts do give me a sense of pride, they aren't meant to be boastful in the least. When I compare myself with even an average hiker, I feel a little like a little turtle before Leonardo. If you didn't get the joke, the reference is to TMNT. If you still didn't, ignore the comment. It's simply a meek attempt at humour by self-deprecation. You know what, that doesn't matter either.

Now after the obligatory two vague introductory paragraphs, I finally land gently at the point. Why did or do we do this to ourselves? Why spend the better part of a month's wages (sorry, but I don't discuss my salary publicly) on equipment that is designed to make you miserable? Well, firstly it's designed to lower your misery.. that is undeniably self-inflicted and secondly, we intend to do it again.. said the engineer after the DSLR, the obese 27-year old during the first week at the gym and the couple before the first baby. So I have just set myself up for either insurmountable guilt or several more bouts of misery or both!

So why did I do it?

Too see the great outdoors? Kinda true but too tacky.

To write about it later? Sorta true but I'm sleepy as I am writing this and have like, 3 followers, so not reason enough.

For some lone time? You live in Finland, helloo!!

To get away from the city? Again, you're in Finland, helloo!!! Also way to tacky (refer to first point)

For exercise? Are you kidding me?!

For fresh air? For the love of face-palms! FINLAND!!!!!

For mosquitoes? Statistically accurate, but not really motivating. For the record, my hatred for the mosquito has sky-rocketed and it is now neck and neck with misspellings of 'lose'. I believe mosquitoes to be the scum of this planet. They're most likely the inspiration for suicide bombers and every time you squish one, you feed a hungry child in America (you thought only African kids go hungry, eh?)

Just a gentle digression here... what's wrong with tacky? Nothing really.

Back to the Q&A bullets. To be an outdoorsy person? True, I'd love to be one. Though, I find it weak to call myself outdoorsy, while sleeping in a nylon-polymer, rain-proof, easy to install tent; carrying an ergonomically designed, height-adjusted, weight-distributing backpack; consuming specially designed, low-effort, hygienically packed food. During the hike this bothered me at times, until yet another mosquito buzzed near my right ear and I scrambled to squish it, inadvertently slapping myself. I then sprayed a generous amount of mosquito-repellent on myself and bliss returned.

In my mind I see this outdoorsiness as a process- like reading is, for most people. You promise yourself to do it more often seeing the book lying on the bed, it's kinda messy and distracting but fun while you're reading, but once you're done it fills you with a sense of satisfaction and exhilaration.

All that said, if I ask myself how I felt before, during and after the hike, the answers are nervous, anxious & excited; exhausted, mosquito-hatred & nature-loving; ebullient, achieving & relieved. (Some of those aren't really adjectives, or even words. Just deal with it!) If you want to feel it yourself, think of the last time you had constipation, extend it over 3 nights and multiply it by 100.

Hiking is wonderful and meditative. Each hike is a unique and memorable experience. I totally recommend it.

Secrets to writing well

Write in 3's
Use self-deprecating humour, scarcely
Avoid long sentences
Don't reveal secrets to writing well
Don't make-up words
Don't repeat small words in a sentence
Don't write late into the night
Write in one go

A short story

noreply@blogger.com (inconvenienceregretted) — Sun, 02 Nov 2014 22:32:00 +0000

The door bell rang and I opened my front door with glee. "Was this it? Had she arrived?" I wondered expectantly. The FedEx girl looked at me like a dentist looks at a candy-loving 5-year old visiting her for the first time. She seemed to have a frown for every one of my teeth (in case you were wondering, the two dental references are unrelated). "Sign here" she ordered. I gave her the longer, more eloquent version of my signature. She pulled back the pad impatiently before I could finish, dropped the package angrily, as though punishing me for her bad day and stomped off.

On another day, I would have given a shit, but today I had none to spare. There she was, packaged resplendently in glittering peerless cardboard that I couldn't wait to strip off. I lifted the package to the pre-cleared living room centre, then admired her from all angles for a minute, took a deep breath and got to work with my favorite knife.

The assembly took me just over six minutes. Though this wasn't my first time, I was extra careful, ensuring that all the pieces went to their rightful places. When I was done, I stepped back a couple of feet and turned around as though presenting my new bike to the fan-boys. "Apple has today revolutionized yet another industry" I announced loudly in my head as the imaginary audience went beserk. "After sucking the marrow out of computing, music, movies, television broadcasting and the phone industry, we though to ourselves-what is left? The choice was obvious. We need better bicycles So today, after years of work by overpaid engineers and dying underpaid labourers, we unveil before you the iBike" The audience erupts as I pick my nose and scratch my butt crack.

Five minutes later, I am dashing down the street in my Bianchi Vertigo 105 sporting my cycling attire. I have always wondered how the more sport-serious your attire, the dumber you look. It's as though the designers deliberately make you stand out from the normal sane-dressing crowd, so that you are recognizable to your similarly terribly outfitted brethren. Fully geared, I was prepared for injuries, listening to music, dehydration, rainy weather and I even had those specialized glasses that increased my range of viewing. However, I pretty much looked like one of those unimportant ambassadors from a forgettable planet in Star Wars. Not that I really gave much thought to how I looked, you know.

It was a magnificent day, I was in my element... whatever that means! I wonder if chemists agree with that idiom. Whatever! It was just the right amount of cool, not chilly, not warm. I was cycling along a spectacular route. I cycled along several little bridges, criss-crossing some quiet residential areas and passing though some dense tree-laden areas towards the city. As I sped along, the breeze kissed my forehead and the wind brushed my arms. My muscles ached a bit, but it was the good sort of ache, you know, when the body realizes pain and the brain releases these hormones, dopamine, seratonin and stuff like that. I don't know the details, but I sure felt that my brain was doing the right thing. It felt great and I felt invincible and then...BANG!!

I was thrown about 10 feet from the crossing. I was hit by a bus, a frikkin' bus. I guess I wasn't invincible after all. A crowd gathered and I was dragged to the sidewalk. I felt bloody from the inside, outside, everyside. There was this gigantic pool of blood at my feet. I was almost waiting for an alien to emerge out of it then quickly dismissed my stupid hollywood-inspired imagination. It was amazing that I wasn't dead. I then got up to thank the stranger who had helped me to the sidewalk and noticed that he was wearing this ominous cloak and had a scythe by his side.

He smile gently. I freaked out. Oh! But this was halloween weekend. Haha.. HAHA! I laughed to myself, then looked closer. The stranger had a skeleton face. OMG! I was dead and this was death.

Surprisingly, it didn't take me long to get over it. I was always a practical person and hey! it's not like I could do anything about it. I walked to my body a few feet away. I looked awful. I ran back to death with horror in my eyes. He hugged me and patted me on my back. "There there!" he said in his hollow but soothing voice, "Always be careful while crossing the street"

The best movie ever

noreply@blogger.com (inconvenienceregretted) — Sun, 23 Mar 2014 01:46:00 +0000

I have never been involved in the making of a movie, not even for a class project. Neither do I understand what goes into making a successful feature film. I also realize that everyone's taste in movies is different and there couldn't possibly be a formula for a good film, let alone an amazing one. The business is uber-competitive and uncertain and actors, producers, writers and visual effects directors have an excruciatingly difficult task already and don't need an inexperienced, conceited moron to tell them how to do their job. However, today I am going to be that moron.

The main character would have the wit of Dr. Gregory House, the heart of Alan Shore, the charm of Tony Stark, the mystery of Omar Little, the coolness of Barney Stinson (I correctly believe that the word you expected me to use to describe Mr. Stinson is overused), the internal conflict of Batman and the brilliance of Marvin. This role would have to be played by a woman, because if a male character could possibly possess all these qualities believably, he would have had a hit show already. Her name would be Helen for no particular reason.

Helen's good friend Rajesh, on whom she has a secret crush, would have the intolerability of Sheldon Cooper, the 'whatever it is that we like about him'-ness of Stewie Griffin, the sarcasm of Chandler Bing and the brute strength of Daya (this one's for the fans of CID, a 'hit' Indian show). The film wouldn't have any romance because that's too mainstream. Also no sex, because we have porn for that.

The villain would be a rich evil tyrant, born that way. No tragic past or lust for revenge, just greedy and cold-blooded by birth. He's totally powerful but apathetic and yearns for a challenge.

There would be prophesy predicting that a young boy from the farmlands of China would someday put an end to the tyranny of the aforementioned rich evil tyrant. Unfortunately this boy is born with a deadly disease and passes away before his fourth birthday.

The movie would have plenty of '...that's what she said' jokes because it would have to be timeless and those jokes never get old. The rest of the jokes would be written by Louis C.K., Jerry Seinfeld and George Carlin. No Russel Peters please... he's racist.

There would be enough gore to make 300 look like a children's movie and enough action to make Kill Bill seem like a romantic comedy. There would be some transformers too because everyone likes them. I'd throw in some werewolves and vampires too... the ones who wear clothes and don't cry every 10 minutes.

There you have it! The ingredients for the perfectly successful film. It's got to be successful. It has all the ingredients. I'd even hire the best authors to write the script because I don't want to wait for the novel from which to make my film.

