N-zine

New Year Wishes

noreply@blogger.com (The Zineouses) — Sun, 01 Jan 2012 10:11:00 +0000

Its that time when you
Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow;
The year is going, let him go...

Image Courtesy: www. nomadicpursuits .com

Also in the case of N-Zine...

Its time to ring out the old template

And to ring in the new

Do let us know your views about the new look. See ya in the next issue...

Enjoy the New Year!!!

Editors' Note

noreply@blogger.com (Shrikant) — Mon, 14 Nov 2011 18:38:00 +0000

Volume XVI; November 2011

Welcome to yet another issue of N-Zine, the No Nonsense Entertainment Magazine. Another issue full of some really great penmanship by our excellent contributors without whom there is no N-Zine!! This time we are not following any particular theme.

So enjoy this issue and if you want to share any feedback or if you want to contribute to N-Zine, do write in to us at nzinemag@gmail.com

The Zineouses

Editorial team

If you wish to discover meaning...

noreply@blogger.com (Shrikant) — Mon, 14 Nov 2011 18:36:00 +0000

“It is two and a half years since you retired.” Lulu, my parrot, observed.

“So? What are you trying to say?” I asked.

“Oh, how time flies!” Lulu said eating guava.

“Yes indeed. Time flies. Perhaps faster than light. I had thought that the pace of my life will slow down after retirement, but not a bit.”

“Life does not slow down, people do.” Lulu handed down a gem of wisdom.

“You are right.”

“So how did the last 30 months go?” Lulu asked.

“Well, there are some good lessons learned.”

“Like?”

“Like doors start opening when you engage in a good activity. When we started, rather rejuvenated, the Thane HR Group I did not know that I will have so many new friends. They are not the people who make friends for any business reason; they are really good friends.” I said as I reflected on the recent past.

“That is true. You are seen often at Costa Coffee with some of them.”

“Oh yes.”

“And any more lessons?” Lulu asked.

“Like the real energy comes from having your own ‘always wanted to do - but could not do it so far - so now I am going to do it’ agenda.” I responded as I looked back.

“Ha ha. That is interesting. What’s your agenda?”

“I am learning painting!”

“I know I have heard you tell that to so many people.”Lulu said hopping on my shoulder.

“Painting directly with a brush is one of the crazy things I have experienced.”

“Really? What do you mean? What’s crazy about it?”

“When you begin you only know that you are going to draw some flowers. But you have very broad idea, and sometimes no idea, of how the final picture will look like. For people who have spent more than half of their life in the corporate world, it is a crazy thing. Creative experiences are strange experiences to us.” I said.

“Or you are a stranger to creative experiences! Ray Bradbury said “Don't think. Thinking is the enemy of creativity. It's self-conscious, and anything self-conscious is lousy. You can't try to do things. You simply must do things.” Lulu handed down one more gem.

“You are a well informed parrot! Ray Bradbury was a science fiction writer who was touched on the nose by an entertainer with an electrified sword, which made his hair stand on end, and the entertainer shouted, "Live forever!" It was from then that Bradbury wanted to live forever and decided on his career as an author in order to do what he was told: live forever.” I mentioned the little I knew of Ray Bradbury.

“Very interesting.....very interesting, indeed! This experience of creativity seems to have touched you. And so has the Ray Bradbury story of ‘Live forever.’”

“You are right, Lulu, it has.”

“We wonder why there seems to be no meaning in life. Meaning does not exist a priori. It needs to be created.”Lulu said.

“I see your point.”

“So only if you create it, you will discover it, right?” Lulu jumped on my head, rubbed his against mine, and flew away.

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An Article by Vivek Patwardhan who blogs at HResonance and Vivek Patwardhan's Blog

Remembering

noreply@blogger.com (Shrikant) — Mon, 14 Nov 2011 18:36:00 +0000

You meet them once and their image glued to your memory,
Not once but even after tremendous efforts, it stays.
What was it exactly? Love? Infatuation? Just like?

There's just something about them that makes them memorable.
Something too sweet which the mind failed to decipher
Serotonin and adrenalin gushed wildly, unstoppable!

Miles away in a distance, yet the poor mind remembers!
The tiny heart, palpitates faster with each thoughts.
Even out of sight, but never out of mind!

Why do they leave such strong imprints?
The longer it stays, the harder it gets imprinted!
The deeper and clearer it stays!

Some people trespass our lives from no where,
They take so much rights on us, like it or not!
We allow it to happen against all our wills.

It all looked so perfect from exterior
Yet terribly flawed from within! Alas, wanted more!

First sight of the loved one, never fades!
The warmth of first meeting lingers forever!

No matter how hard you try, its embedded in you forever!
Don't look for an eraser, for it's a lie!

Your heart and mind knows better,
Move on, but keep these memories sacredly

In a corner of your heart, and just move on! :)

Image courtesy Google

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A Poem by Ranjini who blogs at Life is a BoX of ChoColate...

Dial M-M-M-M for Sports Marketing

noreply@blogger.com (Shrikant) — Mon, 14 Nov 2011 18:35:00 +0000

Jerry Maguire. No, the movie did not "have me at hello", but the movie had me right here when Jerry delivers these lines: "I will not rest until I have you holding a Coke, wearing your own shoe, playing a Sega game *featuring you*, while singing your own song in a new commercial, *starring you*, broadcast during the Superbowl, in a game that you are winning, and I will not sleep until that happens."

That was the day for me when sports, sportsperson and more importantly sports leagues became more than just about players. They became what they would be crudely called - The Complete Package. IPL was one such package in India, EPL has been for a long while in Europe and NBA in America. But it was at the start of the first IPL that I had watched the movie and made a choice of becoming a sports agent. It was in this view, that I started researching about sports marketing and wrote a few research papers in college. During research for one such paper, I came across a model followed the football club Real Madrid and it has stayed with me.

