Thought Process

Goodbye and Welcome

2007-06-01T13:15:00.000+05:30

You are cordially invited, with family (only non-pesky kids allowed) and friends (again, only non-pesky kids), for the blog-pravesham ceremony of my new blog at Wordpress.

Transportation to the new blog has already been arranged - all you have to do is hang on for another 10-15 more seconds and you will be at the blog-step of my new abode.

This blog will still remain, but only as a testimony of my journey so far and for those few of you who could undergo withdrawal symptoms since you're so addicted to this blog (the only 3 persons on that addicted list as of now is me, me and me).

All further updates will be at the new place. Please update your bookmarks (humor me, will ya?) and please do come by to the new blog as often, if not more often, as you used to come here.

Thank you, and see you at my new place!

P.S: If your browser likes embarassing me and is not exactly redirecting you, please exercise your finger muscles and click on the following link, thanks! -

http://thotprocess.wordpress.com/

Cafeteria a.k.a Country

2007-05-29T14:03:00.000+05:30

There's a big LCD TV in the cafeteria at my workplace. TataSky enabled, really funky.

The problem ('coz everything I write about is a 'problem' at some level), then, is the programmes we get to watch on that TV during our time spent in the cafeteria. If I happen to be there for breakfast some days (woe to ye if you judge me on my breakfast-making habits), I'm faced with either Tom & Jerry or on unluckier days, Himesh Reshammiya. The remote control is always absconding. On second thoughts, maybe that's just me.

During lunch hours, one is blessed by some mundane Hindi news channel, as opposed to the umpteen English news channels that can be viewed. News channels are safe bets when it comes to a TV in a public place 'coz it's very generic in nature. Unlike the saas-bahu soaps or, well, Himesh Reshammiya's nasal tones. My issue with Hindi news channels? Nothing in particular, just that it's too local and reminds one of cheap tabloids where the front page is dedicated to the pathbreaking news that a certain third rate actress was found in the company of a certain fourth rate actor in some fifth rate place. This, when bomb blasts rip my city apart and the culprits are still at large. This, when Aung San Suu Kyi's detention has been extended by one more year by the military government of Myanmar. This, when diplomatic wars are being fought across countries which vaguely gives one the fear that Nostradamus might just hit the bull's eye with his predictions.

But my rant is not about Hindi news channels. My rant is with the fact that I go to that cafeteria almost every day for my lunch and not once have I actually fished out the remote control from its hiding place and changed the channel to something that can be viewed by the majority. Ok, kidding, change the channel to something that can be viewed by me.

And as I sat there today having my lunch, hearing my colleagues and myself ranting about the stupid channel, it hit me that the state of the cafeteria is, sadly, the state of our country. I know to crib and cry about being made to watch stupid channels, but I rarely go for that remote control to change it. A lot of us know to crib and cry about the state of our country, but very few actually do something to change it. I can tolerate Tom & Jerry, but not the cheap news channels. Just like I can tolerate some politician making money out of fodder, but not politicians/rich-buggers escaping the law just because they have money and power.

Tomorrow I'm going to change the channel if I don't like what I'm seeing.

If someone has a problem with that, I can always chuck the remote into the sambhar that's floating in the oil. And then the entire world will watch what I want them to watch. *evil laughter follows*

P.S: Updates on my blog could become irregular for the next few weeks. I have deadlines to meet and most times miss, books to read, movies to watch - in short, a life to live. And this time around, reality ruins my virtual life. Bear with me, dear readers. And enjoy the peace and calm in this space while it lasts. One is tempted to use cliches like 'the calm before the storm', but one refrains.

Now in Portuguese!

2007-05-23T22:47:00.000+05:30

Apparently, my blog's Archive Listing is now only available in Portuguese.

Would it help if I said I had nothing to do with it?

Back to class

2007-05-15T09:23:00.000+05:30

Once in a while in your hectic life that is worklife, you get sent back into class for 'trainings'. Long long ago, so long ago, no one knows how long ago, I used to be in college. Where you had to be present before the bell rang, where coming late was the norm for hostel-folks and we (day scholars) were considered geeky nerds (yeah, if geek and nerd by itself wasn't bad enough) just because we sat in the front bench and came on time. Don't even get me started on school.

But I digress.

Without divulging a lot of details, I'll just say that I had a one day training class on a non-technical topic recently. No, you can't make me say what it was about. I'm just saving you some laughs. Given below are some of the observations I made in my notepad. Instead of listening to the instructor, you ask? No. I wrote these during those awkward silences that happen when the instructor asks a very easy question but no one answers 'coz everyone's so sure it's a trick question because the answer is so insanely simple. Too much education does that to you, ya know.

Observations -

- You get a wicked pleasure in seeing the latecomers come late. If you had to get up an hour ahead of your usual schedule just to get there on time, it is so totally unfair to have someone coming late. I have absolutely no qualms in judging you. Very critically at that.

- The EQ questionnaires. They have become oh-so-smarty-pants these days. I'll tell you why. The same question (word for word, mind you) is repeated at least thrice in the course of a 80 question questionnaire. If you're lying (for no apparent reason 'coz the answers are known only to you and you alone), you better have a good memory and keep your lying consistent. Else they call your bluff and you end up with what is, indeed, the truth. Which ofcourse is very bitter.

- I went one up on the smarty-pants questionnaire. I went back and checked my answer for the two previous times the same question was asked and kept my answer consistent. Take that, you silly stapled piece o' questionnaire paper!

- During breaks, if you happen to be some of the few in the room who decided the cafeteria coffee was not exactly worth getting up for, the topic of discussion is almost always the traffic and/or the weather. And trust me, everyone bitches about traffic. And everyone thinks the weather's way too hot. Even if you're talking in December, you ultimately end up talking about how bad the summer was! I think they should pass a law that forbids you to discuss weather.

- When the instructor calls out for volunteers to help him/her with something, the first reaction from us is panic. Plain, unadulterated panic. No one makes eye contact with the instructor lest he/she be called. That's when you remembered something really important that you absolutely had to make a note of and reach for your pen and paper. Or you just act like you were deaf. And look at everyone around you thinking 'why the heck won't you people volunteer? I'm deaf, I didnt hear a thing she said'.

These are just things I noticed in one session. But what still amazes me is that even after being out of class for so many years, that vision of someone teaching you still makes you do things that you used to do in school/college, even though it's completely unnecessary now because now you're a grown up! You can even walk out of that training room and no one can exactly ask you why. And even if they do, you can lie through your teeth and have them believe you one hundred percent. For, people, such is the life of a grown-up. Even if we don't volunteer to do something on front of 10 other colleagues. Even if we still take notes on things we know for sure we'll never need in our life. What if the 'teacher' saw me sitting without taking notes?!! Oh dear.

Ouch my toe!

2007-05-09T09:51:00.000+05:30

The title refers to my very emotional outburst when I stubbed my little toe [1] (which I think is not exactly so little anymore) on a sharp corner and spent the next 48 hours limping around like Capt. Long John Silver, minus the crutch and the parrot. It's amazing how a little toe can cause so much pain and anguish in my otherwise painless and anguishless life. The little bugger was swollen to two times it's normal size and wouldn't let me take a step without wincing when the pain shot up till my knee.

This is not the first time I stubbed my toe. No sire, it's not. If you know me well, you'd also know my tryst with resistentialism. To tweak my long-long-ago-so-long-ago limerick,

Once there was a girl who was accident-prone -
Whatever she did, it always ended with her groan.
She stubbed her toe today,
Like she does everyday
It's a pity resistentialism won't leave her alone!

Now for the conspiracy theory: When this happened before, my allegations were pointed at the Chair and the Bed. And I was this close to actually proving that the Bed did not like me one bit. I mean, let's face it - you stub you toe once, fine. Twice, fine. Thrice, well I have doubts. But the fourth time? And the fifth? I'm not blind, people! I can see things before I actually go bump into them and my policy in life has always been to never bump into the same thing twice. So the only other explanation to this painful incident is Mr.Bed [2]. The 6X6 wooden Goliath is taking on a poor hapless David aka me. Injustice, I tell you!