This film would suck because it tries too hard to be a good. It believes that putting things together that are known to be good guarantees success. Making a movie is like cooking. You may have the best ingredients and follow the recipe perfectly and you may still end up with a mediocre dish. Occasionally the ingredients may carry the dish or the recipe might be honed and perfected over 10 generations, but a great dish requires a great cook. A cook who can improvise and prioritize, who takes failure in his stride and knows when to let go of his creation and yet one who doesn't give up easily. Not surprisingly as things go, even great cooks have bad days.

A movie is like a dish. So is life!

PS: I don't watch Game of Thrones... yet!

Emoticons: enhancing your conversations... whether you like it or not!

noreply@blogger.com (inconvenienceregretted) — Sat, 05 Oct 2013 10:08:00 +0000

An extremely well-referenced and highly reliable spam mail reads, 'It takes 17 muscles to smile and 43 to frown, so smile more you lazy-ass douchebag[1]'. I disagree, for they both require 2 keystrokes. Also, pardon my rephrasing ;)

You may not have realized it but emoticons are taking over the world :O, one chat-window at a time. Try to recollect the last time you engaged in a chat conversation without a yellow furball displaying perfect teeth or pouting like this handsome young gentleman. Never, right! It's like, OMG, I use it, like, all the time and you know, never realized it, like OMG!

Not unlike super-villain Agent Smith, they have found their way into e-mails and even handwritten letters. I know what you are thinking... but they are restricted to casual conversations, right? Wrong! I have seen official e-mails with emoticons. Even my boss appends a smiley to my task-list.

The day is not far when they will spread to face-to-face conversations as well. Soon, you will say something sad and shove the appropriate emoticon into others' faces. What a lovely conversation that will be!

However, to be fair, they do enliven the conversation. How many people do you know in real life, who smile, frown, drool, express shock or anger as expressively and as evocatively as the cute little limbless, gutless, ear-less, gravity-defying, jaundice-infected, tireless, regularly-flossing, nude and mostly gender-neutral balls of joy. They have the versatility of Christian Bale's paunch [2]. I recently noticed that WhatsApp's emoticons have a larger emotional range than me!

Emoticons are racist too... (clue: yellow)

But the real problem mostly is that it's next to impossible not to use them. It is as though there's an invisible hand guiding my index finger to the correct keys. Sometimes, I am not even aware of it. Then come the typos. Typing 'distaster' instead of 'disaster' is excusable, but :) in place of ;) could actually spell disaster.. (big round of applause to those who got the joke immediately!)

Want further proof? You love minions don't you!

[1] http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=douchebag
[2] http://media.digititles.com/title-gallery/70e847739104d5d98d1c25e6de0c74d9/medium/christian-bale-body-transformation.jpg

I have a dream!

noreply@blogger.com (inconvenienceregretted) — Mon, 26 Aug 2013 22:01:00 +0000

Ladies and Gentlemen,

A certain revered gentlemen, sometime in the 1960's proclaimed to the world his dream. He had big dreams and his pronouncement received critical acclaim, to say the least.

I am, but a simple man, but I have sufficiently-large-sized dreams as well. And since dreams don't cost, at least not until someone figures out a way to monetize them and our dreams are interrupted by requests from 'Cute White Asian girls in Finland' and whatever other ads facebook deems tempting to girls, we can dream to our heart's content.

Here's mine! Rather, here are mine. I try not to be too wishful.

I have a dream...

I dream of a world where clothes don't go out of fashion and laundry does itself;

where alcohol is acclaimed for it medicinal values;

where a human life is equally precious, regardless of nationality;

where great power comes without much responsibility and Tobey McGuire is not Spiderman! (this one's true already! hurray!)

where Anonymous gets credit for all his/her work;

where addiction to 'House' and facebook are treatable afflictions;

where code debugs itself and smart phones are intelligent too;

where there was no Batman movie before the Dark Knight trilogy and Ben Afleck is given a fair chance to screw up;

where judging people gives you an instant migraine;

where the grass is green and the girls are pretty (you didn't think I'd miss this one, did you?)

where food doesn't go bad and you remember what's in your fridge;

where all of Elon Musk's dreams come true;

where IKEA furniture assembles itself;

where traveling and living in a different part of the world are valued for what they really are - an education;

where men understand women's words for what they really mean; (or maybe this is asking for too much)

where you're always right in time for the bus/train/plane, unless you've got dynamite attached to you;

where people chase happiness and not money, smile and be kind for its own sake;

where religion is not confused with morality;

where beauty in all forms is appreciated and people stop being obsessed with 6-pack abs and zero-figures; (seriously, I am yet to find someone with enough grey matter, who thinks it really matters)

where sarcasm is understood, appreciated and elevated to an acceptable form of communication; (no, seriously! really! I mean it!)

where people who get offended should be offended;

where engineers run and rule the world, for I cannot see a more apt group of individuals that could ensure both peace and development, alongside a mind-blogglingly fun world;

where perpetrators of egregious crimes simply die from shame or are at least rendered limbless, as a direct and inescapable consequence of their act;

where nobody minds that your blog post ended abruptly...

Random post on randomness... not really

noreply@blogger.com (inconvenienceregretted) — Sat, 09 Jun 2012 12:59:00 +0000


random cow in field

This goes out in deep-felt condolence to my brethren and sistren (I am no sexist), however few in number, who cringe at blogposts, articles, songs, amazing facts (seriously?!) and photographs of shoes, books, birds, articles, clothes, bottles that are labelled as random. I am with you, my friends. Let's fight this injustice together.

Secondly, I am completely bewildered and enraged by the mass misusage (now that would be a cool word) of the word 'random'. You want to know what's really random? Go to your facebook wall (of course, I know you're on facebook, even the puppy downstairs is on facebook) and re-read your wall posts. That's random! Or better, simply chant 'random' in your mind until it loses its meaning.

table fan randomly rotating

I checked on what exactly the word 'random' meant just to be sure that I am not writing this post randomly. For those smiling, the joke's on you. I used the word incorrectly. Random means "Having no definite aim or purpose". So, that picture of you wearing sunglasses and standing moronically with your hands in your pockets, your hair carefully combed, your weight more on your left foot next to the sculpture that nobody-least of all you- knows about or even cares to know, is not aimless or without definite purpose (though we could argue on whether the purpose is fulfilled) Nor is that sculpture that its artist spent days working on.

However much you may try and hopelessly try again, the word random does not possess the qualities that the all-too-familiar four-letter word claims to. Of course, I've heard that 'Indian' professor's profound lecture on the grammatical versatility of 'fuck'. Although funny, it is silly and stupid. I would have believed it, when I was 14!

At least the Untitled Albums are better. You meticulously select and upload pictures but cannot find the time to say what they're about is perfectly acceptable. Label them as 'random' and I pulverize you mentally like the Hulk did Loki. Not-so-random fact: Robert Downey Jr. played the role of Charlie Chaplain in Chaplain(1992). Sorry ladies!

It's not just this. It is sad that many write like it's against the law to spell correctly. There's almost a pride that emanates from each 'hv' or 'dnt'. This is not an SMS and I am not reading.

The joys of student life

noreply@blogger.com (inconvenienceregretted) — Tue, 11 Oct 2011 07:33:00 +0000

It's fall, and the trees have caught yellow fever. The mercury refuses to 'Rise' 'Above all' over 6 and the sun behaves like an Indian Govt. servant on a sweltering day with a pestering wife and an annoying headache. Assignments are piling up, tests are nearing and to-do lists are getting longer. Everything costs an arm and a foot and the paychecks aren't coming. Doesn't really sound like the best time to exalt student life. Yet, the fact that I write this post should give you some measure of how I feel.

There's something magical and wonderful about running around to classes, haggling with your professor for that half mark and winning, giving and receiving inexpensive treats and looking for the cheapest brand of chips; economizing on money and making the most of your time. The rat race was just the opposite.

The classroom with the creaky desks on the 3rd floor beats the air-conditioned meeting room hands and feet down. I am definitely busier, there's a lot more to do. But isn't that the point!

Alfred Hitchcock once said that the anticipation of the fear is much worse than the fear itself. I use this example for lack of a better one. In a similar but entirely opposite way, the anticipation of a bright future is much more enticing that the future itself.

The best friends are those you share your assignment group with, those with whom you have pointless debates over the most inconsequential of topics the day before an exam, sacrificing both sleep and study time to gain an upper hand, and those who ensure that you see the pretty girl who just walked past.

A student is simply that, a student. Experience, background, age, orientation :), social status all wither away in a classroom before the professor. It's a social equalizer like no other. Everyone's there for the same reason.

I would love to be a student throughout my life, if scholarship committees favour me sufficiently. Because even of you get ahead in the race, you're still a rat :D

Btw, I am excited about Ra-One. :)

Tervetuloa Suomi

noreply@blogger.com (inconvenienceregretted) — Wed, 07 Sep 2011 08:30:00 +0000

After an extended exodus from blogging, caused mainly due to the demanding planning and execution and my academic career, I am back. Not too long ago, I was sitting in my cubicle with gmail and facebook windows minimized(goes without saying, but still) getting news of the BITS convocation, friends' MS and travelling experiences and the schoolboy in me tugged at my consciousness. Apart from the money, work-life didn't have much to offer.

