Wizard's Spellbook, Mom's Cookbook

Lost Melody

2011-01-18T13:34:00.001+05:30

When this happened, I do not know...
I woke up one day, and you were a part of me,
A soft gossamer scarf over my soul,
An ever present whisper pervading my senses,
A mellifluous song stuck in my mind.

When this happened, I do not know...
I stepped out one day, and felt a pang,
That I was leaving something important behind;
My feet missed a step, my heart skipped a beat;
As I plodded unsurely away from the door.

When this happened, I do not know...
When I'm away from you, I ache for some music,
Though there is no tune that can slake this thirst,
For it is you that I miss, like a lost melody,
I will always be at your side, my first and last melody.

Prashanth Sriram

Cross-posted on my poetry blog.

Confessions of an Imperfect Man

2010-09-01T10:39:00.003+05:30

I'm not perfect, I know.
I don't always speak true.
But I'm happy enough when you say,
"Your word will do; I trust you."

I'm not perfect, I know.
I bring tears as well as smiles.
But I'm happy enough when you shake my hand,
"We can put it behind us; I know you meant well."

I'm not perfect, I know.
I don't know how to be nice to you.
But I'm happy enough when you admit,
"I'm glad you said it to my face, and not behind my back."

I'm not perfect, I know.
I make mistakes all the time.
But I'm happy enough when you believe,
That tomorrow I'll be a better man.

I'm not perfect, I know.
But all things said and done,
I'm really, really happy when you say,
"I'm proud to call you FRIEND."

Cross-posted on my poetry blog.

There came a day...

2009-11-16T00:15:00.001+05:30

There came a day, when I knew
That I was in love…
When I opened the curtains,
And all the colours seemed brighter.
“Has it always been this way?” I gasped.
A butterfly alighted upon my palm.
“Always,” it said, “Always.”

There came a day, when I knew
That I was in love…
My fingers flicked the roses upon my table,
And I breathed in their heady scent.
“Have flowers always smelled so sweet?” I wondered.
I opened the note that came with the flowers,
“Always,” it said, “Always.”

There came a day, when I knew
That I was in love…
I found myself gliding, not walking,
Which is passing strange, as I had always wanted to fly.
“Is this what flying feels like?” I thought aloud.
A sparrow replied from yonder tree,
“Always,” it said, “Always.”

There came a day, when I knew
That I was in love…
A tear rolled down my cheek, and I was annoyed.
“Why are you here?” I asked, “I am not sad.”
“Your eyes are filled with the sweetest face,
And there is no room for me in there.
Now. Tomorrow. Always.”

Cross-posted on my poetry blog

The (Anti)Patriotic Speech

2009-10-27T19:07:00.002+05:30

The following is the content of one of the speeches I gave at the Toastmasters Club in my company.

I am not a Patriot. I’m not even much of an Indian.

I can’t speak good Hindi. I can’t even speak my own mother tongue, Telugu, fluently. English is the language I’m most comfortable with, and I’m infamous for telling people that I only reply in English because I “think” in English. I watch English movies and serials, listen to English music, eat international cuisine. I’ve probably been to more cities in the US than I have in India.

I am not a Patriot.

As soon as I finished my bachelor’s degree in Chennai, I flew to the US for my Master’s, thus becoming a willing contributor to the “brain drain”. It doesn’t matter, of course, that I came back to India in less than three years. After all, nobody asks or cares what your intentions in going abroad were. You don’t need to know if I always intended to come back with skills I knew I wouldn’t be able to gain here. You don’t need to know that I like living in India much more I like living in the US. All that matters is that I left of my own volition. That’s all you need to make a claim that I’m being unpatriotic.

I am not a Patriot.

I don’t care much for “Indian” traditions and customs. For example, I don’t respect all my elders. You see, I have the temerity to believe that respect should be earned.

I am not a Patriot.

I don’t follow any of the Hindu traditions I was raised to. I don’t see what our religious practices have to do with the idea of God; I have a secular outlook. It doesn’t matter that I pray for the well-being of my friends and family; that I go to temples often, and I like their atmosphere of peace and calm. After all, I just admitted that I don’t believe in the Gods of my religion. (Sharp intake of breath) What a huge sin I have committed! How can I call myself a dutiful Indian after that!

It’s interesting then, that on the day of my graduation, I went to a temple in my college campus to give my thanks to God, and found it pretty much deserted. The very same temple, by the way, had been full on the weekend before the exams.

I am not a Patriot.

In fact, I might even qualify as a traitor. You see, one of my good friends is a Pakistani. I met her at a bridge tournament in Beijing, and we’ve been excellent friends since then. The right Indian mentality should be “Bomb every single Pakistani off the face of the Earth,” am I correct? But I would be positively horrified at that. I think that if citizens were to be held accountable for the actions of their governments, almost every human being on the planet would be hanged, including us.

Going by conventional yardsticks, it doesn’t matter that I insisted that a portion of my first salary from both my research assistantship and my job at Sabre go to a charitable cause. It doesn’t matter that I have played bridge for our country at the international level, and I still consider representing our country as one of my most meaningful ambitions in life. How can these things possibly count against all the anti-Indian things that I do?