This post is about that model. The 4M model of marketing sports and leagues - Mark, Man, Manoeuvre, and Money.

Mark - Stands for the brand name. For a club, it would be the name of the club, the brands that it is associated with, the brands lining to associate themselves with the club. For a player, it would be the club that he plays for, the brand pull that he alone carries. The coke that he alone inspires that people to drink and action figure that embodies him.

Man - Stands for the players and the personified character. The club can not stand without the players, for the players through their individual public image define the character of the club. And it this character which the people associate with. Of course, for a league like EPL and IPL, another factor of the county or the city comes into play. The club has to decidedly choose players that can be happily married to the existing character of the team and the city/county.

Manoeuvre - Stands for administration. This is probably explains why choosing the manager in a FC in EPL is a decision that these clubs make with utmost precision, for those of you who don't the fortunes of these clubs. And this also explains why the title character's backside in Jerry Maguire was always on fire. The administration needs to be bold and has to have the vision for the marketing of the brand.

Money - Stands for, well, more money. Now this one is sort of self-explanatory, I would say.

Sports marketing is a fascinating field alright, but it hasn't taken off in a big way in India. In other words, it doesn't pay much to start your career with this. So, yes, I never followed my dream of becoming one in this field and went to become a consultant for infrastructure that I am today. However, hopefully things are set to change. With the Indian GP and FIFA wanting to make India one of its homes, money should flow in. May be, one of you will become a great in this field. May be the movie will inspire you too and you will follow your dream. May be, I will one day back to it!

(Kindly note, that the credits for this model rest with Real Madrid and not me or this magazine. The post is my interpretation of the same.)

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An Article by Ankit Poddar who blogs at All Padded Up

The Wash Effect

noreply@blogger.com (Shrikant) — Mon, 14 Nov 2011 18:35:00 +0000

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A painting by Ankita who blogs at The Humming Words

The Book on the Shelf

noreply@blogger.com (Shrikant) — Mon, 14 Nov 2011 18:33:00 +0000

Every time Kamla, the maid used to pick the duster (a rugged piece of cloth) to clean the shelf, the faint glimmer of the golden thread outlining the cover of a book would arrest my attention. The book was a gift from a distant relative of mine and it has held its bastions on that prestigious shelf ever since.

I still remember the day when that book came into my life. It was an inauspicious day filled with rows of colourful hanging balloons and disco lights to celebrate my debut entry in the teenage years. A whole lot of people were invited and a huge pile of gifts adorned the garage space, close to the living room. The space was too large for the accommodation of a two wheeler vehicle and has served multitude purposes at some point of time or the other.

“When would you be able to see your birthday gifts?” asked Samit, one of my very close school friend. He always believed that if not anything else birthdays do give an opportunity to enjoy the praises and gifts especially meant for a single person. The focus of attention always used to create an illusion of a famed celebrity in the milieu of crowd waiting in eager anticipation to shower their love and blessing.

“I don’t know. Most probably, I would be going through them tomorrow.” My hands were itching to rummage through those small and large boxes wrapped in glittering cellophane paper.

As the day progressed and celebrations saw the dawn of midnight, I could no longer able to hold myself from the enchanting spell of those numerous gifts. I quickly made my way to the garage space and the first thing that I could lay my hands on was this book. A shipwreck of a family occupied the cover page of the book. I put that aside and decided to cover the rest of the gifts.

But the prying eyes of my mother made it almost impossible to succeed in my mission.

The next day was a Monday and the rigours of the school brought me back to the reality of those unfamiliar texts on blackboard and the dull coloured blue coating of the walls which closely resembled our uniforms. I always used to wonder whether the school was painted to resemble the colour of uniforms or the uniforms were designed to match the colour of the school building.

“Where is the book that I got on my birthday?” I asked my mother on that evening.

“Oh! Your father has kept it in the book shelf.”

I rushed inside to lay my hands on that book. But alas! the shelf was too high for me. I was not able to reach it even after doing several rounds of hopping and jumping.

Then I decided to use a stool to reach there. A three legged broken stool was lying in the veranda for repair. I brought it inside and placed it close to the shelf. As I began to climb, it started shaking vigorously and though I did manage to get a hand on my coveted possession, I fell down with a heavy gash at the rear end of my temple.

My mother immediately rushed to the spot and took me to the doctor. After a few stitches and a heavily wrapped bandage on my forehead, I came back home. I was strictly admonished to never go near the shelf.

A heavy downpour in the evening now and then was pretty common and it only perpetuated the tenacity of the winters in those northern parts of the region. The large windows almost running parallel to the length of the walls used to provide a gateway to the moisture laden heavy gusts of wind. On one such occasion, I rushed to close the windows and as I glanced upon that golden thread, my mind began to relish the opportunity of getting that book from the shelf. I was pretty grown up by then and my hands would easily reach the top of the shelf.

As I picked the book, a heavy lightning followed by a huge growl of the clouds almost froze me. The transformer in the vicinity of our neighbourhood was in flames and within no time, all the lights went off and only that golden thread gleamed in my hand. I rested that book on the shelf.

As I reached the formative years of my college, the month long summer holidays used to give me ample prospect to spend my time in my favourite pastime of going through journals and books. One day as I was looking at the picture of shipwreck, I immediately made my mind to commence reading that book.

At that very instant, the shrill sound of the telephone made me rush and the depressing news of my maternal aunt’s death filled the entire atmosphere with gloom and melancholy. She was pretty close to me and used to pamper me a lot. Sometime it made me feel that I am very fortunate to have two mothers taking care of me. I have never envisaged the thought of her sudden absence from my life and definitely not her sudden demise even in the wildest of my dreams.