Today, after more than a year of writing essays and e-mails, posting documents and loads of waiting, I am writing from 12E-67, Servin Maijan Tie, Espoo, Finland, having satisfied that over-enthusiastic and impatient schoolboy. Here at Aalto University pursuing my Masters in Radio Communications, I type with a bubbling enthusiasm in anticipation for what awaits me.

Each of us has wondered what it would be like to study and live in a new country, with a different culture, values and way of life. I cannot speak from bucketfulls (or is it buckets-full) of experience, but the differences between Finnish and Indian are much more pronounced than the 5000-odd km in between.

If the internet could be modelled as a person, his privates would surely be here. Internet speeds are so high that even before I turned on my laptop new 'stuff' was already on my desktop.

There are very few people here and far less running and noise and chaos per head and they manage it some pretty amazing automation. Everything is online, you even book laundry slots over the internet. Entire offices manage with 5 to 6 persons.

Driving here is pretty boring. There are no cattle running from pillar to post, cyclists and pedestrians have just about half of every road to themselves. All the driver gets to do is watch while the car does everything.

Finland is rules-based as opposed to negotiations-based. So words like 'please sir/madam', 'bas thoda sa kaam hai', 'jaanta hai mera baap kaun hai' and their equivalents would be met by uncomprehending stares. So much so, that if a bus driver sees a man running to catch the bus and it's time for him to leave, he WILL leave and sleep peacefully that night too.

Recycling is the buzzword here. The garbage bins have sections for paper waste, bio-waste, electronic, energy and I-don't-have-time-to-sort-garbage-sorry. They have a wonderful method to realize reuse. Once a student is leaving he leaves the stuff and anyone can simply pick it up. This goes for furniture, beds, microwaves just about anything.

The society is trust-based. Back in India we wouldn't trust people with our garbage. But here, if you like a piece of unclaimed furniture, just stick a paper on it with the word RESERVED. You can come back a week later and pick it up.

In the kingdom of countries, if the American God is ambitious, big brotherly, spendthrift and stupid, the Indian being noisy chaotic, multi-coloured and corrupt, the Finish God would surely be a nature lover, who runs and cycles. This place is heaven for nature lovers, tree huggers, trail runners, lonely lake starers(plenty of Finnish fall into this one) and enthusiastic cyclists.

I love the water system. You get both hot and cold tap water, both potable. The bath water is the perfect temperature. Back home I waste gallons of shower water tweaking the blue and red nozzles for the right feel, but here somehow the bath water is just spot on!

Everything not free, is really expensive. Transport, stationary, groceries. 200 rupees a kilo tomatoes anyone?

The food is bland and milk-products are abundant. I don't face much of a problem, but as those who know me will tell you, my taste buds cannot be trusted.

It's pretty quiet all the time, everywhere. Finnish don't socialize in public. So you won't hear the Finnish equivalent of "Oye yaar, kaisa hai. Bahut time ho gaya" with hugging and back patting.

I had better finish the gun-gaoing soon. The weather is going to start to suck pretty soon. And boy is it going to suck. It will be a black hole of sucking. More on this once the suction begins.

I would also like to tell you guys about the flexibility on offer here. I am not fully aware of how things work in US and other places, but the system in Finland deserves a separate post. Wait for it.... Dary :D

Mobile Number Portability - Pointless or well-pointed?

noreply@blogger.com (inconvenienceregretted) — Tue, 25 Jan 2011 20:50:00 +0000

My tribute to Faking News. I may have gone overboard... it was intentional.

"I am so excited about this whole Number Portability Thing. I will now be able to change my cellphone and keep my number" were the words of an excited Kangana Renaut when asked about what she felt about the latest craze in the Indian Telecom scene at the Filmfare awards. Our repeated attempts to correct her and inform her that she could have always changed her cellphone, was met with angry and confused stares from the film and television industry. We preferred to just stay shut.

Mobile Number Portability gives users the freedom to switch service providers while retaining their old numbers. In a developing Telecom market such as India with falling call rates, rising unsolicited calls and horrible voice quality, MNP would lead to greater competition, further decrease in call rates and other associated changes-opined a ponytailed Arindham Chaudhari in an interview in his office at the basement of the IIM, Bengaluru campus. "And we also provide free laptops to our students." We didn't stay to hear the rest.

On asking Nandan Nilekani, whether this was somehow related to the UID project- after an initial baffled look, he smiled, then stared pensively at the ceiling for some seconds and scratched his head. For a while it seemed he was about to answer but then held back and told us that he would reply by e-mail. We have received his mail but are yet to read it.

When our correspondents visited the offices of Idea, Vodafone and Tata Docomo to inquire about the intricacies, working and ideology of Mobile Number Portablity, why they believed it is going to be the next 'in-thing' and why their advertisements seem so pointless and have stupid background scores, we were asked to fuck off.

A study was conducted by the "Seven Sisters' Cultural Empowerment and Socio-Economic Development Agency" over the Golden Quadrilateral route in this regard. They concluded was that regardless of the service provider, the monthly pre-paid bills remain unchanged for a certain age group, economic stratum and gender, with a mean variance of 0.5%. We probed further, we asked them what mean variance meant and they just shook their heads.

Rumours abound that Spice is currently working on a Penta-SIM phone, that charges itself on exposure to pretty women and has a button for controlling movement of bears. "This will give us a significant advantage over our competitors", said a grinning Spice CTO Edward Chashmish in an exclusive interview. When asked about the secret to the company's revolutionary products, a candid Mr Chashmish revealed, "We invest a lot into R&D, our stickers don't fade easily"

With most Telecom Operators already offering the service and the rest with plans of jumping into the bandwagon soon, only time will tell whether it proves to be what it promises. If it fails, there's always the World Cup and IPL after that to keep us occupied.

BGM diaries

noreply@blogger.com (inconvenienceregretted) — Wed, 12 Jan 2011 11:32:00 +0000

So how was BGM? Everyone's asking. Every non-attendee wants to know how it felt to be part of the first ever BITSAA Global Meet(Music please) Here's my take.

For an event such as this, success can be measured at many levels. Whether it was successful as a Global Event, I cannot comment. At an organizational level too, opinions would differ. An excruciatingly difficult quiz held without buzzers, with the participation outnumbering the audience and with most of the attendees floating(read high) would be stamped a poor show by most, but I thought this made it cooler. From my individual POV, it was a tremendously successful. But you don't want to know what I liked or disliked about the event. Best, I compare it to a parallel event and then you decide. Please note, the event was attended by some real big names in the industry, and there were people of all ages.

Here's my comparison. I tried to put it in a table but html seems to totally hate my guts. :(

At Any Global Alumni Meet
Anyone shooting paper rockets towards the stage would be shown the door immediately.
while At BGM
The MC encourages the audience to shoot rockets, and the first is met with loud cheers.

At Any Global Alumni Meet
If a young nervous chap is speaking for the first time on stage at an august gathering and he stutters, he is encouraged and asked to go on.
while At BGM
He is asked for an intro and the BITSian salute :)

At Any Global Alumni Meet
A prominent politician delivers a calculated and diplomatic speech.
while At BGM
He speaks from his heart and then 'gale-mils' and makes merry with his batchmates

At Any Global Alumni Meet
During a stage performance, a youngster makes indecent comments and is reprimanded by the usher.
while At BGM
The founder member of a major company makes indecent comments, the usher is confused and the youngster is snickering.

At Any Global Alumni Meet
After a couple of drinks, if you see a professor, who has made several appearances in your nightmares, you turn the other way and move away.
while At BGM
You 'cheers' him... (no it wasn't me! damn... and it's an easy guess who I am referring to)

At Any Global Alumni Meet
Nobody speaks of the illegal acts that he committed in his fledgling company.
while At BGM
On the dias, a businessman speaks of his deals with a smuggler when his company wasn't doing so well.. Cheers from the crowd

At Any Global Alumni Meet
After dinner you see several cliques, oldies talking business, entrepreneurs talking money, salaried people talking family and children, and wannabes walking in and out, here and there.
while At BGM
Everyone's talking to everyone about everything.

Of course there were loads of numbers being exchanged(not what you hope this means :( ) I did manage to get one... yeyeyeye. The dinner was good...I think. I remember refusing drinks and it's just a mental block after that. The 'Kingdom Of Dreams' put four moons (chaar chand??) to the meet. Hats off to the guy who thought of that.

A major take-away was the meeting with Ashok Malhotra off-stage where after talks of philosophy, yoga and his work with children, he told us a story he tells little children, 'Bulbul aur Jugnoo ki kahaani'. The best thing about him was that, he made what he did seem so very simple and easy.