Just as I was on the verge of asking my husband to throw him out (and get me a new one, all at the risk of sounding highly insane and plain mental), I stub my toe on the door frame. The interesting thing here is that Ms.Door Frame is also made of wood, from a good teak lineage and has a really slim figure with a glossy polish - which Mr.Bed totally fancies. That cheating bag o' wood hasn't given a second thought to his wife, Mrs.Mattress and their Pillow kids. How awful, isn't it? And Ms.Frame is so smitten by this 6x6-monster-with-a-fancy-bedstead that she had absolutely no qualms in going against the Door family and turning against me, me who owns the very marble and concrete on which she stays attached! Where is this world coming to, I ask you!

So, what's gonna happen now? Nothing much. Mr.Bed and Ms.Frame are going to elope, leaving me sleeping on a weeping Mrs.Mattress, who's now orphaned with two little Pillows. If this isn't heart-rending, what is?!!!

There's just no point rambling here on my blog when I have this grave a situation on my hands at home. I've declared a state of emergency, and any Door related activities can happen only with my prior approval. Mr.Bed has been considerably warned against carrying on with his nefarious doings - hopefully he understands that being dismantled is a very ugly thing to go through indeed. Ms.Frame has been let off this one time with a strict warning that anything like this again would mean 100 times of shutting the Door really hard into Ms.Frame. Mrs.Mattress keeps thanking me profusely everytime I walk into the room (with unstubbed toes, mind you), and the Pillows have been so well behaved that I decided to let them lie around on the bed for a day without being stuck to one position.

I'm still watching out for any new developments on this saga. And how will I know if something's cookin'? Well, I still have some unstubbed toes left. And I still live with the same furniture.

[1] Contrary to popular belief, the title does not refer to a famous blogger's famous blog of the same name. I'm hoping he hasn't copyrighted the words, 'coz I really don't know what I would say when I stub my little toe!

[2] Note that it's Mr.Bed and not Mrs.Bed. I do not share Ekta Kapoor's ideas on how women do all the cheating, scheming and evil things, while men are their poor victims. I'm not exactly a feminist, but I do have my prejudices, whims and fancies. Sue me.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Poll is still on, please feel free to goad me to new heights or lambast me to newer lows, as applicable. Since I'm the one who started it, who actually asked for it, apparently I don't have a right to complain. But don't take everything light, ok? As opposed to good people with good hearts, I don't take criticism in a nice way. I keep grudges and take revenge all the time. If you're mean to me, well, count your days for they are numbered!

(I'm hoping if I intimidate you enough, you'll all go ahead and vote saying you dont care what the blog looks like 'coz I write so amazingly well. Time will tell if my plan worked or backfired. Bless the two souls who actually voted for that option.)

And the following 'comments' from the not-so-blessed souls who clicked on 'Other'. As usual, sarcy comments in square braces by me -

fook gak gablonk pbffffffffff!!!! [most definitely a Calvin fan! Cmon, own up.]
I am not bothered by them, do you? [I asked you. You're asking me back?! Man!]
just wanted to put kalla vote :D [Long live you! thiruththave mudiyaadhu.]

Thanks much. I asked for it, yes.

Like I've said before, with friends like this who needs enemies!

Mayday! Mayday!

2007-05-07T11:31:00.000+05:30

Update [15th May, 2007]: The poll has been closed, thanks to the schmuck who decided to cast 32 votes saying I should remove all widgets and another 32 saying I'm crap. I appreciate your enthusiasm, Mr.S, but shut it. And you know what's the best part? I'm completely ignoring you 64 times. How's that?!

Rest of world, thank you! I'll put in the changes to the template as soon as I find some time and inclination. And I'll try not to bother you guys with polls again. Thanks!

HOUSTON! WE HAVE A PROBLEM!

I've been postponing this little decision for so long now that I've finally decided to decide.

Problem Statement: I've been having this template for Thought Process for the last few months and I've ended up adding so many fancy widgets over time (mainly 'coz, well, they caught my fancy!) that it's come to a point where I'm beginning to find the blog cluttered up with too many things. Hence this poll.

Steps to arrive at conclusion: So, my dear readers, would you be so kind as to spend a few of your precious minutes, take this poll and let me know your ideas on what you would like to see on Thought Process, please? A lot of you are anon (or so I kid myself, so humor me will ya?) for reasons best known to yourselves - this poll would be a great way to keep your anonimity and still let me know what you think! Like they say, two mangoes with one stone. (insert sheepish+guilty look at murdering another Tamil idiom).

So without any further ado, scroll down, read the question carefully and exercise your right to franchise TODAY!

Thanks for your time and have a great day!

The way they work...

2007-05-02T10:28:00.000+05:30

I'm out of ideas for my next post (yes, yes, go party. But I will come back with a vengeance, mind you). So what did I do? Recycle, ofcourse!

The following post was originally published on January 14, 2006 A.D. Although it was very warmly welcomed on the blogger's erstwhile mainstay blog (on Yahooo 360), it did not have any impact on the blogger's current mainstay blog (this blog). Hence the re-attempt (apart from other sundry reasons).

Also, please note that the content and language of this post is from early 2006 A.D. and might be out-dated as of today. By the time you finish the post you would also realize how much the blogger has grown over the past 1 year with respect to this blog and blogging, in general.

Some things I've learnt after god-knows-how-many (B/T/K)ollywood movies...

1. If the engagement ceremony of the hero's sister is shown with unusual aplomb and fanfare (with a song in which the hero has to sing his sister's praises and dance), then the marriage will not happen due to some horrible reason and/or the sister will die in very sad conditions. This is, however, not applicable to Suraj Barjatya movies - his movies are all one big ceremony after the other.

Corollary - If the hero has a sister, she will be raped by the villian and/or she will die.

2. If anybody wearing spectacles removes them, someone has just died or been diagnosed as a terminally ill cancer patient. It will usually be someone closely related to the hero.

3. It's perfectly normal for the hero and heroine to jump around and dance - even in the middle of Mount Road.

4. Even if the hero is a pauper, he will wear jeans and his jeans will be a Levi/Lee/CK..worst case Pepe. Don't even get me started on the shoes.

5. All ghosts will wear a white saree and leave their hair untied (all ghosts are female unless specifically picturised otherwise). They will generally loiter around at exactly 12 o'clock outside the heroine's house. They will also sing creepy-tuned songs - and the heroine will scream only after the song ends.

6. The villian has to give a big speech to the hero (who's help captive) about how he managed to do all that he did (the hero was dumb enough not to know) and then boast about killing him finally. This will give time for the hero to send eye-signals to the side-kick to do something equally stupid and get out.

7. Whenever the hero comes to see the heroine (jumping gates and climbing walls) just like that, he will not be caught. However, the day he comes to take the heroine with him, the heroine's dad will see him and catch him or atleast chase him to the nearest tall building/hill-top temple (depending on whether the movie is in the city or a village).

8. The hero's side-kick will be dumber than the hero, but smarter than the villian (read point 6). The villian's side-kicks will have an IQ of a teaspoon.

9. If the heroine's dad wants to send her abroad (because she loves the hero ofcourse), visa formalities will happen overnight. Flight tickets also will be booked (and confirmed actually) overnight - even to the USA! It will mostly be USA. Or Canada.

10. Heroines cannot commit suicide. They just will not die - someone is usually around to kick the door open and take them to the hospital.

Phew!

P.S: Bless the soul who put an entry in Wiki for Mount Road!

Life's like that!

2007-04-19T13:20:00.000+05:30

Update [April 25, 2007 10:36 AM]: Prose and Verse updated!

You see a piece of cashew in your cup of curd rice. You eagerly put it in your mouth, expecting to savor the creamy nutty taste and for a split second, enjoy your sorry meal.

One bite.

It's ginger.

And you can't spit your food out since you're sitting with your colleagues in the cafeteria.

Reminds you of this thing called 'life'. Rarely cashew. Mostly ginger. And a whole of people around judging you by the nanosecond.

On Pippa, Anne and Tumblelogs

2007-04-17T14:40:00.000+05:30

What's with the title? Well, just that I've officially given up on thinking up nice titles for my posts. Given. Up.

I'm smitten with Anne of Green Gables. And the last line in the book is from "Pippa's Song", by Robert Browning -

The year's at the spring,
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hill-side's dew-pearl'd;
The lark's on the wing;
The snail 's on the thorn;
God's in His heaven— All's right with the world!