The last few days of my holidays were spent in the native region of my grandmother and the golden thread of that virgin book sparkled among the grime and cobwebs.

As Kamla picked the book to clean the shelf, she complained of feeling a bit dizzy. I immediately took that book from her hand and without a second thought dumped it in the sack of old newspapers and magazines. The next day a rag picker took that sack away.

In the evening, news flashed in the local television channel of a terrible accident between an auto -rickshaw and a bike. The passengers on both sides were safe and the only casualty was the death of a roadside rag picker.

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A Post by Sushobhan who blogs at Read to enjoy

I D 10 T

noreply@blogger.com (Shrikant) — Mon, 14 Nov 2011 18:32:00 +0000

You've got the I... D... Ten... Tee
Yeah the I... D... Ten... Tee
That's the worst thing that cud be
Cuz its the I... D... Ten... Tee
Wondering what it could be??
then just write down the I... D... Ten... Tee

ID10T

Sound familiar?? Yeah the IDIOT syndrome!!!

How many times have you had to call up tech support? Probably your PC was not starting up or acting weirdly. PCs and other such devices do have a tendency to be temperamental once in a while. While there have been times when you have simply forgotten to plug in your device and then complained loudly that the stupid thing refuses to start up only to be pointed out by tech support that the plug was a-hanging!!

Such varieties of complainants are given the code "ID 10 T"
Their problems may also be referred to as code PEBKAC. What's that? It goes like this... "Problem Exists Between Keyboard And Chair" Wonder what could that be!! Go look in a mirror... that's the problem :P

Techies are also known to use a synecdoche saying, "The fault was a PICNIC" you may think that he/she is referring to how quickly it got resolved but actually what he/she wants to say is "Problem In Chair.. Not in Computer"

That's the worst thing that cud be
Cuz its the I... D... Ten... Tee
yeah thats as right as can be
Its the I... D... Ten... Tee

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An article by Shrikant who blogs at Hedonist to the Core

Editors' Note

noreply@blogger.com (Shrikant) — Fri, 14 Oct 2011 18:43:00 +0000

Volume XV; October 2011

My days among the Dead are passed;
Around me I behold,
Where'er these casual eyes are cast,
The mighty minds of old:
My never-failing friends are they,
With whom I converse day by day...

This poem by Robert Southey, refers to his communion with the ancient minds revealed in the books that surrounded him in his library. He refers to these books as alive, whose company he enjoys and who are his never failing friends. In other words, in his library, "He was never less alone when he was alone".

This is so very true. One does tend to forget things around him/her when engrossed in a good book. Ofcourse if you like to read that is... or else that same book could be the ultimate cure for insomnia - lulling you into deep sleep even at the end of the first paragraph itself.

Do enjoy this month's issue. And next time its another no-holds-barred issue without a specific theme. So if you want to contribute or just share your comments with us, do write in to us at nzinemag@gmail.com.

The Zineouses

Editorial team

The Blind Assassin - Book Review

noreply@blogger.com (Shrikant) — Fri, 14 Oct 2011 18:40:00 +0000

Set in 1940s in a fictional Canadian town, The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood is a novel-within-a-novel. Sounds complicated?? It is!!!

Iris has witnessed her younger sister's death--she "drives her car" off a bridge in Toronto. Officially termed as accidental, this incident plays a pivotal role around which the events in the book gradually unfurl, slowly intertwining into the present day life if Iris.

Flashbacks reveal that after being burdened with the care of her younger sister at the age of nine due to her mother's death, Iris is literally sold into marriage to a rival industrialist by her father who thinks more of saving his family name and industrial repute than the happiness of his daughter.

Years after the death of her younger sister Laura,an elderly and ailing Iris Chase puts pen to paper to record the history of her family, recalling the incidents of her childhood and youth and her unsuccessful marriage to an industrialist and the decline of her family. Being set in the 1940s, major events of Canadian history also form a backdrop to the novel.

And in the novel that Iris pens, in an almost sci-fi plot, she depicts an un-named privileged woman and her lover - a radical agitator. As the plot unfurls touching upon issues of issues of sexual obsession, political tyranny, social justice and class disparity, it is slowly revealed that unlike what most readers perceive, its not Laura - the dead sister, who's the protagonist but Iris herself and that Laura commits suicide upon learning about her sister's affair. This novel is later published in Laura's name.

Atwood's social commentary describes the ways women are used by men and how wealth is used as a weapon by the wealthy. This novel and the novel within, both play with each other, maintaining a distinct uncertainty about who's done what.. to whom.. and why.. making this a very compelling read.

Book My Soul

noreply@blogger.com (Shrikant) — Fri, 14 Oct 2011 18:39:00 +0000

I can write a book on books! That, I feel, tells the story of my relationship with books.

I really do not know when I was given my first book, but I remember distinctly how I started reading. As a kid, lying on the bed, next to my father who would read a newspaper, I would identify some words, mind you - not letters, because that is the way he encouraged me to read. Several years later I read about a British teacher who had invented such pedagogy for teaching children. It was already practised at my home.

As a young boy, I read books and magazines which all students read – Panchtantra, Chandoba [that was the name of the Marathi edition, Chandamama to some] to name a few. But I started reading classics, thanks to my school friends. I read War and Peace, the Marathi translation when I was in school. No book was forbidden for me but I must say that I was careful enough with Kakodkar’s novels. Chandrakant Kakodkar later wrote ‘Shyama’ which got embroiled in controversies and protracted litigation on obscenity(Click here for more on the litigation). I read those without my parents’ knowledge. I had a hearty good laugh when I discovered that my father owned a copy of ‘Lolita’ which was a banned book then.