The one thing that made me feel really good at the end was that I couldn't really find any other marathon runners there :) So I guess I am not doing too bad after all #sastikhushi

A day at a railway platform....

noreply@blogger.com (inconvenienceregretted) — Mon, 03 Jan 2011 13:34:00 +0000

I really like the railways. I mean really really like. Though you'll often find me complaining about long journeys, backaches and deplorable food, the truth is, there's no real break in your schedule like a long train journey made alone. These moments, rather prolonged instants, are the only times I find myself without internet, phone connectivity or people I know. Just the constant dhud-dhud dhud-dhud vibrations of the train. The contemplative power of this time is unparalleled. There's obviously a lot of rubbish in my head too, that keeps popping up like..... a pop-up window. So amidst the thoughts of Shiela vs Munni, Blackberry vs iPhone, and which universities to app to, my mind somehow thought up a few stories that are related to - yes- the railways. So here's my first tribute to the arteries of Hindustan, the lifeline of India, the only thing every Indian seems to want 3 months in advance (People here can't plan pregnancies but trains from everywhere to everywhere are advance booked)

A day at a railway platform....

I awoke with a yawn as the first ray of sunlight hit me. Another wonderful day on planet earth begins. I took a deep breath and let out the oxygen. Or is it carbon dioxide?? whatever... chemistry was never my forte. It was chilly and as the 6 am train swept past, the wind blowing through my arms, a shiver ran down my spine. It has happen countless times, but every gust of wind that the morning train brings just sweeps me off my feet, makes me feel... elevated. I sometimes wonder if it's dumb to enjoy such trivialities, whether it's my goalless meandering through life without any thought of purpose or higher meaning that lets me enjoy the flutter of a butterfly, or the smell of fresh roses. I sometimes wish I had more to do than just inhaling and exhaling all the time.

Everyone around is so busy these days, either on the phone or their laptops or just lost in thought. There's always a weird look on their faces, I can't quite describe it. It's like they're constantly trying to solve a jigsaw puzzle. Peace eludes them. It wasn't like this when I was younger. Then, I'd often see people simply enjoying the breeze, gamboling down the platform, some would even hug me and I'd hug them back. They never seemed to be worried or annoyed, though in hindsight their problems were bigger, much bigger. Tattered clothes, tanned faces and toothless but hearty grins. People have surgically sculpted radiant teeth now, but what's the use? Every smile seems to have a hidden cryptic meaning, there's no bliss.

A eunuch walked past. People are just terrified of him... or her... or it. I wonder why? It's just another human being, what's to be afraid of?

I've heard that there are those who spend 5 days of the week being miserable, so they can spend 2 days having fun. Crazy I say! What sense does that make? They take up hobbies, go fishing, drink at parties, just to return every Monday to more misery. It makes me wonder who it is that lacks purpose.

To my left, a one-legged beggar was pleading to a young lady, who sympathetically fished out a couple of coins from here purse and handed it to him. Just then the station master came out of his office. The 'cripple' sprinted past a couple of youngsters chasing their train, a second foot simply sprouting out of his bandage. The look on the lady's face was worth a million bucks.

A pretty little girl walked up to me and smiled. Ahh... how I love kids. I bent down and pecked her forehead. Her smile widened. Her train arrived and she was whisked away by her mother. Until the train was out of sight, her eyes never left mine. I wonder if I'd ever meet her again. Probably not, but it would be really awesome right! Of course, she'd never remember me. But that doesn't matter, I never expected much from people. I was always taught not to.

The clock says 6 pm, and the platform is deserted. Soon all the shops will close, all the gamblers and drunkards- the human bats- will come out of their hiding and begin their show. I wonder why they're called anti-social elements. They seem more social than everyone else.

There goes the sun. I look for the switch... where the hell is it? Everyday I do this and everyday I forget where I kept it. Maybe it's my lack of a central nervous system, that I am so forgetful. I guess other trees must have the same problem. Guess I'll never know.

Things I'd like to say...

noreply@blogger.com (inconvenienceregretted) — Sun, 29 Aug 2010 19:47:00 +0000

Throughout our lives, we undergo sorrow, misery, pain, joy by the actions of others. Most of these people are part of our lives, and we of theirs, hence we can have the pleasure and satisfaction of paying them back :) hehe, didn't that just make you feel better. It certainly made me.

We can talk back, hit back, argue, play a prank, make elaborate plans with levers & pulleys, and saws & rods so the person involved dies a slow painful death as we sit back and revel in their misery or simply say something... anything to their boy/girlfriends... all arranged in increasing order of suffering caused.

However with movie stars, talk show hosts, sportsmen, politicians, terrorists, Bangalorean auto drivers and pretty women, we lack a means to reciprocate. This is because, either we never get a chance to meet them or they hold so much power over us, that given a meeting we are unable to reply thinking straight.

So here's my list of things I'd like to tell these people, given an opportunity. Of course, if I ever do meet them, I will deny all knowledge of this blog's existence and probably feign MPD, with my alternate personality being an awesome, articulate, handsome writer whose writing skills were so ahead of his time that nobody really gave a damn about it. But for now, here goes:

Sachin Tendulkar: Please be immortal, please please pleeeeeeeeeez

Anu Malik: Dude, I don't know if anyone hasn't told you this, but seriously, most underage kids get nightmares of you singing. Music pe dhyaan de. Kya hua agar Pritam ne Indonesia pakad li, aur bhi bahut hain. Dekh kitna aage chala gaya woh.

Himesh: This is probably what everyone tells you, but I need to add one more drop into the ocean. You're a ridiculously and frighteningly bad singer/actor trapped in a quite talented music director's body. Please resist.

Sidhu: Yaar, please tell me Angrezi kahaan se seekhi. I'll stop spreading Sardarji jokes, even laughing at them.

Pritam: Oye, lyrics bhi same rakh leta. Kitni Mehnat bach jayegi.

That sweet thing in the corner cubicle: Hi... errr... maybe someday... movie.... Damn it, I can't even type clearly.

Amitabh Bachchan: Yaar kuch to chod de, is umr mein condom ki ad bhi karega kya ab!!

Mugabe: You little black !@#$%^

Sonu Niigaam: Baap ka naam roshan karna hota hai, badal na nahin. Aur yeh kya huliya bana rakha hai. Bachhe isiliye achha nahin gaate Little Champs pe, dare jo rehta hain.

Yuvraj Singh: !@#$%^&*()!@#$%^&*() saala. Aur mota ho ja, fir Revital ki ad shoot pe jaana.

All Hollywood Actresses: Two things, one - never be seen without make-up, I know it's fake, that's how we like it. Two - once make-up stops doing the trick, please never be seen publicly, brings weird memories!

Shah rukh/Salman/Aamir Khan: We all know there's actually no enmity between you, stop pretending, you're not fooling anyone. Khan ke naam pe kaise kaise chhichore aa rahe hain industry mein. Imran, Arbaaz, Sohail, Zayed... bas naam mein Khan hai, to log jaante hain. Inhe bhagao, apni izzat bachao.

Manmohan Singh: You're doing a great job sir, ignore the buffoons. Anyone who still thinks the Sonia-Manmohan jokes are funny, are not worth your time.

Contestants(especially minors) of singing 'talent' shows: Yaar, tumhara kuchh nahin hoga. Finale/Final/Hyper final wagairah, jab khatam; koi SMS nahin karne waala. Sab cartoon, saas bahu shit, ya Emotional Atyachaar dekhne lagenge. Arre! Abhijit Sawant ko hi dekh lo.

Prince of Nigeria with a million dollar legacy: Dude, no one believes you. Stop spamming my inbox.

Sania Mirza: Please tell me, you didn't actually think that you made the news for your tennis!

Nadal: Stop biting trophies, it's disgusting! You're not a kid anymore.

Sharapova: Do you scream just like that when you're.... you know, stressed or excited??

Osama/Obama: Long time since you made any news guys. Shake it up a little, whatsay??

M Night Shyamalan: From 'The Sixth Sense' to 'The Last Airbender', your standards have fallen sharper than property rates in the US(it's very useful to use such cryptic similes from the recession; if anyone questions, I can just give them the 'dude, don't you know anything' look)

Mark Zuckerberg: I bow to thee, o most powerful man on earth...

Steve Jobs: Apple, seriously, Apple. Why? I love your stuff...but Apple??

Neil Armstrong: Tell me honestly, I want to hear it from you...

Urban Stampede 2010

noreply@blogger.com (inconvenienceregretted) — Tue, 10 Aug 2010 13:04:00 +0000

Experts will tell you that a day before the run is very important. You need to have good sleep, drink plentifully and have a light breakfast. Hence the night before my 5km run, I didn't sleep(who can possibly awake at 5am), ate chicken masala for dinner(protein dude) and 2 pegs of Whyte & Mackay(a little alcohol never hurts and is actually shown to be helpful). Thus armed, I walked to my pick up spot where my team mate, a freakish cyclist picked me up, who btw forgot his running shoes.

We reached in time, unlike last year where we reached the venue after the race began and still beat a whole lot of teams(shows how raring we were to win and how fit most Bangalore professionals are). The turnout was humongous, every Nike marketing professional's dream come true. The run as such wasn't so eventful. I mean yeah, there was a close finish and BIAL clinched victory from Toyota, but this wasn't exactly a race. It was only the first timers and really experienced ones who actually asked about timings, the rest (and most) were smiling like they had just had whiskey diluted with liquified laughing gas(like that makes any sense)

Those who usually wouldn't press another key without a raise were actually paying to get their asses kicked, and that too by themselves, awaking at ungodly hours and driving 20 miles away from the city. Weird people we runners are! Crazy, I tell you.