Come to think of it, even the people I admire in my life are not patriotic. My mother can never remember who is our current President or Prime Minister. She doesn’t know our country’s stance on world issues, or our defense capabilities. What she knows is how to be a shining role model and inspiration for thousands of women, being one of the top woman entrepreneurs in South India. What she knows is how to do social service, and how to empower and uplift women. That’s probably very un-Indian of her, too: going against our time-honoured tradition of discriminating against women.

I have a friend here in Bangalore, who did her bachelors and her masters in the US. She came back, and rather than take up any of several high-paying jobs, she chose to work for an NGO in the daytime. In the evenings, she works for a non-profit organization on teaching English to underprivileged kids. But she’s very unpatriotic, you know, probably because of all that time spent abroad: she often participates in protests against government policies… policies like cutting down trees - how awful is that?!

My friends, the point I am driving at, is simple. There are many things in this world that should not be defined by others. They should be defined by you. I beg you. I implore you. Please do not go by any yardstick other than your own. Even if a million people believe something, that does not make it automatically true. Live by conscience, live by morals, live by principles; but let it be your conscience and your moral code. Do what you believe is right and don’t go by what society says. That is the key, to living with self-respect, and without regret.

I am a Patriot. I just happen to define it the way my heart tells me.

Thank you.

Honey, I forgot to charge the...

2009-09-11T23:52:00.002+05:30

... the laptop?
... the mobile phone?
... no, the car!

I was on my way home from work one evening and was witness to a very curious sight. A petite little Reva electric car was stuck between two speed breakers, a man trying quite unsuccessfully to push the car over the one in the front. The speed breakers were so precisely spaced that he couldn't get any sort of momentum going in either direction, so until he rustled up another man or two for help, the car was most definitely stuck.

I've studied electric vehicles in the bygone era when I was in mechanical engineering, so I know for a fact that the car would have enough torque to get out of its spot... unless it ran out of battery power.

I can almost picture the guy going home late and his wife asking him what took him so long. "Honey, I forgot the charge the car," would be a stand out candidate for "Excuse of the Year" ;)

Cheers,
Prashanth.

The Case of the Coly Flower

2009-08-31T22:20:00.002+05:30

I was waiting patiently at the billing counter of the grocery store. The guy behind the counter was a bit slow and I was getting a trifle vexed. When I saw him struggling with the billing software by entering "COLLY" and looking for a match when the item he was billing was a Cauliflower, I felt obligated to add a helpful "Try C.A.U.LI.."

The man shook his head and thought furiously. Finally he changed it to "COLY" and sure enough, he got a match, "COLY FLOWER".

There's got to be a "Moral of the Story" in here somewhere :). Aren't we all forced to do dumb things at our workplace because there's no other option to make things work?

Cheers,
Prashanth.

Diamonds are too glittery

2009-08-05T23:59:00.002+05:30

I keep getting distracted every now and then by something shiny and flashy on my finger. Every now and then I glance at it, and I'm like, "Oh! Right. The ring." I guess I'm still not quite used to it.

I'm talking about the engagement ring. Oh, did I skip something?

Right. I got engaged last weekend. Had a huge and glitzy function organized by the in-laws. I thought I looked all decent and grown up, and even got some bright smiles out. My fiance doesn't realize it, but she has to thank my Karachi friends for giving me lessons in Smiling 101.

These days I say "we" a lot more often than "I" or "you". Well, what can I say, I asked for a change in my life, and I got it :). Now I'll see about making the most of it.

We will make the most of it.

Cheers,
Prashanth.

P.S. Will put up engagement pics on facebook soon, just give me a few days.

26

2009-07-20T06:45:00.003+05:30

Well...

I've got to admit. This year was much better than 25 and 24 :)

And what an awesome start to the day. The first thing I see is a gift-wrapped parcel from someone special. Then I reach my brother's house and my two-year old nephew wishes me a happy birthday in that super-cute voice that only tiny tots have.

Now it's time to get ready for office and the daily rigmarole. But the day is already different from every other birthday I've had till now... lets see how it ends, shall we?

Edit: Ended with chocolate cake on my face and gifts and cards in my hands. Twas awesome :)

Cheers,
Prashanth.

Phir Dekhiye from Rock On

2009-07-14T17:09:00.009+05:30

Really appeals to the poet in me... spent half an hour trying to get the translation right :)
Thanks to Goda for helping with the translation!

The Lyrics:

Aankhon Mein Jis Ke Koi To Khwab Hai
Khush Tha Wahin Jo Thoda Betaab Hai
Zindagi Mein Koi Arzoo Kijiye
Phir Dekhiye..

Hoton Pe Jis Ke Koi To Geet Hai
Woh Haare Bhi To Us Ki Hi Jeet Hai
Dil Mein Jo Geet Hai Gun Guna Lijiye
Phir Dekhiye..

Yaadon Mein Jis Ke Kisi Ka Naam Hai
Sapno Ke Jaise Us Ki Har Sham Hai
Koi To Aaj Se Apna Dil Dijiye
Phir Dekhiye..