Banned books somehow attracted me instantly [I suspect such attraction is universal!] – There is a strong attraction of anything which is forbidden! I knew Lolita was in his possession. Lolita remained out of my reach not because I was not allowed to read it – in fact, my father would not mind my reading it – but there was a strange reason why I did not read it. Oh, I could not read it! I studied in Marathi medium school and could not understand it! When I moved from school to college I was asked to stop reading Marathi and read only English books, something that made me stop reading both. It was a few years later that I resumed reading books.

I started enjoying PG Wodehouse, and later a friend introduced me to Somerset Maugham. Recently I went to a well known book shop and asked if they stocked Somerset Maugham, the sales girl mistook it to be the name of a book and asked me name of its author! Harold Robbins followed almost immediately. But I stopped while reading Ernest Hemingway. I found his style not easy to read then – but I picked up his ‘The Old Man and The Sea’. Knowing that I always found it difficult to read Hemingway, I also picked up its Marathi translation – ‘Eka Koliyane.’ It is done by a very noted author in Marathi – PL Deshpande. A renowned editor later told me that it was a piece of bad translation! [Incidentally ‘Padas’ by Ram Patwardhan is considered as an outstanding piece of translation of a book, and many consider it to be the best. I am proud of my namesake!]. Recently I read Hemingway’s very famous story – ‘The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber.’ And accidentally I read Wikipedia on that story! Amazing!!

I must have read several dozens of biographies. And I have read some with a purpose. Try reading Baburao Pendharkar’s biography and then read the autobiography of Leela Chitnis who was linked to her romantically. You get different versions of the same story! But I think there is nothing to beat two autobiographies – ‘Sangtye Aika’ by Hansa Wadkar and ‘Ek Jhad ani Don Pakshee’ by Vishram Bedekar. The latter received Sahitya Academy award. Biographies of Dev Anand and Lance Armstrong are more image building exercises than serious stuff.

Khushwant Singh remains my favourite author. Very direct and no words minced. I have enjoyed his writings and books, particularly ‘Not a Nice Man to Know.’ With his exception, I do not read any Indian author in English; I really don’t know the reason. There is just one exception – Rajmohan Gandhi. His books – biography of Mahatma, Sardar Patel and Understanding the Muslim Mind are, in my eyes, masterpieces. Rajmohan Gandhi brings out shades of their personalities, a skill which very few can match.

Among the recent Marathi authors I admire Anil Awchat. He has a style of his own – he details everything that he sees, and builds the story so craftily. His old book ‘MaNas’ is perhaps one of his best and undoubtedly a great book. One can pick up any book of Anil Awchat and read – those are very well written, informative and insightful. And in almost all cases, those are true stories.

In one of the story [a real case] he describes how a jailor raped a minor girl and got away with it because the victim’s father, a man living in abject poverty, accepted money to give false evidence and allowed the jailor off the hook. These real stories hold harsh realities in front of us and make us very uncomfortable. Anil Awchat has also inspired many to contribute to social cause.

Talking of inspiration, oh yes, how I can forget Osho – I read all his books, and often draw my inspiration and insights.

Right! That is why I read books – they give me inspiration and insights. Sometimes when I like a particular thought, I find it difficult to sit and read further, so excited I get. When you read a book, you get the benefit of reliving some of the past moments in your life! Learning to reflect on one’s life at nobody’s provocation, but in seeing oneself in somebody’s life story, holds a treasure of insights – sometimes very uncomfortable insights, which make you a better human being.

In old stories a Prince’s soul is stored somewhere far away, in the body of a bird. I believe that a part of my soul is stored in my books. Those books contain my life albeit the different names in the stories, and my memories, my trials and tribulations, my excitement, and inspiration.

The books are my soul!

Vivek

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An Article by Vivek Patwardhan who blogs at HResonance and Vivek Patwardhan's Blog

Self Publishing – The Emerging Trend

noreply@blogger.com (Shrikant) — Fri, 14 Oct 2011 18:39:00 +0000

Most of us are, at some point or the other, bubbling with unique ideas, but hardly few of us find an appropriate outlet. Most people who love writing experiment with fresh ideas and have good manuscripts ready but the reputed publishing firms rarely pay them serious attention.

Most writers thus get discouraged and drop the idea of publishing their books mid way and stop dreaming about launching a book of their own; they stop dreaming about the idea of sharing their knowledge with others too. But these days, there is a very good outlet for all the budding writers and authors who wish to write a book. It is called ‘self- publishing’. As the name suggests, it is all about the author getting his book published on his own. To some the idea seems a little weird but its not, rather many bestsellers like the ‘Celestine Prophecy’ by James Redcliff and ‘The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari’ by Robin Sharma were self published! ‘The immortals of Meluha’ was also previously self published. It’s not necessary that if a major publishing house rejects a book, the book is crap and is not worth publishing. These days creative freedom is all what the budding and educated authors ask for. Unnecessary tampering and modification with the manuscript and changing the tenor of the story just in expectation of increasing the sales is absolutely unbearable. Thus, self publishing firms are a good answer to this. Here the author is given the complete freedom and attention. No tampering is done with the manuscript and the original ideas remain the same as the author wishes to convey and the book is printed and put up for marketing.

The copyright of the book rests with the author himself. Moreover, in cases where the book is targeted towards a niche audience like books on topics like gardening of tropical flowers or essays about nuclear mechanics etc that are much narrowly targeted can be easily launched, that too at affordable prices. There are various such companies that can help authors like Humming Words Publishers.

