A bus journey gone awry!

(An imaginary account)

'Buffalo, pig, hippopotamus or a rhinoceros?' wondered Sekar. He was contemplating about the huge hairy figure sitting next to him wrapped in a silk saree. As was his habit, he often associated people with animals. He thought of his class teacher as a duck, his aunt as a fox and his schoolmate Swathi (on whom he had an abundant crush) as a peacock. But this old lady sitting next to him was huge, rude, smelly and disgusting. She was also putting vetti scene and frequently throwing off his ipod earplugs by shifting her extra large arse. So... a buffalo, pig, hippo or a rhino? Whatever she was, she had managed to become Sekar's arch-enemy in just 15 minutes. First she took his window seat and made him sit near the aisle. She didn't request for it, she just shoved and grinded her way through until she comfortably wedged herself into three quarters of the place and left Sekar dangling at the edge. When Sekar glared at her, she just said 'Show some courtesy boy, we old people suffer a lot.' Sekar gritted his teeth and adjusted his ipod. Soon he was contemplating if he could classify her as a skunk-cum-anteater. Yeah, with her protruding nose and revolting smell, this'd be reasonable, he thought. Right then there was a sudden jolt, the lady was asking the conductor with her Bose-speaker throat if he could play some movie in the TV. She paid for a video coach and she wanted some video. The bus was going to Bangalore and there was only one kannada movie disc available. 'Perfect' she said. Sekar sucked air through his teeth, then gritted them. The movie started. Slowly in a resigned fashion he removed his ipod as the kannada film was way too noisy to let him hear songs. The hero came in a car, wearing a three-piece suit and a pattaapatti (multi purpose boxer shorts). 'Ithu classu' he said, pointing at the suit, 'Ithu massu' he said pointing at his underwear. And then started hitting the bad guys. Sekar closed his eyes and tried to stay calm.

He started rehearsing his presentation for the 'Young scientist' competition. That was the reason he was traveling to Bangalore. He had come first in the state level meet for his 'Green chulha' model, a non-polluting chulha that would be cheap and would use firewood as fuel. He was going to Bangalore for the national meet. He checked under the seat where his mud chulha lay. He would stay calm, he would rehearse his lines and he would carefully leave with the model, no matter what the neighbouring wild animal did, he thought.

And then there was a vigorous shake. Sekar opened his eyes and looked around alarmed. He had just seen 'Engeyum eppodhum' movie which dealt with a bus accident and read about a landslide in Leh. As he looked around trying to figure out if it was an accident or an earthquake, he found the arch-fiend shaking with laughter, her eyes glued to the TV screen. Sekar looked at the TV. An aged comedian was giving a bikini-clad woman, some tennis lessons. The comedian had said he'd make the woman a Sania Sarza. Very funny. Sekar looked at the TV screen and then to the shaking boulder next to him. IT WAS GROSS. Crrrrunch. There was a sound and a spray. The giant lady was eating a pineappple. Just trying to squeeze two pieces in at once. So some juice sprayed into Sekar's white shirt. Then she ate some cucumbers. Then some chips and murukku. Sekar closed his eyes. The noise of the woman eating was like listening to King Kong fighting T Rex. Then, there was a different noise. Like a cloth getting torn. Sekar looked at the lady. The mountainous lady had let out a voluminous fart. Sekar was close to tears now. He was glaring at her very hard when the lady turned and spoke 'Old age, Gas trouble' she said. Sekar didn't know if he had to shut his eardrums or nostrils. He let out a deep breath and fought back the tears. Again, a sound as if a baby was blowing out candles in a birthday cake. One more fart. By now, Sekar was sure that he was in more agony than the victims of the Bhopal gas tragedy. He stood up and traveled standing for the remaining 4 hours. The Kannada hero was giving a lecture on girls and Indian culture, the giant lady was nodding in agreement and Sekar was telling himself that it'd all soon be over. Just a few more hours.

He stood and endured and waited patiently for Bangalore. And Bangalore did come. Eventually. And the woman got up. Sekar turned the other way. He felt that he'd start crying if he looked at her one more time. And there was a noise. Like a pot breaking. The chulha! Sekar turned immediately and looked under the seat. Half of the chulha was damaged. In the middle of the damaged portion was the leg of the rhino-lady. Sekar shivered with anger, tears rolled down his eyes but before he could begin to speak, the hippo-lady nudged him and went rolling out of the bus. Slowly the bus grew empty. Sekar just stood there. After a few minutes, he took up the broken pieces of the chulha, packed them crudely and walked out of the bus. RAKSHASI, he thought. He went to a nearby shop and got a water bottle. Just then, his mobile rang. It was his mom.