Khwab Bhun Yeh Zara Geet Sun Yeh Zara
Phool Chun Yeh Zara
Phir Dekhiye..

The Translation:

When your eyes hold a dream,
You will be happy, even if restless;
So aspire to something in your life,
And see what happens...

When have a song on your lips,
You will find, there is no such thing as defeat;
So keep that song humming in your heart,
And see what happens...

When someone is always in your thoughts,
You will be living your dream every single day;
So give your heart to that someone,
And see what happens...

So why don't you
Dream some dreams...
Play some songs...
Admire some flowers...
And see what happens...

Bing sucks

2009-06-02T00:24:00.001+05:30

Microsoft's at it again. Do any search from Bing and you won't find a single hit from a Google product, especially blogger.com. Go ahead, try it. Search for something that would turn up in the first page under a .blogspot.com link from Google. You'll never find it via Bing.

I call for a Bing boycott. Or another anti-trust case. Whatever. Microsoft Works is an oxymoron.

The Proposal

2009-05-10T12:46:00.002+05:30

(After more than two and a half years, I wrote a poem. Hopefully, there will be more this year.)

A billion stars winked at her teasingly
From the clear night sky.
A million thoughts careened inside her head
In every possible direction.
A thousand smiles they had exchanged
Over the years.
A hundred reasons she could think of
To say no.
A dozen roses held tantalizingly
In front of her.
Two people waiting on the moor
In that most poignant of moments.
One person to spend
The rest of her life with?

To find, perhaps,
Countless joys, depthless trust,
Boundless love, endless happiness,
And priceless memories?

She took a deep breath,
And said, "Yes".

Prashanth Sriram.

Cross-posted on my poetry blog.

Journey to a smile

2009-04-11T23:21:00.002+05:30

"Smile!"

"You too, Prashanth!"

"But I am smiling."

"You've gotta be kidding me!"

This was the scene at Beijing when I was taking some farewell pics... see, I'd made some friends at the World Mind Sports and it was highly probable that I would never meet them again (probability is still the same). The thing is, I'm notoriously bad at posing for photos. Above mentioned friend commented on above mentioned photograph on facebook, "You don't know how to smile. Period."

It's not that I don't know how to smile. I just don't know how to smile on demand. I laugh and smile very well. But, you see, that's only when I am actually laughing or smiling at something. If I'm told to smile for a photograph it inevitably comes out like a half-smile... or a half-smirk as somebody once put it. Anyway, I count those ten minutes of smile lessons at beijing as an investment that paid off later.

Later being this week. My bachelor days being numbered, I was ordered to get some photos taken at the studio for distribution to the owners of matching horrorscopes. And that brought me back to my old arch-nemesis: a camera lens pointed at me. The cameraman actually had to plead with me to smile. "An open-mouthed smile! An open-mouthed smile!" he begged, when all I could muster after five minutes of entreaty was a widening of my lips.

I was reminded of that scene in Harry Potter when he has to get summon a Patronus by thinking happy thoughts. Well, here I was faced with my own Boggart and fresh out of inspiration to smile. So I filled my thoughts with how ridiculous I thought this exercise was... you know... the whole arranged marriage process... and broke out in laughter. The cameraman didn't lose the serendipitous moment and clicked away, leaving a photograph that my brother proudly described as my best one ever.

It's been a long journey to find my smile. And even though I found it for the strangest of reasons and in the strangest of ways, I'm still glad I found it. I hope it sticks.

Cheers,
Prashanth.

Say it out aloud

2009-03-29T18:32:00.003+05:30

Have you wondered how a particular person - say your mother, or your friend - can always tell when you're lying? The human brain is a brilliant and natural lie detector; only caveat is that you need to know the person who is speaking, be familiar with his voice and intonation.

It occurred to me that this might be useful to figure out when you're lying to yourself. That's right. Yourself. The next time you have a doubt as to whether you did the right thing, or are doing the right thing - whether you may have deluded yourself that something is true, or lied to yourself because it is convenient to do so, apply this test. Say it out aloud. You'd be surprised. You can often tell from the sound of your own voice, from the conviction in it, if you've been lying to yourself all along.

I had an argument with someone a few weeks ago, and some harsh words were said. When I revisited it in my mind I couldn't quite figure out who had been in the wrong. So I said it aloud, "I was a jerk," and I knew it to be true.

Perhaps this has more applications... a relationship litmus test, anyone? Say it out aloud, "I am in love," and you'll know if it is true or not? ;)

Cheers,
Prashanth.

Short Story: Speak, friend, and enter

2009-02-06T00:13:00.005+05:30

(This is purely a work of fiction. Any reference to real life events or characters is simply to give a context for the story.)

People say the internet is getting more and more useless by the day because of the sheer volume of false and unreliable information – and people – on it. But I have always maintained that this is a statement for amateurs. For those know how to find something, the net is a treasure trove.

Take for instance, book clubs. An internet book club is a great place to find people with similar reading interests – something that rarely happens in real life, especially if you are a bit eclectic in your tastes.