My team did quite well, timings aren't out and I don't really care (impatiently checks the organisers' website for the umpteenth time) This particular event is important to me, as it marked my real foray into this self-imposed ass kicking last year, since which I really took this up as a real hobby. Lots of realisms here. My grammar teacher wouldn't be impressed, but I'm sure my PT teacher would probably be full of glee.

For the uninspired, running events are usually good places to engage in bird-watching. Very fine plumage. I tell you. However, when the prettiest of .. ahem... birds runs past you without even a glance, doesn't really make you feel more masculine.

The event got over, we had brunch, had our pictures taken by a wildlife photographer, the car broke down in the middle of nowhere 20 metres away from a Punchur shop, that repaired all tipes of punctures, sorry.. punchurs. I reached home, had a bath and woke up 6 hours later with a stiff nick, an aching butt, dislocated collarbone(not really but I wasn't getting the third symptom*) and played tennis for an hour. Crazy, I tell you.

* there are always three of anything, ALWAYS.

A year of work-ex

noreply@blogger.com (inconvenienceregretted) — Fri, 23 Jul 2010 10:20:00 +0000

I hate it when bloggers ignore their blogging pursuits, for whatever reasons personal, academic or professional, and then apologise and try to justify or reason out their absense. C'mon guys this is a blog. Just try saying 'blog' or 'blogging' to yourself a dozen times and see how stupid and nonsensical it sounds. It almost reminds you of something coming out of an elephant's ear. So take it cool people, its totally fine. Right guys(fingers crossed, hope you agree)

So coming to the point.... whatA joke, like a blog can actually have a point... HAHAHA, sometimes I just wonder where all this awesome abundant humour comes fr.... never mind (sorry... I can almost feel the angry stares). Yeah, so it's been a year since I started my journey to climb the rungs of the corporate ladder (I love using these words, 'corporate' and 'ladder', they make it sound like you're talking something important) and whatever you may say, it does things to you. I mean, there should be a reason it's a ladder and not the stairs or an escalator, right? As oppposed to the hallways we talk about in academics, or corridors (this is for old corporate people who don't really care for metaphors but have loads of cash to justify their words) I prefer turnstile - running round in circles, going somewhere but getting no where.

Looking back on the year that passed, some things change while others stay the same, but in queer peculiar ways. In a sentence, both times you're getting screwed, but cash flow changes direction. Then there is the topic of viewership of the opposite sex, I mean girls in technology companies are just so damn lucky in this regard... especially the ones in my company. Dammit yaar, shayad medical lena hi sahi rehta.

Another thing is the sudden love for your college or any healthy/social cause. The reason?? Bahane mil jaata hai na kuch substantial na karne ka. Ek ad kya aayi tiger bachane waali, sab join kar liye chant karne, 1411 left, 1411 left. Do din ke liye redi kya band hui, facebook pe dhawa bol diya. Kuch karte kyon nahin? Yaar office se fursat kahaan milti hai? Yaar cricke khelna hai, gym jaana hai, but saala time nahin nikaal pata. (For those who can't understand this Hindi, suffice to say it's a critical comment of people's uselessness and self-satisfaction on clicking some 'like' button... another blog post will follow)

In university, you're usually staring at blank faded walls or poring over notice boards, while here you have huge posters of pretty smiling girls(saala poori company chhaan maari, but kahin dikhi hi nahin) and big words like innovation, passion, glory, commitment written here and there. I guess it's the management folk trying their best to convince us that money isn't everything. Hope they succeed, for everyone's sake. Talking of pretty girls, I know a lot of yet-to-graduate engineers are going to be disappointed, but I have to tell you this. HR girls are not all pretty.(Did I just hear someone drop to the floor?) It's one of those conspiracy theories invented to keep you in line.

Then there's the comparisons. In college you compare you CGPA, while in work it's your pay cheques. In college you compare your degree/discipline, in office you compare your pay cheque. In college, the latest book you read, or your latest crush, at work, pay cheque. In college, your clothes, your boyfriend/ girlfriend, at work, your pay cheque. Also money becomes important, but I guess I should not talk about it.

I can't yet comment on friendships, because A. It's just been a year B. I am in Bangalore for Christ's sake, how can you not be in touch when you keep bumping into each other C. I have great friends... no pun, no sarcasm here.

Insecurities, hopes, self-realisations all remain there. Just that you realise that a good education isn't everything, or rather nothing at all. It's all you. After engineering, you reach a point in your life that you make ALL the decisions in your life. You and you alone. I know people rant about having chosen the stream that they wanted, going to the college that they wanted, but it's all bullshit. Here, I do not conform with the corporate jungle, every man for himself (woman too) theory, where you need to trample on others to get ahead. I actually feel office life is far easier than college(feel free to differ). What I mean is, it's your life now? You no longer call parents to ask, you call them to tell. The money coming out of the ATM is your money (hard-earned or not is difficult to answer) but it's yours. Therein lies the biggest change.

Green Man

noreply@blogger.com (inconvenienceregretted) — Mon, 18 Jan 2010 18:59:00 +0000

On my way home from office listening to 94.3 Radio One, maximum Music fataphat, music fataphat, between Ghanta Singh's rantings and ads of Reliance's anniversary sales... as I sat stupefied, mystified and mesmerised by the sheer stupidity of Bangalore's public, who'd rather trample over another human than reach home a quarter of a second later, a thought entered my mind. What do we need here?

By the time the Metro finishes Bangalore's population would anyway have increased making it obsolete, wider roads would mean half of Bangalore would be living on the street, and better traffic sense.. HAA... why don't we just wish for a flying carpet or... a time machine or maybe more understanding managers or... better yet that people like Shahid Kapoor be wiped off the face of the earth.

No, what we need is a super hero. One who can save us from ourselves, one who will have great power and great responsibility, who will show us that the human spirit can beat all odds, one who will teach us to be strong in the face of adversity and intolerant towards all evil.

Gotham has Batman, because it's villains ruled the night, Spiderman lives in NY where there are tall buildings from him to dangle from and Superman is... sorry the movie cryptonited his girly ass, let's wait for the next movie and then comment. Bangalore's hero will be Green Man, and will work 8 to 9(when the traffic villains are at their peak)

Picture this... You're on you way home on Friday and a quarter of your weekend is about to be spent waiting for the green light at Brigade or Trinity, and all of a sudden you feel a tingle in the air and look up to the sky. Is it a plane, is it a bird, is it a greenhouse activist??? no it's Greenman to the rescue(dam da da da dum... tada dada dada)

He shakes hands with the Traffic policeman, 'I'll handle it from here' and in super Bruce Almighty style just sweeps all the traffic off your path; the girls go wild, mothers have tears in their eyes and kids are... well still begging while Red man(what else did you think the villain's name would be) gesticulating in agony, 'Oh! you f%$^ing little bi%^ch, I'll get you next time'

If there's a truck driver who honks like he gets paid for it, Green man will just pick up his truck and scuttle it into the Bellandur lake(GRE wordlist#45) and if there's a cement truck taking a u-turn in a tiny lane, blocking the whole junction, he'll just blow it up. HAHAHA!!

His sidekick Yellow man(plzz tell me this doesn't surprise you) and sweetheart 'Clear way' help him foil the evil masteminds like Blowjam, Puncture and Road dust. Maybe I could even write some comic series about it and then sell it right for loads of money and fame. Naah! I may just get chetanned!

To be chetanned: to be made a fool of publicly for undervaluing one's own assets and then having the contract proclaiming your obtuseness shoved into your face. n. chetan

My second marathon..

noreply@blogger.com (inconvenienceregretted) — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 10:29:00 +0000

There are several things that your 2nd marathon teaches you. Point is, after the first one, you are too busy feeling arrogant, conceited and full of bullshit like "I felt like giving up, but kept saying to myself, just 21km left", "It's all about mind over body" to really sit and think about the whole thing.

Even otherwise, the pain is so..... how shall I put it, painful, yup, painful is the apt word that one begins to hear one's body parts swearing aloud. The soles scream and thighs weep, your feet will be kicking at you, your calves and arms will be writhing in pain and the poor knees will be hollering like a teenage girl who has just lost her phone, or a teenage guy whose girlfriend has just lost her phone. And in all this chaos, you forget that it's the poor ankles that have done most of the work, and nobody seems to have the time to give them a pat on the back.

So anyways, here's my 2 cents, or 3 or 4, whatever makes you feel good. You know what; a penny sounds better, yes, here's my penny or rather 2 of.... ahem, the plural of penny :P

1. Age does not matter, I mean, there were guys clearly in their 50 and 60s, doing 100km runs while I was feeling like teenage Bill Gates landing his IBM deal doing 50.

2. The importance of self start in your bike (:) ) I always considered it lowly and non-masculine not to kick start your bike. After the run, the joy that I felt starting my bike with my thumb was like ahhhhh......