'Hello ma'

'Have you reached Bangalore Sekar?'

'Yes ma'

'Be careful pa. Are you alright? I just saw the astrologer, he scared me with some stories.'

'Ma, this is not the time for it.'

'This astrologer is very powerful da. He said before Karthikai deepam, you'll have a gandam (danger).'

'What gandam?'

'You'll be attacked by some dirty wild animal, it seems. He told me to donate 11 coconuts to the temple to avert any disaster. I just donated them and I called you to warn about this.'

'What wild animal? You mean...'

'He named some deadly animals da. Like a pig, buffalo, hippopotamus, rhinoceros.'


*********************************Curtains************************************

Of mothers, among other things - A. K. Ramanujan

I have long been wanting to blog about what I've been reading, listening and seeing i.e., I don't just want to blog about my views and and experiences but also put forward my thoughts on the books I read, the films I watch and the music I hear. In that regard, here is a beginning.

'Of mothers among other things' is a poem by A.K. Ramanujan. Accurate description of physical objects, vivid imagery and an intense affinity towards his childhood experiences in India are characteristics of his poetry. What I find most appealing when I read Ramanujan's poetry is his tone. It is not his magnificence that sweeps the reader but what arrests the mind is his matter of fact tone. With many subtle hints to tell us of his inclinations or neutralities, he weaves dark humour, subtle irony, dry facts, first hand experiences, a spectacularly subcontinental vocabulary and rustic realism into beautiful verse forms which may not often rhyme but always carry a rythmic sense.

So I have taken a poem of his - 'Of mothers, among other things' and have recited it here:

Youtube - Ramanujan's poetry

In case you are not familiar with the poem, please do listen to it to enjoy the following paragraph better.

My views on the poem:

Ramanujan is an expert in the description of physical objects. He notices trees, rays and the texture of things with a keen eye. The whole poem revolves around the act of his mother rushing back from the rains to tend to the crying voice in the cradle and picking up a grain of rice from the floor. The images this action invokes in the author's mind followed by the tides of memories that arise which in turn push forth a torrent of emotions amalgamates into a moving verse form. This is a feeling that would bring a lump in the throat of many readers, especially to those hailing from the subcontinent where due to tradition or social set up, the selflessness of mothers and the sacrifices of women reach unbelievable proportions. The tragedy of the 'mother's' life is also brought forth in the poem when he mentions that one of her fingers became permanently crippled because of accidentally getting caught up in a mouse trap in the garden. He does this, as in many of his other poems such as 'Obituary', in a conversational tone, hardly making a fuss.

Ramanujan's description of the light which emerges from the tasselled gaps of tree leaves and hits the three diamonds of his mother's rings and then bursts forth into a 'handful of needles' is spectacular imagery. In his own words, Ramanujan says 'English and my disciplines (linguistics and anthropology) give me my outer forms...; my thirty years in India, my frequent visits and field trips, my personal and professional preoccupations with Kannada, Tamil, the classics and folklore give me my substance, my inner forms, images and symbols. They are continuous with each other and I can no longer tell what comes from where.'

The kaleidoscopic pattern in his poems brings forth the vigour and colour of India with all its oddities and distinctions. The beauty of Ramanujan's English narrated with vernacular fluidity, sometimes complemented by accurate scholarship and at other times by deeply felt emotions and scenes go into the making of many a literary gem.

Being vetti!

Lot of difficult choices to make these days. Watch movie, call friends, roam about, sleep, eat, keep gaping at Facebook, keep checking all tweets, there is just so much to do and so little time! God, it is tough to be vetti! But I keep reminding myself that life is complicated like that, only the test of fire makes fine steel, and that it is important during these difficult times to stick to the basics and hold on. So I just do two things basically - Watch TV and sleep. If I'm too bored of watching TV, then I sleep. If I'm too bored of sleeping, then I watch TV. Keeping it simple. Yeah, I'm talented that way. Next. Rest.

Post exam plans and forecasts!

So what do I do now that I've got nothing to do? Apart from indulging in the cardinal sins of lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy and pride, what can I possibly do to get wasted after getting pissed? Here are some potential plans followed by forecasts of the 'weathermanastrologer' on what'll actually happen.