It was at one of these internet book clubs that I ran into Dosti.

I had entered a Khaled Hosseini book club and walked into an impassioned speech on the Western perception of Islam. In general, these clubs are like just any other chatroom: there will be a good amount of light and irrelevant conversation going on, interspersed with a thread of genre-related discussion and a thread of interesting interpretation on something in the book. But this… this was different. It was as if you walked into a crowded room and found one commanding presence, one commanding voice, weaving a spell through the audience. I suddenly wanted to know what that voice would sound like, what that face would look like in real life.

Now, unlike most Americans, I can speak a little when it comes to Asian languages. So I knew that Dosti meant Friendship. And true to her nickname, I found her a genuinely friendly person, witty and charming in an engaging way, with an endearing tendency to launch off into eloquent speeches on social issues. I must admit, while I care about the emancipation of women oppressed in certain societies, the hardships undergone by children in poverty-stricken places, that the perpetrators of Islamic fundamentalist terrorism are victims of a sort, and so on, it takes a special sort of charisma to hold my attention on these topics. We all inure ourselves, not wanting to know, not wanting to do, anything about such things. But this woman… she broke through my shell, and even before I typed my first personal message to her, she was a friend. A friend who could make me care about things I thought long buried.

She pried that out, too, so softly that I didn’t even realize what I was saying, without realizing that I was crying. There was a time when I was a student of history, of sociology. A time when I was active in seeking knowledge about the people who live in our world, identifying with them, and thinking about how I could help.

And then 9/11 happened. Followed by a misguided “war” on terror. My father, who was a high ranking military officer, was involved daily in planning “precision” strikes and “snatch and grabs” that inevitably left innocent lives ruined in their wake. And so I distanced myself from it all. From a promising career at Washington, I turned into a consultant for software on history and such.

It was funny, the places I would find her online. Tolkien. Milton. The “I wish I had thrown the shoe at Bush” club. The “Islam preaches compassion, not hate” club. That last one had been started by her.

She was a feminist, but not the kind who wants more days for maternity leave or more executive level jobs for women. She argued for girls to go to school everywhere, for a woman to be able to walk on a road without covering their face with a burkha, for a woman to have the right to choose her husband without dying gruesomely in an “honour killing”.

One day, when I couldn’t hold my curiosity, I invited her to a voice chat. I had to know what she sounded like.

She picked up.

“Hi!”

“Now will you tell me your real name?”

It was a standing joke. Whenever I asked her for her real name, she would evade it melodramatically.

This time, I could hear her mellifluous laugh.

“My name is so lovely, it can open the gates to the mines of Moria!”

Now this one I was familiar with. It was from The Lord of the Rings, where the fellowship seek passage through the mines but are defeated by an inscription that says, “Speak, friend, and enter.” The mighty Gandalf tries a bunch of dwarvish passwords but fails. Then one of hobbits asks him for the word “friend” in elvish. “Mellon” replies Gandalf, and the gates swing open dramatically.

“You are a Melon?” I asked in mock horror.

“Sorry, Walker, wrong again! But tell you what, you tell me your real name now and I will consider telling you mine.”

Walker (followed by the inevitable string of numbers to make it unique) was my ID. It also happened to be my real name.

“My name is Luke Walker.” It really is. Don’t ask.

“Come on, be serious.”

“What can I say, my Dad hadn’t watched Star Wars before he named me!”

At this she broke into peals of laughter. I don’t know how long she laughed, but I would happily have stood at that other end listening to the laugh even if it lasted all day.

“Ohhh, Luke! That was almost worth telling you my name in exchange!”

“Not fair! You said you would tell me!”

“I said I would consider it,” she said slyly.

That was the first of several long conversations. We must have talked about everything, but somehow at the end of it I didn’t know her name or even which country she was in. There was one recurring theme, though. She would ask me what was my mission in my life.

“To raise a family, and live quietly and happily.”

I could almost visualize her making a face at that.

“And you?”

“I want to change the world,” she would declare.

“Hard to see how a kindergarten teacher can do that,” I tried to tease. But at that her tone grew serious.

“I teach the next generation of boys and girls to love and not hate, to live in harmony and compassion instead of war and revenge. If that’s not changing the world, I don’t know what is.”

It was because of statements like that, and everything else. Thanks to her, I changed. Inside. In ways I didn’t realize until it happened.

It began with her giving me her phone number. She said she was going to a small village to meet some relatives, and as she wouldn’t have access to the internet, I could call her up if I got lonely. She had already told me not to try to track her down through her IP address. This was even bigger a temptation, because with a phone number you can find out anything. I resisted it. I didn’t want to lose her trust.

As things would have it, it was she who called from it, even before I called her. And that too at an inopportune time. I was deep in a conversation with Dad, who was upset about a planned airstrike that would result in too many civilian casualties to his liking.

“Luke?”

I could hear a lot of noise in the background. They sounded disturbingly like explosions.

“Dosti?”

“I’m scared.”

“Where are you?”

“In the mayor’s office in ____” she named the same country, the same village that my Dad had just named.

My blood ran cold. My heart must have stopped beating for longer than is safe. I was seized with an overwhelming sense of foreboding.