Apart from certain issues like the lack of crown jewels in my jewellery box, the absence of, not just a bright red Maserati in my porch, but the porch itself; and sundry other items of a similar nature, all's right with the world, indeed!

The last bit in today's broadcast: I have finally invaded the Tumblr space. Check out: http://thoughtprocess.tumblr.com

I'm not sure you can leave comments there (small mercies), so come right back here and tell me if I can still put off that trip to my shrink.

P.S: Very apt title for the post, no?

Guess?

2007-04-16T10:52:00.000+05:30

Enough said.

Image Source

Ariadne's Thread

2007-04-13T10:38:00.000+05:30

I'm a sucker for mythological stories. Be it tales from Mahabharata and Ramayana, be it fables from the Bible or stories of valor and wit from my Grandma - I love 'em all. No surprises then, that a reference to Ariadne and Theseus in a book by Robert Ludlum sent me running to Google to google up (yes, that's a valid verb these days) the story.

And once you've found what you were looking for, what do you do? You tell the world you found it. Even if the world didn't exactly ask for it.

Google, being Google, gave me more than what I asked for. A search on 'Ariadne's Thread' brings up, not just the mythology associated with it, but also conceptual derivatives of that story that's used in today's world, more specifically as an algorithm for problem solving.

The Mythology: Verbatim from here, 'coz I don't see why I should put it in my own words when the existing ones are good enough. Also because I'm plain lazy -

In Greek mythology Theseus was the son of the Greek king Aegeus. King Minos of Crete defeated Aegeus and threatened to destroy his country. Only if Aegeus sacrificed seven young Athenian men and women every nine years to the Minotaur would his kingdom be spared.

Theseus felt it was time to put an end to the sacrifice. When the moment came for another 14 people to enter the Labyrinth in which the Minotaur lived, Theseus offered to go as one of the sacrifices. During the journey Theseus met King Minos’s daughter Ariadne, who promptly fell in love with him.

Ariadne was willing to help Theseus find his way out of the Labyrinth. In exchange Theseus promised to marry her and take her back to Athens. Ariadne gave him a ball of thread and told him to secure one end at the entrance to the Labyrinth. He could then unravel the ball as he made his way. By following the thread Theseus would be able to find the way back to the entrance.

Theseus slowly made his way through the Labyrinth, unravelling the ball as he went. He encountered the Minotaur, and after a struggle slew the beast. Together with the others he followed the thread back to the entrance and out of the Labyrinth.

Now, that is the story. But what Ariadne's Thread signifies in the real world (as opposed to the mythological world, that is) is a means to make sure you don't get lost. Be it as a mechanism for tracking your transactions (in a software-centric enterprise) or as a generic means of problem solving involving application of logic to all available paths of probable solutions. To quote from a wiki reference -

It is the particular method used that is able to follow completely through to trace steps or take point by point a series of found truths in a contingent, ordered search that reaches a desired end position. This process can take the form of a mental record, a physical marking, or even a philosophical debate; it is the process itself that assumes the name.

What I understand from the implementation details provided at the above url, this is another algorithm that's used right from sudoku solutions to applications in philosophy and ethics. Sounds interesting enough to me, which just means I might spend more time going through the maze of material available on the world wide web - maybe I'll come out of the maze using Ariadne's thread! Or maybe I'll just get lost, lose my mind and never blog again. You'll know in a day or two, 'coz from when did losing my mind stop me from blogging?!

(C/D)are to be bored?

2007-04-10T15:45:00.000+05:30

(Update @ 12-Apr-2007 4:28 PM) New verse on Prose and Verse

Never approach Google for advice. Especially for advice on how to pass time if you're really really bored. Why? Because if you do, you'll end up finding what you're looking for! That missing piece in your life, that spark, that colorful rainbow, that really amazing feeling close to euphoria when you've found your life's worth! Yes, all that and more.

Little tidbits from what God Google blessed me with on things to do when one is really bored. As always, smarty-pant-responses in italics by moi -

- Try to not think about penguins (Tried. Failed. Miserably.)

- Watch TV, repeat everything said in an Italian accent (Tried. Amazingly successful. Family refuses to talk to me now.)

- Throw a surprise party for yourself. Turn off all the lights, then turn them on and yell "Surprise!" Act shocked. (Didn't try today. Sounded way too desperate. Maybe tomorrow.)

- Go up to a salesman and ask "May I help you?" (No comments)

- Go to grocery store in a bathrobe, slippers, and a towel around your head. Rubber ducky optional. (Not my kind of thing. But I would like a rubber ducky. A yellow rubber ducky.)

- Make a list of things to do that you've already done. (Done! result? I can do a lot of useless in any given period of time.)

- Laugh uncontrollably for about 3 minutes & then suddenly stop and look suspiciously at everyone who looks at you. (Not tried yet since I'm already at a risk of being carted off to a madhouse. Not tried YET.)

- In alphabetical order, list all the words you know (I bet this will definitely keep me occupied for the next 2 decades)

- Make orange juice and complain to partner that it doesn't taste like apple. Proceed to throw the contents on partner's head acting frustrated. (No. My family doesn't love me that much anyway, so I might be pushing my luck with this one.)

- Dress up like Queen Elizabeth. Ask everyone to call you Her Royal Highness and refuse to speak unless called so. (Yep, you guessed it right. I dont talk to anyone now. Everyone around me seem doubly happy about something. I wonder what.)

- Put up the Christmas tree. Say it's for Easter. (Done. I have one job less for Christmas this year!) (Kidding, ofcourse. I might say stupid things, but I'm not stupid myself.)

- Complain to God that Jupiter has more moons than we do. (Did that. God said the more I complain the longer He'll make me live. So I asked him why only the Queen can have crown jewels, why not me. I think I'm gonna live to be 200!)

Caveat: Do not try all these together in the same place at the same time in front of the same set of people. They might not give you an internet connection at the lunatic asylum.

Disclaimer: I'm not responsible for the repurcussions of the above actions. I don't know you, you don't know me, so you have no business doing what I say. For external use only. Batteries not included. Shake well before use. For office use only. Store in a cool, dry place away from direct sunlight. This article does not reflect the thoughts or opinions of either myself, my company, my friends or my non-existent cat. Offer valid till stocks last.

My best friend

2007-04-04T13:47:00.000+05:30

This post is dedicated to my best buddy.

My best friend (inanimate-object friend!) is most definitely my prized Victorinox Swiss Army knife (picture above). I think it qualifies as the single most useful, most handy tool ever invented by man. I always carry it in my purse and there were numerous times when I have thanked myself for keeping it there!

This knife was a gift from my dad. Well, what sort of dad gives his daughter a knife, eh? See, the thing is..Dad didn't exactly give it to me. **sly smile** It was there in the cupboard and I just assumed it was for me. But it sounds good to say it's a gift from dad no? :-)

I never bothered much about it when I was going to college from home. But its presence was totally required when I moved to Hyderabad to 'stand on my own feet' (till then I was standing on my parents' feet) . Somehow, this little object gave me a lot of courage. There was this time when I had to walk a few hundred feet from the bus stop to my house and there were no street lights - obviously, I freaked out. I then pulled out my trusted knife, took out the knife thingie and kept that in my hand and walked home. If someone, god forbid, had tried to get funny then, well, he wouldn't have seen the light of day (atleast, that's what I tell myself - Muawahahaha).

And now I can't believe I used to do that.

Other uses for my dear knife included -
1. Cutting impossible Ruffles Lays chips' packets in trains (I think Pepsi foods has a grudge on its customers and expects us to spend effort and tear the packet to eat the 5 tiny chips inside)

2. Screwing the handle back onto my pressure cooker (I do this everyday! Stupid handle won't stay!)

3. Cutting birthday cakes at my workplace if the official cake-cutter-knife-keeping colleague is not available

4. Opening a bottle of wine - the first time I saw my husband do this, I was so excited. I still dont know why.

5. I used that criss-cross edgy thingie (I'm bad at naming things, I dont wanna think about naming my kid) to cut the lock on my bag (no, I wasn't 'stealing' my own stuff, the key stopped working, hence the cutting). I wasn't successful, but then, it was useful in the beginning.

6. Opened numerous bottles of Maggi Tomato Ketchup. And spend the next few minutes fishing out the cap from under the refrigerator or the table.