3. It is easiest to converse with strangers when both parties involved are getting their guts spilt on the ground for the same reason. You tend to relate very easily. Other examples of this would be prisoners, fresh MBA grads joining a big bank, your wingies in college, married men etc.

4. Winning doesn't matter, as long as you feel god and enjoy it(that's for my young, hopeful and full of enthusiastic readers, the rest know how it feels when an old man beats you all colours of the rainbow and actually encourages you at the end... the patronizing senile sexagenerian!)

5. There is no dearth of lunatics in this world, if you though 50k is stupid, there were about half a dozen or more doing 100 and one lost soul who ran for 24 hours straight! Crazy right?

6. Men will be men & like wise for women. The female runners were made-up and the men were still doing what they do in malls.

7. You can just not forgive yourself if you give up midway. Though I didn't exactly experience this, the sheer anticipation of this feeling of loserness, kept me going.

8. Some dangerous things can be tried at home :)

9. Beer tastes awesome! especially after a long run on an empty stomach.

10. Never eat aloo-chat, or chowmein or dosas on chat street the night before you plan to run the longest distance in your life.

11. Contrary to what everyone might say, it is REALLY difficult to run long distances! Trust me on this. But you will enjoy the pain during the run and the great feeling after the run. Its the pain after the run that inconveniences you. But by then you really can't really do anything can you.

12. Never listen to bloggers, they tend to exaggerate and self-glorify, but then who doesn't :)

13. People who've run one marathon are good, those who've run more than one are awesome but those who blog about it, are legen- wait for it, till you realise that this post is getting a wee bit patronizing/condescending and don't want to read this anymore, but can't really help as you've come to the end-dary!

NOTE: BITSAA is organising a world 5/10k run in the first week of December, open to all alumni. Guess who's volunteered in Bangalore :) So if you're interested, do join bits2marathon yahoo group, and if you're not, go get a dip in Koramangala ki nalli!

OASIS, an after thought

noreply@blogger.com (inconvenienceregretted) — Fri, 13 Nov 2009 07:16:00 +0000

"It's either now or 25 years later" I kept telling everyone."C'mon people, it's Pilani and OASIS. I can't believe I am having to convince you of this. OASIS man!" I kept repeating. I few got bored and stopped receiving my calls. Others changed their numbers, and a few let their dogs smell my laundry. But a few, who shared my awesomeness, namely Rushi, Ganju and BD gave me hope. However I must point out biggest morons, those that agree first, with all the enthusiasm of a 6 year-old American boy on Christmas eve, but later claim to have other engagements. To all of them, I dedicate my lovely middle finger, 'coz thats all they deserve.

So how was OASIS? I won't use words like awesome, delirious, out-of-the world, ammmmmazing et al. Because that wouldn't describe how I felt. IT FELT LIKE HOME. How long has it been, like 10 months, and it felt like I would just enter Bhag, get into my room and log onto DC++ :) Seriously, people it was a great feeling. I wasn't even nostalgic, it just felt right. All of it.

That it was OASIS, didn't matter one bit. That there was greenery around in the desert town didn't matter, though I had a bit of it around me too :). That there was the clock tower, to tell me the time, although the 4 faces disagreed, that there were profs who smiled at me without any hesitation, that there were juniors and batchmates that hugged me like we still stayed a mere 10 feet away, yes all that mattered.

KK, Lucky Ali, Shankar/Ehsaan/Loy, come and go, OASIS, APOGEE come and go, Goa campus, Hyd campus come and go. But the clock tower though doesn't have any bells, will forever ring in this heart!

Nike Human Race- awesum!

noreply@blogger.com (inconvenienceregretted) — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 09:16:00 +0000

I don't use the word awesome, very often. Though I often lie in my first sentence in any blog post. However, truth is, I don't use awesome for things where I haven't been involved in the awesoming(the things done before an event, with a goal of making the event awesome). However I will make an exception here.

If my some technological development, google maps would give you a video feed from high above; on the 24th of october 2009 you would see masses of red dots collecting in 27 cities of the world, moving together but fading away. For the uninformed, it might look like Marsians have done a War of the Worlds, but actually it was the largest race in the world.

Bangalore was lucky enough to be a venue of this huge event, and I was lucky enough to be in Bangalore during this time. The event was organised by Nike for the second year running and first time in Bangalore. NIKE almost threw away money to try and get the sport of running in vogues here. The huge participation, is I believe, exactly what they were aiming at.

Yudi was the host, though I wasn't very impressed, and there were also, Anju Bobby George, Mahesh Bhupati and Sreesanth, who didn't impress with their talk either. The entertainment was...... entertaining :) and the band(from Goa) was pretty darn good.

All and all a spectacular event, not to be missed. So those who run, and missed this, should feel like kicking themselves in their behinds!! :)

Waise, my timing was 58 minutes and 52 seconds :) just below an hour! yeyeye

Trip Down South!

noreply@blogger.com (inconvenienceregretted) — Sun, 18 Oct 2009 22:14:00 +0000

There's this thing about reporting something. It's never true. I mean seriously! Not matter how much you try, you can never hide that hint of exaggeration, that bit of hypocrisy, that iota of prejudice and given that the 'truness' of any statement is binary, nothing one 'reports' of an event is true. And you know what, one shouldn't really. I mean, what if you somehow tell the story from your point of view. So what? You were there, and you have every right to paint whatever picture you want to, and the if readers haven't been there it's their fault. After all, there's always, "Conditions apply". The audience knows this. You now that the audience knows this, and the audience again (only the smart ones) knows that you know that they know it. Smarter ones go further into the abyss, but if I have to spell it for you, then I guess we all know where you stop.

The same applies to blogging, in fact to a much higher degree, because the facts cannot(in most cases) possibly be verified. Again the audience knows this and of the consequent loop. So even if the blogger tries his/her best to be true to the facts, the audience is always ready with it's jar of salt. So what you have is a conundrum of the highest nature. It's much easier for a single blogger to actually stay true to himself and the audeince and his experiences, as compared to an honest newsreporter, who is 'worried' by a boss, who is in turn 'worried' by TRP ratings. But the audience can hardly be discerning. So it's the poor old blogger who has to bear the

brunt. ME! I can say that I didn't exaggerate anything about my Singaporean odyssey, my first marathon, my kayaking down river Mekong in Laos, or bungying down Macau tower. For all you know, I might have been hiding in a cave in Jhumri Talaiyya(hope it's spelt right, English spellings can be so darn stupid sometimes). But the problem persists. I recently returned from a wonderful wonderful trip meandering the southern Indian peninsula, and I have to think twice about blogging about it, for fear of the usage of condiments by my readers. So I am going to rid myself

of prose this time. No similes, no fruity language(flowery is so cliche, so yesterday), no words of embellishment, no sarcasm(stop smirking, I can do it, seriously I can, just watch me do it, or read it, rather)

Here goes, but a few facts first. We took photographs, lots and lots of photos(2066 in all over 5 days). So many that, Paris Hilton bhi sharma jaye(dammit!!). So I am going to use a Key. An asterix[*] in the text implies that we took photos at that point of time. Then, yeah it was a 2500km odd trip by Qualis, driven by Mr.Ramachandran, who started off as a grumpy old man but in the end we became beer buddies(without the beer! alright, alright. I can't d

o it).

1. On 29th September, me(serial photographer), Spanish Surd, serial photographee(Sabbu, urf Sabeshwar), mard ladka, and Bandeshwar left Bangalore at 8 am or something.

2. Went first to Hogenakkal waterfalls.*.Not very impressed with the arsenic glued, black bottomed, circular boat ride, so went on a short death defying trek on sharp rocks, with water gushing around us, where a single wrong step could leave us bleeding to death, all the usual guy stuff. We didn't take the 'tel maalish' as

the dark and bald people seemed to have been taking it their whole lives, without any improvement in terms of fairness nor hair growth.

3. *.Reached Coimbatore that evening, to pick up ladakh-returned, who as his name says had just returned from a 15 day trip Ladakh. (Yeah, he works for a company, and no he's not fired, at least not yet). He had a D-SLR which alongwith my Olympus mu-1040 made up our arsenal of digital shooting.

4. That night we had a little party. Chicken Chettinaad(it had some 4 types of chillies), and chicken kadhai(in a real kadhai) and some liquid to cleanse our insides, in preparation for the long trip ahead :)

5. Reached Marayoor and stayed the night. We could have gone to Munnar, but there were wild elephants on the road, and we decided that we'd had enough adventure for the day, so we let the elephants be.

6. Morning, around Munnar.*.Cutting through Echo Point,* and Mattupetty Dam *, we reached Top Station. Saw a brilliant rainbow, ****. On the way had the most orange carrots ever and home made chocolate. Munnar is famous for its huge stretches of tea gardens, and is in the Kerala district of Idukki.

7. We wanted to go south to Kerala, but one of ladakh-returned's friends, had said that Madhurai was a nice place so we took the next left into Tamil Nadu. Sabbu lost his cool and stomach and its insides on several occasions, on account of the rough roads and his smooth tummy.

8. Asked a posh hotel for a cheap place to stay, and were directed there with a smile. When we went inside, our smiles vanished.