“Luke…”

There was a very loud explosion and the line went dead.

My Dad would tell me of this day later. How shaken, panicked and desperate I was. How many strings he had to pull to transport me to that village, to get a battalion there and have a hospital of sorts set up in record time. But I don’t remember all that. I only remember walking into the hospital and enquiring about people brought in from the Mayor’s office. I remember scanning the list, wondering if I would even recognize her name if I saw it.

I saw it.

The name was “Dosti”. So she had told me her real name the whole time. I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry.

I asked someone about her. I learnt that her entire family had been wiped out, and that she had survived, but with a broken leg, two broken ribs, and a concussion.

I cried.

When I reached her bedside, she seemed to be asleep. I took her hand in mine. She spoke without opening her eyes. She knew it could only be me.

“Can you take me away, Luke? Back to your country. There is nothing left for me here.”

“I think so. They may take a few days to clear it, but since they have your ID and your papers it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Well, I wasn’t planning on going anywhere for a few days anyway,” she gestured to her leg in the cast. I smiled through the tears.

“Don’t cry,” she said softly. Obviously she didn’t know that when a girl loses everything, she is supposed to be the one crying and be comforted by the handsome prince.

The time after that, till this day, was a whirlwind. I used my Dad’s connections to resuscitate my career and earn myself a place in the foreign service. Dosti threw herself into one humanitarian cause after another. I put up a sign outside her office saying, “Speak, friend, and enter.” She put up one outside my office saying, “The Force is in every one of us.” They were the happiest days of my life.

We watched America’s first black president give his acceptance speech. I saw her mouth “change the world” while listening to it. A week later I got a letter inviting me to be a member of his foreign policy team.

“Change the world?” she asked as I read it.

“Change the world,” I confirmed. And we both smiled.

X ----- X ----- X

Striking items off the list

2009-02-03T20:00:00.002+05:30

Netless in Bangalore: the reason for my long absence from this blog. But I'm back now :)

If I had to sum up what I've been doing in the time since my last post, I would put it in this way: I've been striking items off my list. You know. That invisible list that all of us keep, of important things to do or change about your life. Get a job you like. Buy that motorbike. That kind of stuff.

It's incredible, but I've struck off every item on that list. Pretty unbelievable considering the state of affairs in my life for the past two years or so. In other words, I have a stable existence with a good job, good friends, a life outside of work, a sufficiently convenient place to live, time and even inclination for personal pursuits. Wow! Well, forget about goals, ambitions, things to accomplish in life, etc. Can't do those things, and can't take satisfaction in them if you're not happy, right?

So here I am. After a long time and after a lot of dashed hopes, at a place where I can once again start pursuing my dreams. A foundation to start building upon. Different dreams; different hopes; different goals. But you have to play the cards that life deals you. When life hands you lemons, make lemonade, they say :)

I am ready to make lemonade.

Cheers,
Prashanth.

Move in, Move out

2008-11-07T21:13:00.002+05:30

Moving to a new place is often an emotional experience. There's sadness about who and what you're leaving behind. There's some apprehension as to how things will work out: will you be able to make good friends? What will your lifestyle be like? etc. And then, there's hope. Hope that you can do better this time with the clean slate you've been offered. Hope that you won't repeat your past mistakes (and not make whole new ones either!).

It was with the enthusiasm, brashness and optimism of youth that I went to the US and returned much mellowed, much more sober, much more a realist. This includes the time I moved to a single bedroom apartment there from the 3-bedroom I shared with many guys: I set up my new place so well you wouldn't believe it was I who did it. I put up photos and even art on the walls. I equipped my kitchen with everything from toaster, blender type stuff to chappathi-making equipment. I kept the place clean, tidy and orderly. I had cable tv and high speed internet. I had some decent furniture. I bought a car (a Honda Accord, at that!). I think overall I spent a small fortune, in terms of money, time and love. And then my health problems returned to plague me, and I suddenly had to leave, dropping everything, and I mean everything. I sold the car and gave away (or threw away) everything else. It was heartbreaking.

So you will understand when I tell you how apprehensive I am about moving this time. I have just joined a job in Bangalore, and am on the apartment hunt again. When I move in completely, what will happen? Will my life be as rich and enjoyable as it was at IITM? Or will it be "move in, move out" all over again, for whatever reason?

I take a deep breath. I plunge, and I hope. I pray. I dream. I dare.

Cheers,
Prashanth.

Civilizations Varied, Wisdom Unbounded

2008-10-24T21:19:00.004+05:30

That was the logo for the 1st World Mind Sports Games held at Beijing this month. We stayed at an apartment a kilometer away from the Bird's Nest. The accommodations arranged were awesome: we had a living room, equipped kitchen, even a washing machine. I was pleasantly surprised that the food arranged was excellent, after having heard so many warnings from people who had visited China earlier.