You should see the look on people's faces when they are searching for a pair of scissors and you say 'Hey, I got it' and just pop out your Swiss knife! There are still some tools in it that I haven't found a use for. Yet. I love it, you know. Its really cute at the same time so ruff 'n tuff with the different tools in it. This is one thing I'm never gonna let go of. My suggestion - every girl should have one. It's really handy and a must-have in any purse. Oh, did you know? The latest ones come with a compact flash drive too! Hi-tech eh?!

Whoever said a dog was man's best friend did not have a Swiss Army Knife!

Me, myself and you

2007-03-30T19:08:00.000+05:30

Scene: Me is sitting staring the the 'Compose' window, not typing a word. Other-Me is yapping non-stop somewhere in the vicinity of the brain. Other-Me's voice sounds strangely familiar. The sarcasm is definitely familiar.

Other Me: So, write something fantabulously awesome that'll shake the entire blogosphere and bring them all to your blog-step!

Me: Oh yeah? Like what?

Other Me: I don't know! But something really really cool.

Me: Ice?

Other Me: Funny?

Me: (dejected) No. But it's irritating when you have to convey something really huge and you don't find the words!

Other Me: No words at all, eh?

Me: Nope. Nothing. Zero. Zilch. Nada. No. Shoonya. Poojyam. Sunna..

Other Me: Ok ok, don't go all polyglot-ic on me. How about google-ing for an image. It is equal to a thousand words you know.

Me: You think I didn't do that already, you knucklehead? Why don't you just shut the heck up for a while and let me think?

Other-Me: Oh, but I can't shut up. You know I can't. You can't shut up! How can I? Maybe you should just let me do the writing. Like you always do. *smirk*

Me: WHAT??!! HOW DARE YOU insinuate that I pass off your work as mine? How dare you, you..you cheater, pumpkin-eater?

Other-Me: Fine, fine. It's all your work. Now get to the work at hand. Write something good. But sweetheart, pumpkin-eater? Seriously? That's all you could come up with?

Me: *through gritted teeth* I will not swear or name-call on this blog, so shut it.

Other-Me: Oh right. Forgot. Did you wash the blog with turmeric and apply kumkum on it today? How about actually using that coconut you bought 2 weeks back? Can I get some camphor?

Me: Leave me alone!!!!!!!!!!!

Other-Me: Can't.

Me: Can too.

Other-Me: Can too not.

Me: You mean 'cannot'?

Other-Me: Whatever. *long series of beeps that can't be typed on a public domain*

Me: Ok!! No point resisting you. Give me one good idea and I swear I'll treat you like an equal.

Other-Me: God promise? You will?

Me: I will. *fingers crossed behind back - loophole for the promise*

Other-Me: You do realize I can know that you intend to cheat, right?

Me: *giving up* Fine fine fine! Tell me.

Other-Me: Considering the dire straits you're in, and considering the fact that your mental health is my mental health and considering the fact that I do owe you one from long time ago and considering...

Me: You know, I would like to publish a post on this blog at least before 2080 so...

Other-Me: *Dont-push-your-luck-too-far-or-I'll-have-to-kill-you look* considering the very obvious fact that your writing skills are fast drying up, I will give you one piece of advice.

Me: Which is?

Other-Me: Just say it.

Me: Er, what?

Other-Me: No big hungama, no party-ish shouting, no fancy pictures from Google, nothing. Just say it. Those few words. Say it.

Me: *bewildered*

Other-Me: What? You got a better idea, chum?

Me: No. This is it.

Other-Me: Then go! Now! Before they all leave. Go!!

So, Me is writing the following in the 'Compose' window and hitting 'Publish' -

This is my 200th post. I'm happy for me! (going 'YAY!!'). Thank you, my silent and not-so-silent readers, who put up with everything that I post here and who actually come back (God bless you!) and say nice things about what I write. It's easy to say that I write only for myself yada yada yada, but the honest truth is, after a point, it gets really lonely writing just for yourself (and the occasional spammer advertising engine oil). It could be no big deal for you leaving a comment, but if you're also a blogger you'll know it's a huge deal to see a comment on something you felt about and penned. And if I'm still here, still writing, still yappin', it's because of you. Yes you, right there, reading this line. :-) Thank you. You've been great, and I do hope I can keep you interested in Thought Process, at least for a little while longer. And I'll sincerely try not to get this mushy again. But maybe for my 300th post, no? :-)

Other-Me: See? That wasn't so bad after all, was it?

Me: *relieved* So now I have to treat you like an equal?

Other-Me: *strutting about proudly inside head* You bet, lady!

Me: In your dreams, you nut! *wicked grin*

Other-Me: Hey!! That's not...

Other-Me's voice fades out. Enter Bryan Adams with 'Summer of 69'.

P.S: 200! Two hundred! 2 followed by 2 whole zeroes. Yippie! Woohoo!!! I did it! I lasted this long! *goes away imagining Oscar statuette in hand, acceptance speech in mind*

Bram Stoker's Dracula

2007-03-29T10:13:00.000+05:30

Jonathan Harker is a real estate agent who has to travel to the mountains of Transylvania to meet Count Dracula to discuss affairs of the latter's latest acquisition, a rundown castle in England. Harker braves the journey, even though he has his own doubts when the innkeeper (where he stays for a bit) gives him a crucifix and asks him to keep it for his mother's sake. What follows is a bizarre adventure that starts with his imprisonment by the Count and ends with his escaping the dreaded castle where the dead rise from their graves. He keeps a count of the incidents that occur in the castle, and even when he is finally in the arms of his love, Mina Harker, he is visited by nightmares of the stay with Count Dracula.

Lucy Westenra is a demure English girl, who's biggest problem at the moment is being proposed to by three very eligible gentlemen. Dr.Seward is a psychiatrist, Quincey Morris is American and is fun to be with, but above these two, is Arthur Holmwood whom she truly loves. But weird things start happening to Lucy when she starts sleep-walking and is, one night, found in a graveyard with a man in a black hooded overcoat. She also has a mysterious wound on her neck which worries her doctor, Lord Van Helsing who has arrived to treat her at the behest of Dr.Seward.

When Lucy dies due to excessive blood loss, her family and friends are none the wiser about the meaning behind it. But Van Helsing has his own doubts, which are proved when he finds Lucy's coffin empty in the crematorium. What's even more bewildering is Lucy back in the same coffin during daytime, looking as beautiful as ever, without the slightest signs of being a one week old cadaver.

How did Lucy die? And why does she seem to be regaining her youth after death? And what are those 50 wooden boxes that the Count despatched to England from his castle? What does Mina have to do with all this, other than being Jonathan Harker's wife? How many more will fall prey to the Count, and become the Un-Dead?

Bram Stoker answers all these and more with his amazing horror story of a book, 'Dracula'. The book is a set of letters (between the various characters) and diary entries of the Harkers & Dr.Seward and traces the series of events that lead to the revelation of the true identity of Count Dracula and Mina Harker.

The language is pompous, characteristic of prim and proper English men and women, with exaggerated proclamations of friendship and faithfulness. But then, the novel was written in 1897 - enough reason why every sentence written reeks of chivalry! Some of those are so cliched-ly chivalrous, that if it weren't for the fact that the book is about vampires, it would seem outright funny. It's set in the England of yore, where women were treated as delicate darlings in the truest sense of the phrase.

The way the author has painted the characters, leaves nothing to doubt. Making the movie must have been a relatively painless affair, thanks to the vivid details presented in the book. What I loved about the narration was the way the author kept the interest going, even though the concept of vampires and Dracula, in general, are very well known these days. The puncture wounds on the victims, the garlic used to keep the vampire away, escaping wolves and a zoophagus mentally-ill patient - we know what it's all about, but still we can't wait for the actual words to appear in the book! Now, that's what I call a page-turner.

What remains now is the on screen adaptation of the book. Something tells me I shouldn't watch it alone. And maybe I should sleep with a couple of garlic cloves under my pillow!

An excerpt (from the back cover of the book) -

There he lay looking as if youth had been half renewed, for the white hair and moustache were changed to dark iron-grey; the cheeks were fuller, and the white skin seemed ruby red underneath; the mouth was redder than ever, for on the lips were gouts of fresh blood, which trickled from the corners of the mouth and ran over the chin and neck. Even the deep, burning eyes seemed set amongst swollen flesh, for the lids and pouches underneath were bloated. It seemed as if the whole awful creature were simply gorged with blood; he lay like a filthy leach, exhausted with his repletion.