9. Morning we got looted at the Madhurai temple. Hinduism has some 2 million Gods. So you either pray to all of them, or pay others to do it for you. This temple is spread over 15 acres, and is dedicated to a form of Goddes Parvati, and has the most colourful Gopurams. ** inside and ***** outside the temple.

10. Near the temple is a place where you get wonderful traditional halwa. But the shop opens only after 11.30 am,which we found that the hard way.

11. Next stop Rameshwaram. Inspected the site of Ram Setu, to see if things were going fine. They were. There was a very very long beach, which made the place seem lke an endles desert. Here, *********************************. We visited the Rameshwar dham, and so after my dupki in Haridwar, quarter of my sins have been atoned for. There's too much to write about the dhams, so just google it, its an interesting story.

12. On the way to Kanyakumari, we had another round of stomach cleansing. My tummy was especially troublesome, and so I took an overdose, which turned out to be just that.

13. Woke up in Kanyakumari, and guess where we went. We gussed one island because it seemed too rocky. Went to the other by ferry and *****.

14. Now we started up into Kerala. On the way is a famous temple that has Brahma, Vishnu and Mahesh, all in a single place. This is supposed to be the only place for this. And a 20 foot hanuman statue too, which that particular day was white with ghee.

15. We had a slightly disappointing day here, lots of anticlimaxes. So we just drove on, and got to a beach. Some of us needed some more cleansing, but mine was already clean as a whistle. Thankfully the accommodation was nice.

16. Early morning at 10am we left the place and drive towards the backwaters. Ellappy was the destination and there I fell in love with Kerala. A 4 hour long boat ride along the backwaters, left me mermerised and inundated with joy. It was quiet but there was music in the air. I had never been to this place but I felt more at home than in Bangalore. If then you had said that there were floods and we were stuck there for a week, I would jump with joy.(Actually, around this time, there was in fact a flood scare in Kerala and an actual flood more to the north, that we all know of now) *******************

17. This was Saturday now and we went as far as Cochi. There looking for KFC we found a local FKC(Fried Krispy Chicken) where you get Chicken baskets and Zinker burgers. Our table was a battle field, between 6 hungry battleworn soldiers and about a dozen chickens. I don't think the waiters or the other witesses can ever forget us. I think you might find a photograph of our table hung over the wall some day.

18. Now we had two options, either sleep in a cozy room in Coimbatore, or drive all the way to Bangalore and sleep in the car, where we might break our backs and necks. Guess again what we chose.

19. Back to Bangalore, Sunday morning. Dhan Te Dan.

All the facts about places, I remember, and am not referring to Google or anything. But then, you wouldn't believe me. We might have not gone for a trip at all. But then, you would have to admit, Jhumri Talaiyya is one heck of a place.

JOSCO ROX!! You won't get this one, unless you were there. Right guys!!

C'mon just 1km left, and you're half my age, pick yourself up, boy!!

noreply@blogger.com (inconvenienceregretted) — Wed, 16 Sep 2009 11:01:00 +0000

There's more than just the obvious difference between a half and a full marathon. The full requires uncalculable mental strength, calm and composure and above a threshold fitness and below a base age (both of which me and many of my readers can with just a little effort can satisfy) is hardly much of a physical thing.

Everyone gets screwed somewhere between the 'ye ye I have finished 20km already and I think I can finish in good time' and the 'Why the fuck did I let that guy talk me into this, there's 17km left, maybe I'll quit'. But then you just go on!

A half marathon almost never seems way too much, '21km hmmm, I think I can do it'. Frankly it isn't. But unlike a full, it's not so much about finishing it than about actually doing a reasonably good time. Also, it's a great way to test your fitness, not just the run but the time you take to recover.

Alright, so how was the run. Absolutely amazing. I've said it before and I say it again, a marathon is one of the few places where you actually find your competitors cheering you on and that too sincerely, and it actually working on you. Though it is mostly a kick to your ego, when the cheering is done by someone double your age, or more.

This is usually what leads to many youngsters getting injured and giving up altogether :) When someone who looks like your grandma smiles and says, "C'mon young man, only 2km more to go. Come along, I'll run with you", you have very little choice.

The running route was spectacular. 7 in the morning running along the Kaveri basin, with the meandering river snaking its way on your left and lush green fields and untouched hills to your right, there are very few things that can beat that. This was a trail marathon, implying that the terrain isn't the usual tarred road, but the actual natural route through fields, across make-shift wooden bridges and mud paths. Though the bus ride before and after the run left a lot of undesirables, overall it was a thoroughly enjoyable experience.

Thanks to the organisers of the Kaveri Trail Marathon, I'd love to do it again, and the full one this time. Also heartfelt thanks to Ladke(Prateek Yadav -a first timer who beat me and showed me that practice is neither enough nor necessary for all), Miyaan(Jatin Rastogi-who is currently so thin, I think he'd have lost half his body weight-about 2 kilos-during the run) and Ashwani(Ashwani-nothing really funny about him, just a fun loving guy like me)

Why I run!

noreply@blogger.com (inconvenienceregretted) — Sun, 06 Sep 2009 14:22:00 +0000

Have you ever had that feeling in hindsight of something stupid and silly that you did, that you had it coming, that though its signs were ambiguous and undecipherable, you could have forseen it but then you say things to yourself like, "Ohh" and "aahha" and "o'course". Such an awesome thing happenned to me lately.

My company has a basketball team, and like my usual over-zealous over-enthued self, I go there, though everyone else is leagues better than me. I've been there a couple of times to practice, and being a company where people actually do work, its difficult to get people to gather at 7am on a Saturday morning, to run around a ball and shoot it through a hoop. One Friday morning the captain got enthued and mailed all participants to confirm their presence, so I thought 'waah, ab to mast log aayenge'. SO next morning at 7:15 sharp I reach the place dragging my sorry ass along, only to find that everybody had intercommunicated their inability and disinclination to play an outdoor game after a rainy morning. Those who didn't get the message understood it implicitly. And those who didn't, implicitly or explicitly, got made a fool of. ME. Not if that wasn't funny enough, and if the smart ones among you don't think this incident fits the description above, be patient. Yup, so next week I get apologies from a few people and one mal asking me whether I'd be free for a match next Saturday. Guess what I answered. :) Over the next few e-mails, we discussed the venue, I expressed my curiosity on selecting a team without formal selections, and reported on hoe much I had played the last few months. This involved the exchange of about a dozen e-mails over 2 days, the last one enquiring about whether I was a better batsman or bowler. Main hua hairaan pareshaan! Then I went through our e-mails and realised that neither had we mentioned the sport nor did I notice that my contact had never been to practice. I hope the rest is clear, and I don't have to explain the whole situation, like the careless villain does to the detective when he knows he has the upper hand, only to be upper-cut by the hero later, by a curious set of circumsances. If the last sentence confused you even more, do consider getting a job at an NGO, you're not fit for your technical job.

So chapter 2, haan, so lots of people have recently increduously asked me why I have taken such a liking for running. "Kya milta hai tere ko?" is something I am often asked. My answer is usually, that I enjoy it, but that doesn't seem to satisfy anyone. Now, if I ask you why you study? You'll say to get good grades, or to get an attractive package and the like? Why do you go to office? So my manager gets impressed, so I can see that cute girl/guy or the boring, to earn money? Why do you eat, to satisfy your hunger? The point is, almost everything you do is because you want something else, and then something more and the cycle continues. Seriously, wait for a moment and ask yourself how many things that you do, do you do, just to do it, just for the sake of it. You will realise that there are actually many such things,mostly involving a sport or game, but as you grow older, love and desire and fun get replaced by necessity and responsibility and the need for security. So why do I run? Because I like to run! FULLSTOP!

Personal milestones:

1. The 5km relay went well, we reached late, one guy didn't wake up in time. So our first runner ran 10 minutes late and without any warm-up.

2. Have registered for half marathon, Kaveru Trail marathon, and more importantly got three of m friends too to run wth me :)

3. Bought a skipping rope and am going ballistic, well not literally. Do take my words with a pinch of salt, I do exaggerate a little

4. Went to Nandi Hills and Hokenaggal falls, last weekend, after a friend suggested it about a day before the trip. Awesome na!

5. Bought a skateboard, HEHE, finally. So along with how many km I run, my updates will include number of ribs broken.

PS: I am no longer going to flirt openly through my blog :)

What's a damn daffodil?

noreply@blogger.com (inconvenienceregretted) — Fri, 14 Aug 2009 17:13:00 +0000

Bangalore is a cool city, you know other than the traffic and the infrastructure and the high prices and the... you know what, let's just keep it at that. It's a cool city,hmmm , that's better and there's plenty to do, when you're not in office. But you have to be innovative. You see, you can't keep asking for Deepika to wear skimpy clothes on the silver screen, or for one more shot of vodka/tequila. Not that, these aren't entertaining, they very much are, but that's not utilising

the Bengalooru spirit(with stress on the 'looo'). The rest can be done anywhere, even in the middle of a desert. Seriously you can do this there, I have for 3 years of my hostel life, and it's not just Padukone there :)

Ok Arjun... control. Chalo then, yeah the point is, last week I get a mail from a dear friend about this 'Made In India' film festival in the British Library. 8 3-minute documentaries, themed on 'Independence Day'. I've never really been a film critic, you know the 'intellectual' type. The more wham-bam, the more eye-catching scenes :) the better. But I got curious, so what the heck. Anyway we would probably have gone to a pub, so I got myself invited. And besides, things like this make you seem the intellectual, high-society types. But I am guessing, I will have lost the possibility of that after this post.