They know about the fork

My brother's work took him to Taiwan just a couple of weeks before I left for Beijing, and he was telling us that people ate everywhere with chopsticks. Not a spoon or fork to be found! Not even those plastic ones at corner stores! My Mom was so aghast that she packed a box of plastic spoons and forks for my trip. Needless to say, our buffets were of high quality in every sense of the word and the spoons went straight to the dust bin. My friend said it reminded him of the Seinfeld quip, "They know about the fork. But they prefer the chopsticks."

That's what I call a Bus

I was quite impressed by the infrastructure in Beijing. The roads were excellent, as were all forms of public transportation. It cost 1 RMB (about 7 rupees) for going to most places in the city, often longer than a 45 minute commute. A particularly long commute cost 1.5 RMB. The quality of the buses was very good, and they were as safe as in the US. I spied kids getting into the bus after school, and they would have their RFID bus passes inside their pencil boxes, so they simply tapped the pencil box to the reader when they got in.

Efficiency

I think German efficiency may become a phrase of the past. The Chinese are amazing at getting things done with minimum cost and maximum efficiency. Functionality without sacrificing quality seemed to be the norm everywhere. No frills except where they are expected. I could see it in the furniture. I could see it in their electronics. I could see it in their work ethic. I could see it in their culture.

You don't mess with the Chinese

Security guards were there everywhere I went. I often saw soldiers training, right in the middle of Beijing. Their TV channels showed their most recent military achievement, and displayed their military might and discipline. Every guard or policeman I saw looked well capable of defending himself. No flab on sight. Pot-bellied policeman is an oxymoron, not a norm in China. When I climbed the Great Wall, I found myself huffing and puffing at the steep junctures, but even old men and women walked past me with less effort.

Sightseeing

I enjoyed my taste of Chinese culture. The Summer Palace was really amazing. We hired a guide to show us around and explain stuff, and she entertained us with all the old myths and stories of the Chinese. Little things, like talking about the corridor of the four seasons where the ceiling and sides are covered with paintings, each painting depicting one story or a scene from a story in Chinese myth. There were in fact thousands of paintings, and history says the artist spent 15 years working on them tirelessly. Or the significance of there being 17 arches in the bridge (the royal boat passed through the central, biggest arch, which was deliberately made arch number 9 as it is an auspicious number for the chinese). The Great Wall was also awe-inspiring. A very pleasant place to spend a morning walking, except it was pretty crowded at the area we visited.

No bargain, no gain

I'm a notoriously bad bargainer in India. I was downright awful in China. Whenever I bought something, I would find out that someone else had bought the same thing for less than half the price I paid for it. It doesn't help that in China you start bargaining at 5% of the price they quote and end at about 10%. If you've studied auction theory, throw it out the window. It doesn't work in China.

Oh yes, we were there for Bridge

Almost forgot. How did the Bridge go? Well, we got our asses kicked. The European teams put us to shame. But it was a learning experience, and I know that the next time I play on the international arena I will do better. One can only hope I get another chance.

At the Great Wall. (From left: Vinoth, Myself, Guthi)

At the Summer Palace

At the Bridge Table. How serious I look!

Overall it was a really fun trip, and a nice change from Chennai. It definitely lifted my spirits, quality of our play notwithstanding!

Cheers,
Prashanth.

P.S. The logo is short for: "Civilizations have different origins; but Wisdom knows no boundaries."

It's time...

2008-09-29T14:34:00.002+05:30

Yep, time for me to fly to Beijing. Already. And I didn't even get in one blog post in two months.

One of the reasons why there was no blog post is because nothing much is going on in life right now, nothing that makes me think. Other than bridge, that is; I've been bridge blogging regularly. It looks like life won't allow me to "turn the page" until I finish this tournament.

Been attending job interviews, a couple of cos look promising; I don't know whether I will end up in Bangalore or Chennai as of now. This job search is taking waaaaaay longer than I expected.

Wish me luck. For Beijing as well as the Job hunt. I will be back in India on the 19th.

Cheers
Prashanth.

I hereby solemnly swear

2008-08-02T15:05:00.001+05:30

... to stop making bridge references on this blog until I fly to Beijing.

Really? You weren't sarcastic?

2008-08-02T00:00:00.003+05:30

I think I have been around the sarcastic types for too long.

I was talking to a friend about the Dashavataram movie, and I said I liked the ending (the movie dragged in the middle). The conversation was on SMS and she replied saying something like "Yeah, especially the Pearl Harbour part".

Now a little background for those who haven't seen the movie. The scene she mentioned was one where the Japanese guy is in a fist-fight with the ex-CIA mercenary. The CIA guy tries to sledge the Japanese guy by saying "Remember Hiroshima?" and the Japanese guy replies, "Remember Pearl Harbour?". A totally corny scene, I thought. I naturally concluded that she was being sarcastic. I replied saying, "Come on, the movie wasn't that bad" and she got totally confused. Apparently she actually meant that she liked the movie and the ending - including the Pearl Harbour reference.

Yet another incident: I was playing bridge and pulled off a tricky play after much thinking. My partner commented, "Why were you thinking so much? Should have been straightforward for someone at your level," and I told him to cut out the sarcasm. That's because it was a tough problem and it took me a lot of thought to get it right. But turns out he wasn't being sarcastic either, and he actually felt I was an advanced enough player that it should have been a breeze for me.