If this cannot get you interested, I don't know what will!

You can read the book online on Dracula's page - apparently, the work is now in public domain in the US and other countries where copyrights expire for works published before 1923. (Whatever that's supposed to mean!)

If you feel the book is just too much trouble, well, you'll just have to catch the movie. The latest I heard of is the one with Gary Oldman as Dracula and Winona Ryder as Mina Harker (directed by none less than Francis Ford Coppola). But for a true bibliophile, nothing beats the touch and feel of a book. Absolutely nothing. So while you get a tub of popcorn and sit in front of the television, I will snuggle into my bean bag with a cup of hot chocolate and my favorite tome.

Image Source

P.S: The book is a gift from my husband - a souvenir from a church in Whitby, which was Dracula's home in England.

A dog's life

2007-03-26T12:41:00.000+05:30

No, not talking about my own. Well, at least, not in so many words. The daily commute from home to workplace and back takes it's toll on one's body and mind. The most affected, ofcourse, is the mind. Why? Because the mind is constantly on overdrive trying to make sense out of the chaotic surroundings (otherwise known as deathly traffic, arising mainly due to neanderthals under the garb of sophistication, behind steering wheels), and bring a semblance of sanity to the entire journey. It's not easy, I tell you. As if your self-consciousness was not enough, you also have to keep abreast of the latest styles of handbags, footwear, salwars, jeans and tops that the rest of the office is wearing. When best to do that other than on your commute!

After attire-checking-out-ing (I've given up on my vocabulary, bear with moi please), the other hugely popular time pass for someone on a commute is a game of Who's-Got-The-Most-Yucky-Lanyard. It's simple enough and enormously time-passy. And this can be played in and around any office space that has at least one other human being other than yourself wearing their corporate ID cards on a lanyard. And as a person who has successfully completed a zillion commutes, I've seen the best and worst of them all. So much so, I could write a thesis on it. Pity I 'm not doing anything even close to a post graduation (or just even education!) which would expect a thesis from me.

Well then, getting to the point, there are a million different types of lanyards. Ok, so not a million. But at least 20,000 types exist. From the completely harmless single string hapless looking one to the 5cms wide yellow colored I'm-a-clown-look-at-my-lanyard one - they're all there! And some poor soul is wearing one right now (and we convey our heartfelt sympathies to him/her) at the risk of looking like a, well, a cross between a clown and a pet. A lovable pet who goes around with a yellow leash around its neck.

It's not so much the size of the lanyard that matters. It all comes down to the color, IMHO. Honestly, the I-look-like-a-clown lanyard wouldn't be so gross if it had been, say, white! Where it could just blend into your shirt. Or you could be wearing a black shirt and completely throw my argument out of gear. Ah well. Happens. One wonders why some corporates insist on blinding colors like lemon yellow, Ferrari red, Fanta orange or candy-floss pink! Whatever happened to human rights?! If I were ever made to wear one of those monstrosities, I swear I'll quit! (Understandably, that's a blatant exaggeration. I won't quit. I'll come right back to this very blog and post my rant and expect you all to leave me sympathetic comments. Just so you know.)

But what sometimes gets my gall is people wearing these things for their mobile phones. I mean, when you have a choice between looking smart and looking like a dumb fool, what would you choose? Honestly! It's a pain on the eyes, people! It's a veritable pain on the eyes to see pink, red and yellow colored ribbons hanging around your necks and if this is your idea of cool, then you're probably living in the wrong century.

The whole thing reminds me of what my aunt says everytime she sees my ID card - 'Doesn't it make you feel like a dog?'. Yes Auntie, it sure does. And that's why it's safely hidden inside my purse. (I still have the lanyard mind you, otherwise the poor ID card would drown in the deluge of crap that is my purse.) You wouldn't catch me dead (or alive) wearing it around my neck. I'm not stupid, ya know. At least not as much as you think.

Image Source

The Bartimaeus Trilogy

2007-03-22T11:38:00.000+05:30

I'm no good with reviews. But once in a while you come across this amazing book or movie and it's just very very hard to not talk about it. Very hard, indeed, to not tell people to read it or watch it. Jonathan Stroud's Bartimaeus Trilogy may not be in the same league as J.K.Rowling's Harry Potter series, but if you're a fan of fanfic - rest assured - you will love these books. The imagination is vivid, the plot is non-complicated and above all this, the hero - Bartimaeus - is absolutely AWESOME! I'm no good with superlatives either, so 'awesome' will just have to do.

Remember the genie from Alladin's lamp? Remember 'I dream of Genie'? Yep, it's the same kind of genie, only very cheeky and spelt 'djinni'. Bartimaeus is around 5000 years old. In his own words -

"I am Bartimaeus! I am Sakhr al-Jinni, N'gorso the Mighty, and the Serpent of Silver Plumes! I have rebuilt the walls of Uruk, Karnak, and Prague. I have spoken with Solomon. I have run with the buffalo fathers of the plains. I have watched over Old Zimbabwe till the stones fell and the jackals fed on its people. I am Bartimaeus! I recognize no master. So I charge you in your turn, boy. Who are you to summon me?"

From 'The Amulet of Samarkand'

To add to the fun, he also talks in footnotes! The author's style of narration is the first of its kind that I have come across. The narration is partly through the eyes of Bartimaeus himself, and partly as a non-participant of the story. And since Bartimaeus is such an all-knowing, all-seeing, cheeky-and-witty-as-hell djinn, he tells us a lot more about magic and demons using footnotes. And trust me on this - these books are some of the few books where I actually laughed when I was reading them. Example? Here you go -

Situation: Bartimaeus is currently transformed into a fly, doing some eavesdropping. He buzzes too close to the guy and, whup! he's hammered by a rolled up paper and is left lying on the floor in a daze. He manages to crawl out of the pub into the open street. And what follows is -

Out in the street I kept the pub door in view, while inspecting my tender essence. It's a sorry state of affairs when a djinni who _________[5] is laid low by a rolled-up piece of paper, but that was the sad fact of the matter. All this changing and being batted about was not doing me any good. Mandrake...It was all Mandrake's doing. He'd pay for this, first chance I got[6].

[5] Insert achievement of your choice from the following selection: (a) fought the utukku single-handed at the battle of Qadesh (b) carved the great walls of Uruk from the living ground (c) destroyed three consecutive masters by use of the Hermetic Quibble (d) spoke with Solomon (e) other.

[6] Not that I could not do anything to him in my current state. At least, not alone. Certain djinn, Faquarl among them, had long espoused collective rebellion against the magicians. I'd always dismissed this as so much hogwash, impossible to achieve, but if Faquarl had come up to me with some boneheaded scheme right then, I'd have joined him with much high-fiving and inane whoops of joy.

From 'Ptolemy's Gate'

Now who wouldn't like an adorable djinni like Bartimaeus!

The books in the trilogy trace the series of events that happen between Bartimaeus, the magician Nathaniel (aka John Mandrake) and a commoner, Kitty Jones. Nathaniel (which is the magician's birth name, supposed to be guarded very dearly but which inadvertantly is learnt by Bartimaeus - thereby forming a different relationship between the magician and the demon) summons Bartimaeus for the first time to steal the Amulet of Samarkand from the wicked power-hungry magician, Simon Lovelace. What follows is a game of cat and mouse, with each wanting possesion of the amulet which has the power to absorb any magical attack and protect the wearer. How the plans of Lovelace are thwarted by Bartimaeus and Nathaniel forms the rest of the plot in 'Amulet of Samarkand'.

In 'The Golem's Eye', Nathaniel is older and is now a government official looking into the activities of a bunch of revolutionary commoners, headed by Kitty Jpnes. Their aim is to overthrow the tyrannical rule of the magicians and form their own ruling mechanism. Bartimaeus and Nathaniel come together again to find and capture Kitty Jones, but before that to get rid of a crazy Golem. I won't divulge what it is, so go ahead and read the book.