So I go there-the library fyi, looks brilliant, definitely worth a visit-and its a small little meeting room, with chairs with a projector, and little pockets of people talking intellectual stuff, saying stuff like, 'the artist's rendering of the strokes on the canvas, though anachronistic, was clearly an attempt at true expression' or 'photography is the true art form for its mastery requires something from deep within, it is so misunderstood and taken for granted by the masses, that it shakes me to the core'. I on the other hand, immediately went off looking for tea and biscuits.

So the show started, and it was, simply put-a showcase of 8 3-minute documentaries, on the theme of 'Made in India'. It was fascinating to see the varied topics that the film-makers chose to portray given their 3-minutes, and their interpretation of what independence meant to them or to their subjects. Most were expectedly narrations, like the one of a young girl whose family became 'foreigners' after the separation into Bangladesh, or the homecoming of a young man into his up-in-the-hillstation home, that had held once a freedom activist and a british artist at another. My fav was 'English & I' where a youngster related her complex relationship with the English language, she recounted one little nursery rhyme by William Wodsworth with the words, 'And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils.' realizing with some degree on angst, that she didn't then and still doesn't what what a damn daffodil is. I'll be frank, I don't either until, that is, I googled it. Go on, do it yourself.

Then was the true story of a 75 year-old woman, who remarried at 75!! Actually if I did get the story, the exclamation is unwarranted, but I'll let it be, as a tribute to her courage. Independence to her meant, being able to what she wanted. One of the best was about the ambassador car, and how its changes can more-or-less be co-related to that of the story of India. The British left us, in their wake, only three good things-the justice system, the education system and the ambassador car, commented the narrator.

Two of the directors were present, and related to us, how difficult it was to simply chop off 57 minutes of their proposed idea. The challenge, the required discipline and what was being portrayed in the film. It was truly a memorable experience, not at all grand and out-of-this world, but one of those simple ordinary things that leave a mark, not for 'how' the experience was, but 'what'. If anyone hears of such things happenning around Bangalore and needs company, do let me know.

I know the last blogpost sucked royally, but try and forget it.

Personal developments(if it interests you, as much as it does me):

Got my hair cut, all of it, well not all of it, but you know... mostly all of it.

Have registered for a relay marathon, where I run 5 km. For practice, I run 6 km everyday... almost

Regardless of how awesome or worthless Kaminey is, I have a feeling my next post would title the hindi swear.

Going for basketball practice with the company team on Saturdays, they're all awesome people.

Can solve the rubik's cube now... the development being it's not the boring beginner's method, every Tom and Dick knows(Harry doesn't apparently)

Got a credit card for myself and for three of my friends... ab doobenge to sab milke

Love life: still no developments :( Either I expect too much, or too much is expected of me, or someone doesn't meet expectations, or someone doesn't know what or how much to expect or everyone's just confused. The last one is mostly likely, I expect.

Work mein: Still training. I am at that stage where I can almost floor you with my knowledge in telecom, but am not of much use to the company yet.

Chalo then, await Kaminey.

Trip 2 Bandipur

noreply@blogger.com (inconvenienceregretted) — Mon, 10 Aug 2009 09:17:00 +0000

After trips to faraway and exquisitely unknown places, here I am to talk about our day trip to Bandipur National Park, Gopalaswamy Hills and KRS(Krishna Raja Sagara) Dam. It wasn't as expensive, as full of possibilities, as dangerous ( :) ) as intoxicating :D or as far as most of my trips, but it was definitely awesome fun.

I awoke at 4am. Not guys this is not fiction, I did awake that early. For the first and hopefully last time, Sony World Junction, was empty, no vehicles man. I took a dozen pics of the rare sight. I still can't believe it. Okok, bad PJ. I was first put into a bus with Tamilians, and it felt like someone hit me on my head, and the language processing part of it went inactive. No hard feelings guys, but I had to shift.

First stop, Gopalaswamy hills, brilliant, serene, enchanting, breath-taking, as well as taking your-breath away, cool, and uncannily windy place. You feel one top of the world, yet one with nature. I just found a spot, and stared at the word around me. I was conspicuous by my silence. People were worried :)

Then to Bandipur National Park. Frankly speaking, there was more wildlife on my lunch plate than on the safari. I tried to have some fun anyways, but was made to shut-up :( by the driver and everybody else.

Most of the trip was spent on the bus, sleeping, drowsing, singing(there were people worse than me, yeyeye), humming, and more bull shit, that sounds silly when you talk about it in hindsight, but is fun when you're actually doing it.

Then to the KRS dam, where there are too many people, too many fountains and too many hawkers selling way too many things. Ok that was bad, but it went with the flow na. I got tricked by the public board that said you need to pay 50rs for the cam. I paid, but realised that nobody checked! What cheats man!!

Last stop CCD, where the most eventful thing was my dropping hot, steaming, boiling, burning coffee onto myself. The worst thing was that I wasn't even drunk then, crazzzy.

Returned by 3am, met some awesome drunk rickshaw drivers, bike riders, car drivers and watchmen on my way home.

I know this post sounds very unlike most of my other posts, more childish. But you see, its nice to be a child sometimes :)

Da Bangalooru

noreply@blogger.com (inconvenienceregretted) — Tue, 04 Aug 2009 07:24:00 +0000

Ever since I first got my hand on e-mail, I have first enjoyed, been amazed by then pissed and irritated by, and lastly downright wait-till-I-get-my-hands-on-you by forwards. Having had several e-mail addresses and being an ardent 'checker' of my e-mail and a writer too, I think I would have read about every girl mutilated by accident, every bad luck bringing mouse pad, every blood marrow needing husband and every 5-year old having a rare heart dysfunction. I used to fall for the financial ones, those that say that Bill Gates would pay one cent for every mail I am responsible for, HAHA those were good ones, but not any more. :) At least not the old ones. The jokes were always awesome (I guess a lot of sardarjis would beg to differ) and since a long time I wanted to write one of those satirical sarcastic sardonic sets of jokes. And I seriosuly can't remember one about Bangalore, so here goes. Please remember to laugh out loud, giggle, or at least smile after each one, you'll have good luck for the rest of the day.

Describe Bangalore:
A giant red-light area*(you seriously need to look down for this asterix) sprinkled with IT companies and malls(3 malls per IT company), with more vehicles per unit area than bees on a hive, centered around Koramangala('coz that's where I live) with the black Koramangala ki nalli meandering through it.

Describe a typical Bangalorean:
He (sorry for being sexist), fine I'll call him/her 'it'. It is in IT, well-dressed, thoroughly confounded not by its family life(which is non-existant), not by its friends(they're always inebriated and thus forgetful when they meet), not by it's boss(coz bosses talk and the only conversation it's had is over gtalk), not by it's uselessness to the cosmos (the periodic inebritaion with friends solves this, and anyways it's too busy coding to notice) but by his colleagues' pay check. It knows its regional language fluently but will still fail miserably at trying to speak passable English, though it's good at talking in C. It thinks that Bangalore is centered around the building of its residence :) , that Hyderabad is just another village(in a bad sense), that Bangalore is an awesome village(in a good sense) , that his engineering degree taught it nothing worthwhile and all of Bangalore's problems would be solved by the metro.

What do you hear in Bangalore, if you listem carefully?
Mostly honking, but if you listen carefully you'd hear an IT engineer scratching his head and noisily typing, improving code written by someone else in another company, in another country, getting paid 10 times more than him, with better job security.

What are the two choices that the Bangalorean faces?
To honk his car battery out of its life, rushing into every corner he sees trying to get home early or patiently wait and end up being late.

What is so curious about the above choice?
Every Bangalorean always chooses the former but gets the latter.

How pretty are the girls in Bangalore?
What? Where?.... HAHA trick question. :)

When do you know that a Bangalorean is lying?
When he says that he's getting enough money.

What is so awesome about the weather in Bangalore?
It's just awesome, it wouldn't be awesome if you needed a reason to call it awesome.

What 4-letter word does every Bangalorean hate?
HR (the rest are white spaces)

What is so good about Forum(the mall)?
Nothing, but nobody seems to notice or care.

What do you do when you find a Bangalorean colleague bleeding on the road, having had an accident?
Call HR and tell them, 'We need another one'.

Why is the suicide rate so low in Bangalore?
An unsigned integer can only hold so many values.

Why do I say that Bangalore is technologically advanced?
Because there are more mouses than mice.

What do the men and women in Bangalore have in common?
They both go 'eeek' when someone says pink.

What do you do if you want to make a Bangalorean go mad?
Trick question.

* the area around a junction when the light is red, or any other area where you have to stop for a jam. The union of these two encompasses all of Bangalore

... could've thought of more, but have training in another 5 minutes. Cya..