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An article by Ankita who blogs at The Humming Words

The Asiatic Library

noreply@blogger.com (Shrikant) — Fri, 14 Oct 2011 18:39:00 +0000

The Asiatic Library, Mumbai

The Mechanical Engineer

noreply@blogger.com (Shrikant) — Fri, 14 Oct 2011 18:39:00 +0000

Lost behind his books!!!

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A Photo by Shrikant who blogs at Hedonist to the Core

Editors Note

noreply@blogger.com (Shrikant) — Wed, 14 Sep 2011 18:29:00 +0000

Volume XIV; SEPTEMBER 2011

Teacher's pet, is that you.. YES YES YES!!!

Those are words from probably the first poem most of us would have recited. And felt very happy about having said it. Cuz our teachers would have given a great big smile on the completion of that one sentence. And those would have been the words through which our first - though a rather innocently ignorant -appreciation for our teachers was made evident.

This volume of N-Zine - the No Nonsense eNtertainment Magazine takes this appreciation further and brings to you a bouquet of wonderful flowers expressing various opinions about these people and this profession which have made a significant contribution to the society.

After talking about Teachers, lets talk about one of the most favourite objects of all teachers... Books. The next issue of N-Zine will be like a visit to the library with the theme Books

And ff you would like to be a part of this magazine, have helpful suggestions for us or just for your valued feedback, email us at nzinemag@gmail.com.

The Zineouses

Editorial team

Teacher's Day

noreply@blogger.com (Shrikant) — Wed, 14 Sep 2011 18:25:00 +0000

गुरुर्ब्रह्मा गुरुर्विष्णू गुरुर्देवो महेश्वरः
गुरु: साक्षात परब्रह्म तस्मै श्रीगुरवे नमः

Teachers' day in India is celebrated on 5th September, the birthday of Dr. Sarvapalli Radhakrishnan - A philosopher, a scholar and mostly a Teacher. A teacher - A Guru has always been respected in Indian tradition since time immemorial. And this day is used as a medium to show our respect, appreciation and love to those beloved Gurus, who with their knowledge, wisdom, and authority have guided us in all aspects of life.

But this appreciation of the contribution of teachers to the society is not just limited to India. People over the world celebrate Teachers' day when educators or certain important milestones in education are celebrated. Also since 1994, with the support of UNESCO, World Teachers' Day is celebrated on October 5th. Its major aim is to mobilise support for teachers and to ensure that the needs of future generations will continue to be met by teachers.

Speaking of appreciation of teachers, here are some thoughts that some of our contributors and readers have shared:

"There have been several teachers in my life. To begin with, my parents have been the greatest teachers, they were my earliest teachers who initiated me to the world of learning. Among my academic teachers, I am indebted to my English teachers in high school who not only taught me the language in which I am writing this comment but also ignited my interest in writing. Other than that there are many who have been teaching me a lot about this world and its ways, right from 3-4 yr olds to septugenerians, right from fruit sellers to my mentors in my profession. Teacher's Day is the day when I take the opportunity to Thank all those 'Teachers' for the lessons which made me who I am today. "

Teachers are the real foundation builders of our society. Just think, "Without education, what we are? Only bio-robots!" It is the teachers, who enlighten us as well as our society by proper education and remove the darkness of ignorance.

Teacher’s are like candles, who give a light to students so that they can have a shining and bright future.

Teacher, without you many would not be what they are today! Thank you.

To conclude, quoting Francis Bacon,

Studies serve for

Delight in privateness and retiring
Ornament in discourse
Ability in judgement and disposition

Crafty men contempt studies, simple men admire them while wise men use them.

And Teachers help us in getting that wisdom

Thanks to Ankita, Dhiman and Ranjini for those wonderful quotes

The Zineouses

Speaking of Teachers

noreply@blogger.com (Shrikant) — Wed, 14 Sep 2011 18:21:00 +0000

The story of teachers in my life is like a ‘Masala’ Bollywood film. It was ‘hate at first sight’ that gradually transformed to deep respect and affection. Today I would acknowledge without any exaggeration that the teachers have made me whatever I am today. But the journey has been like a roller coaster ride.

Speaking of teachers, my early memories of my teachers are not very pleasant. My mother taught me at home and I was directly admitted to the 3rd standard. The teacher agreed in his discussion that I could even be admitted to 4th standard directly, but advised my parents against it. I was listening and thought it was a great injustice. I clearly thought that I knew everything in this world [my wife says that such a feeling is deep rooted in my personality and it is obvious to all!], and my fights with my teachers started immediately on my joining the school! Within a few months I told my teacher [I was in the 3rd standard then] that he was an ignoramus and knew nothing!!

The teacher was patient in every sense of the word. He did not say anything to me but reported it to my father, a doctor, of whom he was a patient. The consequence of his action, a ‘tuning up’ at the hands of my father who belonged to the generation which never tolerated a word of disrespect to teachers, further alienated me from teachers’ community. Our family soon moved to Mumbai and I had a new school to attend.

The new Marathi school was a not a good experience at all, as far as teachers were concerned, with my getting beaten up very badly by a teacher. [I remember that I promised myself that day that I will also beat him up when I ‘grow up.’ I later found this very feeling captured by PG Wodehouse in “Laughing Gas”; in that story the child hero keeps a list of people to be thrashed when he grows up!].

And I returned the favour to the teacher when I wrote an essay on what I would like to be in future. While I wrote that I wanted to be a doctor like my father, I ended the essay by stating that ‘in any case I will never be a school teacher like Mr. X’, mentioning the teacher who had used the stick on me. That perhaps did it; my father changed my school again. The new school had teachers who tolerated me or perhaps I had learnt to be more careful with them after repeated encounters.

But an incident changed my attitude towards the teachers.