I've been around people making sarcastic comments for so long that I've started thinking everyone is like that. Have to remember what's normal in this world :)

You reading this, Sakshi?

Cheers,
Prashanth.

25

2008-07-21T13:14:00.000+05:30

Yep. That's how old I am now.

Sigh.

Take a risk

2008-06-18T22:11:00.002+05:30

At our weekly club bridge game last week, on one board, my partner was in a situation wherein there were two possible lines of play: a safe one and a slightly risky one; the risky one having the chance to gain one trick if right or lose one trick if wrong. From the play to the previous tricks, it was a good bet that the risky line would work; I knew it and he knew it, but he still chickened out at the last moment and took the safe line, ending up with an average score instead of a good score.

Funnily enough, I made the same type of mistake in an online game this week, this time there being even less chance of the so-called risky line failing.

What is it about risk that makes normally intelligent and bold people behave like nervous cowards? We all have a tendency to view choices as 50-50 propositions: safe or risky, and end up choosing the safe one most of the time. How many of us stop to think about the odds of the risky choice working out, and decide to take it if it had, say, a 75% or an 80% chance of working out?

This is what I like about bridge. It makes you think about the way you approach your own life.

You understand that life is less about making the brilliant moves and more about not making the stupid ones.

You understand that life isn't a mathematical computation. You have to take people into consideration, and a good psychologist will probably end up doing better than a good mathematician.

You understand that life is a partnership, and partnership is about trust. You can only get so far on your own; trusting your partner is vital to success.

You understand that talent is a good thing, but hard work is better.

You understand that to get ahead, you have to take calculated risks. Confidence is important. Without self-confidence, you won't back yourself to take even a slight risk, and if you don't take risks, you'll be stuck.

My self-confidence has taken a beating from recent events, and it is no wonder that I've suddenly changed from a fearless and headstrong individual into a play-it-safe kinda guy. It is good to have gotten rid of the reckless edge to my behaviour, but getting one's self-confidence back is a slow process.

All part of the learning process...

Cheers,
Prashanth.

Your Favourite Traveling Companion

2008-06-09T15:37:00.010+05:30

The trip to Goa was a lot of fun. I, Guthi, Ashok and Vinoth constituted the bridge team and we had to think of a team name. We considered "Chennai Super Jacks", but settled for "Chennai Knaves" (for the uninitiated, the Jack is also called the Knave in card games). Although we didn't do as well as we would have liked, Ashok and Vinoth in particular having some pretty forgettable sessions, our past performances pulled their weight and Guthi and I got selected for India's U-28 team to Beijing for the World Mind Games. Vinoth got into the U-26 team (think of it as an event for all the 'B' teams... but don't tell Vinoth I said that :P) and Ashok didn't make it. Six players were selected for each team, so India's junior bridge contingent alone is going to come up to twelve players.

In case that didn't sink in,

YOOOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

I'm going to be playing for our Nation at the biggest bridge tournament in the whole wide world!!!

Unlike the Bombay tournament in Jan when I was meeting most of the junior players for the first time, this time we were more familiar with each other, having also played with and against each other online a few times. So the conversations were more relaxed and informal, a lot of joking and leg-pulling and bridge talk. All in all it was good fun and I got to know the entire junior bridge circle in India. Because the tournament turn out was lower than what the organizers had hoped for (only about 23 people turned out but this time almost all of them were decent players, minimum), we had the final day off and the Bridge Federation of India was nice enough to rent a tourist van at their cost and we went sightseeing, a bunch of about 15 bridge geeks visiting Goa's beaches with conversations sounding for the most part like "... so I bid 6 spades and dummy turned up with king jack ten small of trumps and...". It rained a lot that day so it wasn't as fun as it could have been; it would start pouring hard just as we arrived at some really scenic beach and we would be stuck in the van. Still, it was a new experience for me, and a pleasant one.

Somethings, of course, don't change. When we went to Bombay, my team mates forgot to bring something or the other and I was the supplier, be it a pen or a laptop or a water bottle or shaving foam or shampoo. I would be the first to wake up and get ready, and occasionally had to goad a guy or two into getting ready on time for the game. My parents, of course, would never believe that I am the most responsible one of the bunch; my Mom always tells Guthi to remind me to take my tablets on time but never once did I actually need reminding. Anyway, things were no different this time. As soon as we entered the train I informed them that I'd brought breakfast and lunch packed for the journey, with my Mom's expertise ensuring that the food would keep till whatever time it was meant to be eaten (her expertise also ensuring the food was delicious, duh!). Accompanying the food was several water bottles, juices, chips and other munchies. When it turned out that two of them had come without having had dinner yet, I told them not to worry as there were a couple of extra food packets for just such a situation. Finally, after we reached the venue and slept and woke up, Guthi realized that he'd forgotten to bring his towel. When I said, "Don't worry, I brought an extra towel as well," he started laughing, "What didn't you bring!!".