'Ptolemy's Gate' is the second most interesting of the trilogy, the first being 'The Amulet'. It starts slowly, but gathers pace soon enough and before you know it, you're having the most amazing rollercoaster ride of a book! We get to know more about Bartimaeus' past and his relationship with the boy magician Ptolemy in this book. Kitty Jones plays a bigger role in the events and Nathaniel undergoes a life-changing realization when he sees what he has become in the past years.

I wish I could just write the whole story here, for it's all so exciting and well, awesome. But I refrain. I'd probably murder it in cold blood (which I have succesfully done to a lot of my own so called stories), and that's the last thing I want to do to Bartimaeus.

There's magic, there's humor, there's action and some tragedy too. No surprises that the Amulet is to be made into a movie. Remember how they killed the essence of Harry Potter with those movies and their half-baked plots? Apparently, Bartimaeus is not an exception.

And before I leave you in peace, one last witty bit from Ptolemy's Gate - had me laughing in the waiting lounge of an airport, to curious onlookers who probably thought I'd lost it for good!

Thing was, I knew this mercenary. Both times we'd met we'd had a difference of views, and we'd done our best to resolve it in a civilized fashion. But whether I squished him under a statue, blew him up with a Detonation or (as in our last encounter) simply set him on fire and hurled him down a mountainside, he never seemed to suffer the slightest injury. For his part, he'd come annoyingly close to killing me with various silver weapons. And now, just when I was at my weakest, here he was again. It gave me pause. I wasn't scared of him, ofcourse; dear me, no. Let's call it judiciously nervous.
As always he was wearing a pair of ancient leather boots, scratched and worn, which positively stank of magic[1]. Presumably, it was these that had triggered my Pulse.

[1]: In contrast to most of my masters (Mandrake's) shoes, which just positively stank.

Oh, this is just my kind of literature! And as always, don't let my review bring down your interests in reading the book - forget the review, remember the book! It's just that I'm amazingly good with words when I have absolutely nothing to say. And always at a horrible loss for words when there's something very interesting/good/important/useful/creative/intellectual to be said. Yes, I'm weird in that way. And yes, I was born like this.

TOW The Embryos

2007-03-21T13:46:00.000+05:30

Script for 'TOW The Embryos' (Season 4)

My favorite part:

Ross: Every week, the TV Guide comes to Chandler and Joey’s apartment. What name appears on the address label?

Rachel: Chandler gets it! It’s Chandler Bing!

Monica: No!!

Ross: I’m afraid the TV Guide comes to Chinandolor Bong.

Monica: I knew that! Rachel! Use you’re head!

Chandler: Actually, it’s Miss Chinandolor Bong.

A Rajasthani affair

2007-03-16T08:55:00.000+05:30

We stood before the entrance with an uncertainty that arises when you're not quite sure you did the right thing by coming there, when it's vastly different from what you had baselessly imagined. It took 2 whole minutes for that to change, with the re-assurance of a choice well made. We were greeted by trumpets and drums, and by an elderly gentleman who would have made a good village headman in a Hindi movie, holding a plate with the traditional welcome items like rose-water, kumkum, flowers and rice. If you're also a tourist and are really in the mood for some Indian Maharajah treatment, you will also be honored with a pagdi (a type of headgear) and a chain of pearls!

Welcome to Dhola ri Dhani, the Rajasthani theme resort (for want of a better word) located on the outskirts of Hyderabad. Although the term 'outskirts' is hugely debatable, the drive from our workplace to Dhola ri Dhani (hereinafter referred to as DRD owing to the author possessing a high level of laziness in her blood) through non-existent roads and villages sure made it seem like the middle of nowhere. Thanks to an over-zealous taxi driver who was pretty sure he knew what he was doing even when the car had to go over mounds of mud and sand - we could have been in the middle of a river being dug up and we wouldn't have known!

The ambience in DRD is typical Rajasthani - or so they say. I wouldn't know 'coz I haven't been to the Northwestern Indian state. All I can think of about Rajasthan is desert, a lot of camels, Udaipur-Liz Hurley-Arun Nayar-wedding and Rudali[1]. And BITS, Pilani. And hey, more recently, Eklavya! For a person like that, this is quite an experience. You're welcomed by Rajasthani folk music blaring from unseen speakers which, although quite endearing in the beginning, starts to get to you after a while and you just wish you could strangle the voice singing it and end the misery once and for all.

We ('we' here refers to a team of 15 people who's only intention in coming to DRD was to have absolute, unadulterated fun. And ofcourse, food. Oh wait, maybe that's just me!) took a walk around the place, waiting for the rest of the team to turn up. And what we saw left us saying, 'Hmm..that's nice'. There was a temple (which we conveniently did not visit), a bit of open lawns with those cots that one would find at a dhaba, lots of mosquitoes and the omnipresent folk song on the speakers. If you're a kid in body and soul or a kid in soul inside that rough-looking exterior, you could sit on the swing (which was pretty sturdy, I must say) or play see-saw with an equal weighing companion. You could also play a local version of bowling involving 3 golf-ball sized balls and a stack of steel tumblers. You get to pick artsy trinkets if you can unstack all the tumblers. Or you could totally miss all the tumblers, even if you're standing 5 feet from it. What's important is you had fun. Fun, ladies and gentlemen, is the essence of living. (I'm shortly coming out with my own Book of Profound Lines, stay tuned!).

I swear the camel smiled!

One of the things we realized about the place is that it can keep you occupied for an entire evening. There is a camel ride, if you like sitting on a moving stinky mountain and feel like royalty, even if its only for 10-15 minutes. And even if the rest of my team does not agree, I really think the camel smiled. Or maybe that's just the way a camel looks (more probable, isn't it? Ho hum.).

Mehendi! My hand!

We girls got some mehendi on our hands from the resident mehendi artist. If you're a guy, there's nothing you can do but feel left out (or you can go right ahead and get some yourself - whatever makes you happy, chum!). There were puppet shows and folk dance recitals (which we successfully stage-crashed at their invitation) that were really nice, these guys have some talent and it's a pity they don't have a larger audience. And if you're a hindi movie buff, worry not! there is an in-house production of Sholay in nothing less than Hyderabadi Hindi! Get ready to hear Gabbar say 'Jab tak tumhare pairaan nachte, iski saasen chalta'. I walked out of the amphitheatre (?!!) thanking my stars that they staged only the climax scene. Thank God for small mercies.

Puppet show

The highlight of our trip to DRD were two things that I haven't mentioned till now. Best for last, you see.

One, the food. Oh. My. God. Three different types of roti (bajra, missi, regular chapati), 4 curries to go with, dal baatis, dahi vadas, the yummiest jalebis, misri, papad and the I-totally-loved-it kichdi made of bajra and rice with ghee and sugar! This is my kind of paradise! 'Drool drool slurp slurp' would be a gross understatement. You'd feel full if you just taste the umpteen number of things on your plate. So much so, I didn't even notice my right leg going numb due to lack of blood circulation for we were sitting down and eating, a la Rajasthani isstyle. Finish the whole thing off with buttermilk, which I should say had a tad too much of coriander leaves and don't know why, tasted a bit like Hajmola! I guess I need some getting-used-to for the North Indian platter.

The second highlight was the magic show. It was mind boggling! This guy was right in front of us doing the most amazing of tricks, and we were mute spectators to the whole show! Well, almost mute - we did have to shout meaningless jargon, abracadabra and poo-poo (not to be confused with baby language please) and assorted actions that included coughing, sneezing and a certain action involving a ball and a bag between one's legs. I refrain from elaborating further on that and you're forbidden to ask me. What mattered, as always, was we had fun! And the last trick of the day? How about rubbing fists with your neighbor and choosing your favorite flower, only to come back with the smell of the exact same flower on your fist! I'm almost on the verge of believing that there is such a thing called magic and, wait for this, Harry Potter could be real! Now that, dear people, is what I call the essence of living!

On that note, also by popular demand from colleagues, presenting...the smoking camel! Apparently, the aforementioned camel can smoke beedis very expertly!

As Jim 'The Mask' Carrey would say - It's ssssmokin'

Photos by Vivek (Thanks!)

[1] Rudali - That beautiful movie which tells the poignant tale of a woman who could never shed a tear but who finally ends up a Rudali - women who are paid to cry at funerals. That movie where we saw a never-before never-after Dimple Kapadia playing Sannicheri. The same movie where Bhupen Hazarika's songs cast a spell on us, bringing the despair of the sandy desert into our hearts.