My elder brother was appearing for his matriculation examination; he was very good at studies and was expected to do very well in the examination. On the day of examination, Mr Joglekar, my brother’s teacher perhaps in his late fifties, came home to meet him. Mr. Joglekar did not say much except that he expected my brother to do well in his exams and conveyed his blessings. I had not known that teachers can be so nice.

I never felt bad about leaving the school when I passed my matriculation examination. Moving to a college was a great experience. There was a sense of freedom. And a lot of excitement. And a feeling of inadequacy! I had studied in the vernacular medium school, but the medium of instruction in college was English. I knew that I could not speak two sentences in that foreign language, and I had classmates who came from convent schools or English medium schools. They spoke fluent English.

The college had arranged tutorials for us. A Parsee lady, the tutor, used to encourage us to write English essays. She always encouraged me and said often that I write well. There was some praise now coming from a teacher when it was most needed. I have forgotten her name but not her. I must have supplied her hilarious material given our ‘proficiency’ in the language, but she never ridiculed, never laughed, and never scolded anybody. She encouraged us, appreciated when we showed progress. She unknowingly understood the golden rule ‘Catch them doing something right.’

When I took up a job, my boss was a ‘Guru’ more than a teacher. I mean he helped me reflect – he actually instilled a habit of reflection. That actually was the result and not his intention to do it. My guru often left me with questions I could not answer and that used to disturb me a lot. Some questions were very insulting; they kind of shook you up. Very often I could find the answer only upon some reflection. It was a strange way to develop a junior.

Later I realised that he too searched answers to some questions and putting questions to me was often a monologue, he was perhaps speaking to himself. But we were also with him in his journey. And in a peculiar way we were also going forward in our journey, learning something about ourselves and our little world.

On my table I kept a small photograph of Lord Dattatreya who had twenty-one gurus. One has to learn from everybody, I realised. I also realised that it required an open mind and a willingness to hold one’s belief in suspension. This is not easy, I can practice it better than I did in the past but there is a long, long way to go. It is a mystery as to how I have travelled this distance; but I suppose it is the guru who made the difference. I realised that ‘growth’ is a very slow and unobtrusive process; you do not know yourself how you are changing.

I began by mentioning how I fought with my teacher. Let me end this narration by telling you a story when a teacher hit his student. There was a Zen master who asked his disciple, ‘Have you seen the God?’ The disciple was puzzled. He stood there speechless with his head down, lost in contemplating on the question. The master was happy; he called his disciple and praised him. On the next day the master called him and asked him, ‘Have you seen the God?’ The disciple stood there with his head down and did not speak a word. The master picked up his stick and hit him hard. ‘Why are you hitting me, master?’ the disciple asked. The Zen master replied ‘You were truthful yesterday, now you are manipulating me, you know what answer works. We have to find a new answer every day to the same question!’

Yes indeed!! And that is a long journey. The difference is that now anybody can teach me –rather I am willing to learn from anybody. And that includes my grand-daughter too!

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An Article by Vivek Patwardhan who blogs at HResonance and Vivek Patwardhan's Blog

Dear Teachers of mine

noreply@blogger.com (Shrikant) — Wed, 14 Sep 2011 18:19:00 +0000

Dear teachers of of mine
Who are miles so far away
Whom I hardly see these days
But always close to my heart
How could I ever thank you?

Diamonds and dollars?
Gratitude and love?
Perhaps roses will do
Not just one rose
But a garden of roses
I shall grow for you.

They shall bloom as
Yellow with pink tinge at sunrise,
Orange with white tinge at midday
And Red at bedtime.
It is all for you from my garden of love.

THANK YOU!

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A Poem byRanjini who blogs atLife is a BoX of ChoColate...

Memoirs

noreply@blogger.com (Shrikant) — Wed, 14 Sep 2011 18:17:00 +0000

This used to be my playground
This used to be my childhood dream
This used to be the place I ran to
Whenever I was in need
Of a friend
Why did it have to end

Memoirs of my Alma Mater

The verse is taken from the song "This Used To Be My Playground" by Madonna

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Photos by Shrikant who blogs at Hedonist to the Core

Our New Dumping Ground

noreply@blogger.com (Shrikant) — Wed, 14 Sep 2011 18:15:00 +0000

Basically, this post is a written outcome of my frustration that I could not vent properly while in school and even in college. Taking pangas with teachers can create mayhem in a student’s life. I have been observing this since long and to my surprise, many of my friends too are extremely irritated. I’ll end this filmy suspense and will tell you clearly what this post is all about.

Over years of my student life, I came across a plethora of teachers, some extremely sincere, some strict, some verbally abusive, some akin to mental counselors and some totally unemployable duds who ‘had’ to enter academics to earn a living. This post is about those falling in the last category.

These days, every nook and corner and village and alley has a management institute. These have become more ubiquitous than the paan shops and local grocers. Students hailing from semi urban backgrounds or those unable to pass the entrance tests of high profile institutes take admission in these ‘management shops’ and all they learn is pure theoretical knowledge. Of all the students passing out of professional colleges, best ones are picked up by the companies, a few join family businesses and rest, who are at the bottom, join such grade less institutes only to ruin the future of students.

But if you think such pests can be found in such third grade institutes, you are clearly mistaken. Even the top institutes have them, though less in numbers. I did my MBA from a very reputed B school and I can clearly remember three or four such faculty members who entered academics only because they were not getting jobs anywhere. Out of the three, two were visiting faculties from another top management institute. I was shocked at audacity of one of them; when someone asked a question, he retorted “If you have a query that is your problem” Such was this man’s reply!

Another dud claimed he was a PhD from a top college. His very incorrect basics coupled with his cranky personality and immaturity created a very obnoxious image of this man. His terrific angrezi still makes me roll on the floor with laughter.