The towel was a source of some more amusement as he didn't want to stuff in the dirty towel with the rest of his things in the backpack and instead put it in the very visible side pouch meant for water bottles. So you can imagine what he looked like, lugging a huge hiking-style backpack with the towel sticking out from one side and a water bottle on the other side. All he needed was a book saying "DONT PANIC" in large friendly letters and I'd be expecting him to thumb down passing UFOs.

Ready to blast the opposition? From Left: Rishabh, Vinoth, Myself, Anurag

Also snapped near the St. Francis Cathedral

Nice snap considering I shot it from inside a moving vehicle, on the way to Anjuna Beach

The teams:

U-28: Aniket, Sapan, Myself, Guthi, Sandip, Pravin. 7th man: Prasenjit.

U-26: Anurag, Ayan, Dashu, Rishabh, Vinoth, Karan.

Cheers,
Prashanth.

Locking wills with a one-year-old

2008-05-16T21:17:00.002+05:30

My nephew is so cute, he's a regular heart-stealer. He's also a veritable ball of energy and can be quite a handful to manage.

Being still new to this uncle thing, my duties during my visit was limited to watching him for 15-30 minute patches at a time to give some respite to the people doing the real looking-after. And believe me, they needed that time to catch their breath as this little kid needs to be watched every second. I received lessons in parenting that I'd rather not have had till I'm, say, 28 years old, but hey, it was worth it.

I wonder if somebody has written a book titled "How to keep a baby amused" or something like that, because boy, I suck at it. I'm afraid my brain is too limited to think up funny noises/faces/games for a baby in sufficient variety. A typical event would be, I toss him a ball and he deftly tosses it back. Feeling hope that I might engage him for a few minutes with it, I toss it back but this time he comes to me and reaches out with the ball in his hand. But if I try to take it from him, he grips it tighter and grins. Then he jumps around a bit and throws the ball to various corners of the room and chases after it himself. Much more fun than playing with Uncle Prashanth. Hrumph.

I always wondered why parents are so stubborn. Well, now I know. See, taking care of a baby is all about out-stubborning him. Especially when it comes to eating or drinking. Oftentimes you'll have to spend half an hour just to get a few spoonfuls into his mouth. In some cases, though, no amount of stubbornness helps. If you hold the baby when he wants to be let down, he'll squirm and wriggle and twist and kick until you put him back on the floor. And babies are deceptively strong, you better watch where those little feet are kicking!!

I wonder how babies develop a sixth sense for going after the most expensive and breakable objects. I guess they're really good at reading our faces in reaction to stuff they do, and have a precise idea of what they oughtn't do, and then go ahead and do exactly that. When my nephew starts making his way toward me with that wide grin on his face and a mischievous glint in his eye, I know I have 5 seconds to figure out what he's after, and you can be sure it's not the comfort of my arms. The odds are he's after my glasses, or my cell phone, or the TV remote. In fact, if you give him a toy cell phone and a real cell phone, he'll easily choose the real one. Give him a cheaper model and a more expensive model and he'll definitely pick up (and drop :P) the costlier one.

It's nice, though, that I now feel comfortable around the baby, can carry him around, talk to him a bit, etc. as I'm notorious for being clueless around little kids. I still haven't got the hang of the tricks of the trade, though - for example, I spent three minutes unsuccessfully trying to wipe his nose. Then my s-i-l's brother came, pointed toward the ceiling and said "look at the fan!". The baby looked up, and displaying remarkable reaction time, he wiped the kids nose before he knew it. Darn it! Wish I'd thought of that!

As fun as it was, I'm happy enough to leave the parenting to the parents and get back to Chennai. Parenting is hard! Whew!

Cheers,
Prashanth.

Nice to see you again, doc

2008-05-02T17:28:00.002+05:30

I mean "doc" in the sense of Doctor, not in the bugs buggy "What's up doc?" style...

So, seriously, have you ever said those words to your doctor? Would you ever?

Come on. However much you may like your doctor, however nice a guy he is, you wouldn't want to see him again. Not as a patient, at any rate. Bumping into him at a wedding or something like that would be alright.

I guess by now you would have figured out why I have been absent from this blog for couple of weeks. Anyway, it has become a ritual now, going to see my doctor, giving him a nice broad smile and telling him my current weight. Like updating him on a cricket score. Don't be surprised if the next time you ask me for the cricket score, I tell you my weight instead.

Regular blogging will commence shortly. And, it looks like regular life will also commence shortly. I expect to get a clean bill of health within a month, and then I can do the whole get-a-job-get-a-life-etc thing.

On other matters, our good friends Vc and Myths are getting married. I will be traveling all the way to bangalore and attending, but it is going to be extremely weird as I've never met either of them before, even though I know them quite well in the virtual world. Just think, I would not know nobody at the wedding except for these two, and I haven't actually met the two of them before, and they would be too busy to talk to me anyway. Jeez. Why am I going? What to do. I promised I would attend. For fraandship's sake.

Congrats, Vee and Myths. May you live happily ever after. Vee, don't worry about Myths' cooking, I will give you some of my Mom's cookbooks. Pssst Myths do the feminist thing, give Vee the books and tell him to start reading.

Cheerio
Prashanth.