Newton and I

2007-03-12T10:52:00.000+05:30

Newton's First Law of Motion:
An object at rest will remain at rest unless acted upon by an external and unbalanced force. An object in motion will remain in motion unless acted upon by an external and unbalanced force.

My Corollary:
A weekend of rest will remain a weekend of rest unless acted upon by an external and unbalanced weekday. A weekend of fun will remain fun unless acted upon by an external and unbalanced Monday.

Right, all I need now is the Nobel prize for contributions to Science.

March 8

2007-03-07T10:29:00.000+05:30

It's that time of the year again. More specifically, OUR time of the year again!

Check out the things being planned by the Blank Noise Project in Bangalore -

This year on International women's day, March 8, Blank Noise supported by Radio Indigo invites you to WALK THE NIGHT!

We are meeting at rest house road, ( off brigade road) park at 6 30 pm. The walk begins at 7 pm. We conclude at 9 pm. All we need is you and your enthusiasm!

Please email us immediately at blurtblanknoise [at] gmail [dot] com. (Note: Please drop me a line in the comment space if you'd like to have the phone number. I'm a bit wary of putting up such information in a public blog.)

Bring along your friends, family, neighbours anyone, any age group! Fun. Thrill. Action. Guaranteed!

And if you're not a Bangalorean, then you can do this -

share. talk. inspire. understand. tell. speak. hear. be heard. narrate. voice. throw open.

Last march 8 (Women'sDay), we had a blog-a-thon that asked you to blog stories of street sexual harassment. It began with an announcement on this blog that was picked up by bloggers across India, and soon in different parts of the world. We shared stories we had never shared before, sometimes stories we thought we had long forgotten, stories that we had often wanted to bury. We read each other, we linked to each other and we linked back to the Blank Noise Project blog. We were touched by each other's stories, moved by them, and, we like to imagine, drew strength and sustenance from the the long, cross-cultural chain of shared experiences.

It's this strength that we're asking you to share experiences of, on March 8th, 2007. The baton is handed over right here, right now! Announce this on your blog and on the morning of March 8th, 2007, share with us a story (or two, or five or...) of fighting back?!

When did you flip a situation so you could resist, when did you give back as hard as you got? When and how did you choose to confront? When did you become an Action Hero?

Action heroes have formed the theme of the last few Blank Noise interventions and it's this spirit we ask you to share and celebrate on March 8 , 2007!

So announce the blog-a-thon, and on March 8, share your action story!

If you are a male blogger and wondering how you fit in, tell us about an Action Hero you know!

You could also be an agent- the one that collects stories of confrontation/ of heroism from your mother, grandmother, cousins, domestic workers, people in your office, the vegetable vendor, the woman bus conductor...anyone!

To participate:
1. announce the event.
2. blog your story
3. email us about it and we will link you right away!

If you are not a blogger, no problem, email us your stories and we will publish them on a new blogsite- www.blanknoiseactionheroes.blogspot.com

Please email us at blurtblanknoise [at] gmail [dot] com subject titled Action Heroes Online.

And if all this is still too much trouble or you couldn't care less, there's an even more simpler thing you can do - Hold hands with the woman you cherish most in your life and tell her how much she means to you. Could be your mother, could be your wife or girlfriend or just a friend. Could be your sister or a favorite cousin. Tell her you appreciate all that she has done for you and tell her you're always there for her, till the very end. If you can't say it to her, then write to her. Email her. Send her an SMS. Get her a Woman's Day card and don't forget to sign it. Send her flowers. Or chocolates. Anything.

Now if you still feel all these are just not your ways, well, then just spend the day with her, spend the day the way she wants to. She'll understand all those unsaid things.

P.S: Please please please don't over-do it. :-)

The act of forgiving

2007-03-05T11:24:00.000+05:30

Rasiya is a young Muslim woman in a little place in Kozhikode. She lives with her infant child and her father, near the backwaters of Kerala where it rains for 6 months in a year. Her husband, Akbar, works in Saudi Arabia and like most families from the neighborhood, had struggled to go there and is now struggling to save some money and come home soon. But Rasiya's world crashes down on her when she hears that Akbar has been imprisoned in Saudi on charges of killing another person. The sentence for the crime was death by beheading.

Ganga is a young woman from a staunchly orthodox Palakkad Iyer family. She lives with her in-laws in an Agraharam with her baby daughter. All is well with Ganga, until she receives news that her husband has been murdered in Saudi Arabia.

But all is not lost for Rasiya, for then she comes to know about the only way she can free her husband - if the wife of the murdered man signs a letter of pardon. If Ganga signs a letter of pardon.

This forms the setting in Kamal's Malayalam movie, 'Perumazhakkalam' (roughly translated as 'Rainy Season') which sees Meera Jasmine play Rasiya and Kavya Madhavan, Ganga. The narration is poignant, and the ever-present rain in almost every scene of the movie brings out the pain all the more - for isn't a rainy day a gloomy reminder of how even the weather is not cheerful? The rest of the movie depicts the struggle of one woman desperate to save her husband's life and another who has already lost her husband and holds in her hand the life of the man who killed him.

This movie got me thinking on this amazing human emotion called forgiveness. It is amazing because it is hard to comprehend from where can a person find it in him or her to forgive someone for their wrongdoing. It can be as simple as a case of misunderstanding between two close friends or as grave as the situation brought about by the story above. What makes the story less complicated, perhaps, is the fact that Raghu dies as a result of an accident, when Akbar was beating up another guy who owed him money. In a scenario like that, we, the viewers, feel that Ganga should sign the pardon and free Akbar because it was not intentional! But Ganga's words to Rasiya conveys a different pain - 'You can stand in front of me and cry for your husband's life. And I might even give it. But if I stand in front of your husband and cry for my husband's life, will he be able to give it to me?' The question leaves Rasiya speechless. But her determination in reaching Ganga, more specifically the woman in her who knows what it is to become a widow, does not falter.

I read somewhere that forgiveness is giving up my right to hate you for hurting me. Sounds fair enough. When I'm hurt, when I'm being betrayed, the least I can do is be angry with the perpetrator. The least I can do is refuse to forgive him or her and let the person bear the weight of their mistakes for the rest of their lives. The least I can do is let myself bear the weight of that hatred and anger for the rest of my life. But the best I can do is to forgive. And get it over with. For didn't the Lord ask us to pray thus? 'Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us'. We ask God to forgive us like we forgive others. When God forgives us if we truly repent, why can't we, humans, do the same? Simple answer - because we are not God! Not even close. Which probably reiterates the notion that to forgive is divine. Because it takes a lot to let go of our anger/hatred and tell the person that we forgive them for their trespasses.

Getting back to the story, the other aspect that the director has portrayed beautifully is the mindset of Ganga's in-laws. Hearing the news of the death sentence, the father-in-law asks his son to arrange for special prayers at the local temple as a mark of thanksgiving. It actually translates to a state of rejoicing at one man's impending death. The way the family behaves with Rasiya when she comes to their doorstep asking for Ganga is very realistic, given that she is the wife of the man who killed their sole breadwinner.

Does Ganga sign the letter of pardon, after all? Will her in-laws let her, even if she wants to? Can Rasiya get her husband freed before it's too late? Well, that forms the rest of the movie!

After watching this movie, I realized that there are a lot of other emotions entwined in an act of forgiveness. There will be doubts in one's mind whether it is the right thing to forgive and forget. There could be a feeling of unease that once you forgive you give up the last right you had to feel hatred towards the person who hurt you. But then, there will also be a sense of peace to know that you have forgiven and are moving on, a sense of closure to all the pain and anger.

And finally, if it involves another person's life, like Ganga is faced with, to forgive is, indeed, divine.

Picture: Kavya Madhavan and Meera Jasmine in 'Perumazhakkalam'

Update: I'm told that Nagesh Kukkonoor ('Hyderabad Blues' fame) has used this very same story in his recent Hindi movie, 'Dor'. Reviews on the www tell me the movie is worth watching, so maybe I will.

I (broken_heart) Coffee

2007-03-02T11:51:00.000+05:30

I've written about this before, but it's just so horribly frustrating that I'm going to do it again.