A girl whom I know very well did her graduation and MBA from the same institute and after MBA, she joined there only, as a lecturer. She had been an average student and her presentation and public speaking skills were literally zero. She was also rejected by various companies for job. Left with no choice, she entered academics.

This is only one case from the thousands. I am not accusing the entire academic staff of the country neither I am trying to prove that only duds enter this sacred profession these days but my point is that, in general academics has become a dumping ground for the unemployable and for the unemployed as well.

By the way check out this satirical video http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SDN2ayelets
And this http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tS7rD7SDM3I

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An article by Ankita who blogs at The Humming Words

Editors' Note

noreply@blogger.com (Shrikant) — Sun, 14 Aug 2011 18:02:00 +0000

Volume XIII; AUGUST 2011

The rain fell that day...

From mournful burdened clouds gray...

The rain fell that day...

And washed all affliction, sadness and hurt away!!

This issue of N-Zine, the No Nonsense eNtertainment Magazine is showered with wonderful depictions of Rains from our wonderful contributors who have spread their frangrance very much like the fragrance of first rains.

In the next issue we shall be talking bout our very own Teacher Dear, commemorating the birthday of Dr. Sarvapalli Radhakrishnan.

If you would like to be a part of this magazine, have helpful suggestions for us or just for your valued feedback, email us at nzinemag@gmail.com.

The Zineouses

Editorial team

Astraphobia & “Almost Tandoori” Princess

noreply@blogger.com (Shrikant) — Sun, 14 Aug 2011 18:02:00 +0000

The story unfolds under a dark and dreadful sky. The moon had disappeared among electrically charged clouds and Thor (God of thunder and lightning) was lashing Chennai because Loki again hid his Tandoori Chicken.

Nature is a dark horse, a total chupi rustum. She will act all innocent and lovely but stored in her kitty are the weapons of mass destruction. One of them is a blinding beauty called Lightning - who can heat up the air to 20,000 degree Celsius – about three times the temperature of the surface of the sun.

Now our little princess, descendant of the mighty Elephant warrior clan of a far away land, is the bravest of her kind. But, every super hero has a weakness. In her case the blinding beauty acts like a Kryptonite, making her sweat and shiver – a very rare phenomenon mind you - all at the same time. And this particular condition has got a too - Astraphobia

So that pleasant evening Princess was busy relishing the delicious Grilled Chicken Sandwich at Parfait3. Jealously watching from above, Thor out of extreme frustration strictly instructed Nature to let the blinding beauty make a Masala Tandoori Princess.

As the sun fell down the horizon, the lazy scene of Babynagar switched into a fast forward mode, breeze turned into wind and the trees were on the verge of being uprooted. Yeah Lightning loves to make dramatic entry.

Blackout. {that’s how the electricity department usually responds}

And then it happened. A white streak of electric charge illuminated the whole Babynagar area for a split second.

This is not good. This is so not good!!!

Goosebumps appeared on the little princess’s delicate hands.

She paid her bill and waited, for the danger to pass. But it refused to subside and kept on growling, mesmerizing the population with her power. She’s stylish you see, this Lightning diva.

Spitting challenge and evoking her to come out of the hideout, she once again roared in deadly glory. With the apartment being just 10 min away, the brave hearted Princess made a life threatening decision – if not now then never and so, among thunder and lightning, shielded only by an old broken umbrella, with a deep breath and heart hammering against her chest, she made a dash for her life.

Chapak chapak chapak...Flash Boom …

Lightning was in a devious mood. Thunder barked down as it spotted it’s victim …

Oh hell!! Please don’t hit me today, I am just twenty something … her mind raced, scrutinizing every cell of her memory that stored any information on lightning.

“Don’t stand under a tree”

No tree no tree no tree…

she kept mumbling…

Oh shoot… what about the electric pole… avoid avoid avoid …

Was there something about umbrella too…. Does lightning strike umbrellas?

She tried hard to remember all the sections of Know How?

Yo there umbrella… don’t you dare fail me today….Flash Boom …

She was pretty sure that Lightning would make a Tandoori out of her.

As she increased her pace which would even put Shatapdi to shame, she slipped. Sandal trouble strikes again.

Ohh so this is the time you choose for your tantrums.

Chapak chapak .. slippp … flash … boommm … and it continued …

Her plan was to take a detour, but as she turned round the corner an utter darkness met her, the road was almost invisible.

Never was the choice between “path of light” and “path of dark” so difficult.

Is the nightmare ever going to end !!!

She could feel Thor guffawing at her pitiable condition, rubbing his hands in utter delight.

It was after she jumped few potholes the Princess realized she was sweating.

Salt water is a conductor of electricity !!! 3 Idiots had a whole scene with Hence Prooved written on it!!!

Does lightning strike sweating people?

A vicious smile spread on the blinding beauty Lightning’s lips

On that chilly night, as the vehicles rushed past her, in darkness, the princess - drenched in sweat and rain, under a trembling umbrella and wearing a defective sandal - was determined to reach her room. The determination stemmed from the fact that an incomplete Origami angry bird was lying in her bed.

She almost ran through the AKS Garden gate and found the area submerged in mini flood.

Cursing the civil engineer who designed the colony, she waded through accumulated water when another question struck her.

Does lightning strike accumulated rain water?

I really need to do some wiki reading.

Can’t afford to be another ignorant lightning fatality.

Bhaag bhaag princess princes bhaag bhaag princess bhaag

And as the lightning flashed again, she open the door of her room. Very much alive, drenched in sweat.

After a live entertainment, Thor too stopped lashing Chennai.