The other time it was tea. Now, it's coffee. There was a time in days of yore that I loved coffee. The smell, the color, the taste! But all that changed with the advent of the omnipresent coffee dispenser in my normal working life.

Picture this: You have a splitting headache, and you have work to do. What's the first thing you try? Coffee, ofcourse. And what if that coffee is such an abomination that you start to hate the very beverage? Or maybe I should thank my stars that I'm not a coffee addict because of this! Unlike my parents and friends, I don't need coffee to keep me going. But once in a while, one does miss the golden brown brew.

The problem is not with the coffee per se. It all boils down to the milk (no pun intended). Milk and not milk powder. I don't know much about the dispenser settings to control just how much milk powder, sugar and coffee flows into one cup, all I know is whatever is there in the cup finally looks a lot like dishwater. If it weren't for the fact that I do not know what dishwater tastes like, I would've loved to say the coffee tastes like dishwater. (And this is to prevent any smart-ass comment on me knowing what dishwater tastes like. Tell the truth, you did think of that, didn't you? Ha, gotcha!)

To make matters worse, it's not just the regular coffee. The options on the dispenser are very very misleading, mind you. Let's take it one by one - first, there's Cappuccino. Any resemblance to any coffee, good or bad, is purely co-incidental. And I did the greatest mistake of having cappuccino from an authentic little cafe in Rome, after which cappuccino from even Cafe Coffee Day or Qwiky's or Barista is nothing short of..well, dishwater! So that just made the whole thing even worse. Second comes Mocha. Again, pretty much a big fat brown lie.

The same goes for Hot Chocolate - it looks all nice and chocolatey, but the moment you taste it, well, it transports you approximately 15 years into the past when your Mom had to run behind you with a huge steel tumbler filled with yucky-tasting Complan. And if you're trying to calculate my age based on this piece of information, give it up - ain't gonna work, 'coz I'm totally lying about the 15 years.

The lesser of the evils in the dispenser seems to be 'Nescafe'. Don't let the name fool you into thinking it's the authentic Nescafe that your parents so hate (because they are staunch filter coffee addicts and drinking instant coffee is a sin by itself) and you so love (because you can't stand the after taste of filter coffee and the color is so much better for instant coffee). Lesser evil, but evil nonetheless.

So the only other option left is good ol' hot water. I once tried using them Bru sachets (instantly instant coffee, mix in hot water, add sugar and voila! dishwater ready!), but that didn't work either. Which brings me back to my original rant - there's nothing like fresh coffee. And there's nothing called fresh coffee in some workplaces.

If you're one of the lucky few who can smell the coffee brewing, sitting right at your desks, count your blessings 'coz there are a lot of us who do not have that luxury. But 'us' are also glad that 'us' are no longer coffee addicts, thanks to the omnipresent coffee dispenser.

Now, if only my Mom were here to make me a cuppa! Alas, wishful thinking!

Image Source: That cup of cappuccino scored a full 10 on the droolworthiness scale. So, drool on!

Helluo librorum

2007-02-27T07:40:00.000+05:30

I'm officially out of space in my little bookshelf. I don't find place for my precious Calvin and Hobbes' books (their size is not quite the standard size) and I don't like keeping books the way it's kept above. I like them all neatly arranged, indexed and then ordered by what I read often (read multiple times that is) and what I would like to read later. But no. No space! And I'm still in two minds whether I've to invest in a huge book shelf like the ones we see in the studies of famous writers and artists. I'm not sure my family can take that shock. It's just too early!

So till then, I'll just have to do with my little bookshelf. The new books will now start invading the space in the showcase. And when that's full, there's always the coffee table in the living room. God willing, if that's also full, I'm thinking about the dining table. C'mon, one needs place for books in one's house, right? We'll just have to be happy that I don't intend to move my masala dabbas out of the kitchen cabinets and use that for books. Now that would be a truly shocking shock for the family. Tell you a secret? I actually would love to see the look on my Mom's face if that happens! Evil me.

And the book currently out of the shelf and in my hand -

P.S: Yes, you guessed it right. I finally learnt how to download photos from the camera into my laptop. Talk about slow learners, eh? Better late than never, you see.

We the living

2007-02-22T17:18:00.000+05:30

" Kira Arguonova entered Petrograd on the threshold of a box car. She stood straight, motionless, with the graceful indifference of a traveler on a luxurious ocean liner, with an old blue suit of faded cloth, with slender sunburned legs and no stockings. She had an old piece of plaid silk around her neck and short tousled hair, and a stockingcap with a bright yellow tassel. She had a calm mouth and slightly widened eyes witha defiant, enraptured, solemnly and fearfully expectant look of a warrior who is entering a strange city and is not quite sure whether he is entering it as a conqueror or a captive." -- Ayn Rand, 'We the living'.

So starts the introduction of Ayn Rand's first hero, Kira Alexandrovna Arguonova. All of 16 years old when she enters her city, to the ruins of her bourgeois life. The State has nationalized her father's business and their property. The city that she knew has changed, but she is the only one in her family who sees the hope and possibilities that lie amid the ruins and the Red posters proclaiming 'Proletarians of the world, unite!'. She is also the only one who's dream is to become an engineer and build bridges of aluminium.

'We the living', Rand's first novel, talks about the struggle of Man against the State (to quote the book). The State here represents any authoritarian rule, any dictatorship in any country. Like all her later books, 'We the living' talks about life and the essence of being alive. This novel can be seen as a precursor to 'Fountainhead' and 'Atlas Shrugged', her theory that man must live for himself alone. Kira, who strongly believes in it, finds it difficult to live life by the terms dictated by the Communist State which demanded, not independence, but self sacrifice. The other characters in the book, each convey a tenet towards this theory and it finally comes together during the climax when the two most important men in Kira's life, Leo and Andrei, stand a face-off (or face a stand-off?) - where both the men are wrong, and both are right.

The beauty of Rand's novels is the image of the hero. Be it Kira or Howard Roark or John Galt. The character is just so awe-inspiring, that it continues to haunt you even days after you've read the book. 'We the living' is the first and only book I've ever read in my life so far that made me cry. The pain, the emotions and the conflicts in Kira's life are conveyed so beautifully, in a typical Rand-ian way that one completely identifies with it. It is like watching a movie or even as if it is happening in front of you to see. The words hit you that hard, and leaves an imprint for a long time to come.

'We the living' is different from Atlas and Fountainhead in the way that this is not a happy novel. All the trademarks of Rand are there, yet the human element is more pronounced in 'We the living'. The heroes in this novel are more human than her later heroes. As Peikoff says in his foreword to the centennial edition of the book, 'Kira, though not intended as a self-portrait, is Ayn Rand intellectually and morally; she has all of Ayn Rand's ideas and values.' This is probably as close as we can get to the person behind the genius of Ayn Rand.

One would have read a lot of books on life in Soviet Russia during the times of the Revolution, but this book is a true showcase to the bitter and painful reality of life, especially for people like Kira and Leo who believe in living life on their own terms, for themselves. The poverty, the hunger, the rations and the Communist propaganda - the ugly truth about the Utopian dream that the Marxist leaders promised to the masses. Misplaced ideals and a directionless move towards what they think is a fair and just society, combined with this heady feeling one gets with brute power in their hands brings Russia (or USSR to be more precise) to its knees, or rather the people are brought down to their knees. The long lines in front of cooperative stores to get their daily rations of bread, oil and sugar, the stringent rules for non-proletarians or the erstwhile bourgeois and the all pervading Reds paint a grim picture of how rotten life was for everyone under the hammer and the sickle. And the only reason it is so vivid is because the author wrote it from her own life, the life that she lived and breathed when she was a citizen of Russia.

Every book of Ayn Rand that I have read has touched me, my life in ways even I cannot fathom. It brings this feeling of incompleteness that I may have lived this many years without a purpose, without an ideal that could be life-changing if only one had the will to stick to it in the face of adversity. It takes a lot to follow your mind and your heart, and be willing to die standing up for your values and beliefs. On second thoughts, living by one's convictions is far more difficult that having to die for it. It takes a hero to do that. Not just any hero, an Ayn Rand hero.

Like Howard Roark. Like Francisco D'Anconia, Hank Rearden and Dagny Taggart. Like John Galt. Like Kira Arguonova.

Photo: Taken by me, a day before I finished the book.