** Ironically, Princess is a Thursday born – the day dedicated to God of Thunder and Lightning**

Still alive and Kicking,

Cheers,

Princess

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An Article by Rajlakshmi who blogs at Destiny's Child

My First Raindrops

noreply@blogger.com (Shrikant) — Sun, 14 Aug 2011 18:01:00 +0000

Flash in the sky creates magical dimples,

Clouds scream in chorus, generate wistful ripples

Streaks of light splitting the tiny rain drops

Ducks wade, horses run, a person hops

Gently sway the majestic twigs and branch,
Heavens open up, the drops laugh and leaves crunch
Some run for shelter, some walk briskly,
Some dawdle under umbrellas, some enjoy spiritedly

Nearby river rises along the banks, the drops gather momentum,

The horizon shakes its legs, the rainbow creates a phantom

Sky looks clean and blue, flight of the pigeons dazzles the bay

Multihued peacocks dance with aplomb, rabbits watch silently from their clay

Shrill cries of parrots streak across, the koel sings a melody, tigers prowl,
Night descends, Fireflies glow in the distant, lions make a growl
Frogs croak, the grasshoppers jump, crickets buzz, the chameleons poses,
Shrubs sprout every-where, slimy mud caresses grass, glistens wet roses

Gushing winds galore, persistent drops abound,

Wishful sojourns soar, melodious notes hum all around

Sweet aroma ripens the air, juvenile faces glow with delight,

Paper boats sailing in small pools, beckon a pleasant sight

Kitchen smells of delicious pakoras and evergreen tea,
A newspaper in hand, a thought in mind, spread out knees
Playful banter dominate the talks, the mind relishes
A look at the monsoon, the spirit gushes, erases the blemishes

Thunderous Clouds Shout,

Tall And Verdant Fields Sway,

Frogs Croak, Shrubs Sprout,

Lightning Dazzles Sizzles The Providence Bay,

Murky Water Turns Into White And Fair,
Might Of The Monsoon Beacons My Sight
Slowly the breeze gains momentum, a storm rigs

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A Poem by Sushobhan who blogs at Read to enjoy

With My Head Up In The Clouds

noreply@blogger.com (Shrikant) — Sun, 14 Aug 2011 18:01:00 +0000

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Photos by Shrikant who blogs at Hedonist to the Core

Bordoisila

noreply@blogger.com (Shrikant) — Sun, 14 Aug 2011 18:01:00 +0000

Had tried to capture the arrival of Bordoisila March 2009 from our terrace

It was a Saturday most probably in the month of March approximately thirty five years back. My dad was newly posted to this small town of Assam. The town had a tiny market comprising of not more than five to six shops. I still remember it had a small general store, one tea shop, a vegetable stall and another meat and poultry shop. It was a ritual to visit the nearby town Tejpur which was just forty kms away every Saturday for our weekly shopping. We were returning to our house after one such very initial trip. The weather was bit cloudy but pleasant. All of a sudden the sky turned almost black. A fierce and strong wind changed the whole weather in few seconds.

There was thunder and lightning in the area and we could hear and see the flashes of thunderbolt. Soon it was accompanied by heavy downpour. It was impossible to move further. My dad parked the jeep on the side of the road by positioning it in such a way that it faced into the wind. The jeep was shaking badly and all three of us (me, my sis and brother) were pretty scared. My dad was cool though. He looked back at us and said," don't worry, it’s Bordoisila, and she is visiting her mother's house. Everything will be fine in few minutes”. Thousand questions cropped up on my mind… who is she? Why is she so angry? Why is she doing this? But at that moment i was too scared to ask any question. Soon the weather calmed down and we reached home safely. Later that night mom narrated us the legend of Bordoisila.

Bordoisila is a wild, fierce wind which announces the arrival of spring season in Assam. It occurs in the month of March -April, just before Rongali/Bohag Bihu one of the most famous festival of Assam. The wind carries dust, dry leaves, twigs and plastic wastes in case of cities/towns and anything that comes on its way. It is soon accompanied by huge mass of dark clouds and heavy rainfall. It softens the dry fields. Many times it leaves behind a trail of destruction.

The Legend Of Bordoisila:

Legend has it that just like a young, married woman would hurriedly, fly back to her mother destructing literally anything that comes her way; Bordoisila comes to Assam. The meaning of the word "Bordoisila" still draws a lot of controversy. People from upper Brahmaputra valley may define it as derived from Ahom word "Sila" means a kind of kite. "Bordoi", could be her name. Then down the valley they say "Bor-" means big, "-doi-" means water in Bodo language and "-sila" from 'Shikla' in Bodo which means girl.The Bodo word for Bordoisila is "Bardwisikhla" which breaks down to "Bar-" meaning wind, "-dwi-" means water and "-sikhla" means girl in Bodo language. It represents the mythological Goddess of Nature, and it marks the beginning of the festival month of Bwishagu (Spring season).

As a traditional belief in Assam people offer her a special comb to comb her hair and a wooden stool to sit her on. The comb is made of Bamboo and is called Kakoiphoni; it was used for combing hair in ancient times by Assamese people. The stool is called Borpira. Some keep in their courtyard a bamboo strainer which is used for clearing dirt from the grains specially rice. It is called Salooni (as the word Chalni in Hindi).Many throw rice in their courtyard (sutaal) to calm her down.

Bordoisila returns from her mother’s home after the end of the month ‘Bohaag’ (April – May) which is the first month of the Assamese calendar, and the same is repeated again. This time instead of being angry she becomes emotional and burst out into tears. Blame it on Global warming or other climatic phenomenon, its frequency and occurrences has seen some drastic changes over the years. If I am not wrong Bordoisila never showed up in its true spirit here in Guwahati this year

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An Article by Kavita who blogs at My Room