Plan: Eat, sleep, work out and nourish the body.
Forecast: Clouds suggest that there is a certainty that I will get pissed, sleep like I'm on drugs and neglect good food.

Plan: Watch and enjoy movies, probably start thinking about a script to work on.
Forecast: The low depression in South Andhra suggests there is an 80% possibility of this happening.

Plan: Work on the blog and probably on a website.
Forecast: Definite possibility of this happening.

Plan: Travel to various places, preferably where the weather is cool.
Forecast: The retreating monsoon promises definite possibility of this happening and a good accompanying shower.

Plan: Visit friends, trouble them with persistent presence. Give so much trouble to family that they would never complain again about me not visiting them.
Forecast: What instruments we have agree that it is going to be a hard cold winter for my friends and relatives.

Till next season, stay indoors, stay safe :)

Exams end, but questions remain.

Why do I want to become a civil servant? The Mains exam this time is over and the results notwithstanding, I have made up my mind that this is what I want. To become a civil servant. Why?

- Social anger. Every time I board a train, buy a ticket or watch a cinema, I find so many things that disturb me. The sea of humanity that I see in electric trains everyday look like they're standing in a queue to file out petitions asking for help. Poverty, disease, disability, unemployment! So you feel like you want to help. How? Volunteer, agitate, through activism and all that. It requires far too much effort, will power and grit and the effect is far too minimal. The best way to contribute is through effective policies and its efficient implementation. Being a civil servant gives you that scope.

- Another reason - all other things are taken care of. You have a respectable, stable job, your parents are happy, there is decent money to be made (scrupulously), the job is interesting, you are exposed to a lot of avenues for self-improvement. And the chief thing, studying for it is a pleasure. As much as I complain and dramatise about the studying experience, I know in my heart that I'd rather study more than 12 hours a day for civil services than slog in a corporate job for 9 hours. The portions, questions and the whole process is damn enjoyable. And of course there is the uncertainty factor - you may get in or you may not. That provides the extra spice to the whole dish.

That's that then. I'm working to become a bloody bureaucrat.

And then, there were none!

The civil services Main exam has come to a close. God, it was like the close of commonwealth games. Couldn't wait to get out of it. I had nine papers and therefore the following poem inspired by the nursery rhyme 'ten little indians' and of course, Agatha Christie.

Nine little exams had me studying late,

One was a bummer and then there were eight;

Eight little exams were too difficult to govern,

One had general questions, left were seven;

Seven little exams demanding many tricks,

One was an essay, so there were six;

Six little exams made me nose dive,

English came to the rescue and then there were five;

Five little exams made me all sore,

Hindi almost choked me and then there were four;

Four little exams, let them all mighty be,

Was prepared for history, so left were three;

Three little exams still, Oh what shall I do?

Wrote some story and then there were two;

Two little exams haunting like an Injun,

Literature was not bad, and then there was one;

One little exam between me and fun,

Scribbled something out and then, there were none! :)

Pre-exam nerves!

I've got my IAS Mains exam this Saturday. I've been preparing hard for it but as the exam inches closer, my studying hours become lesser.

Today - 10 a.m - Woke up, listened to some songs.

11 a.m - Called my friend who is also preparing for Mains.
Me: 'Hey I feel very lazy to study today, what are you doing?'
Friend: 'I just woke up, will call you after brushing.'
Me to myself: Okay, let me just watch one movie inspirational video and then I'll start studying.

1 p.m - Half the day is gone, will have to start studying now. Opened laptop. Then out of sheer instinct, my fingers just opened Facebook! Then Twitter! And then, yes, Youtube and Gmail!

3 p.m - Call from another friend - 'Macha we have booked tickets for the Diwali release day after tomorrow. It's a night show, so don't give some lame excuse. Just turn up at the theatre by 9pm.'
Me: 'Fine, will see you there.'
Him: 'And we play football in the evening, come there, we'll have dinner and leave together for the movie.'
Me: 'Okay'
Him: 'And I've got some fancy crackers this time, I'll bring them to your home in the morning, we'll have fun'
Me: 'Oh! You're welcome any time.'
Him: 'Okay, I have to get back, Happy Diwali!'
Me: 'Hey...' Call disconnected!

6.45 p.m: Me to my IAS friend: 'Mate what are you doing?'
Him: 'Watching TV only. I'll start studying by six.'
Me: 'But it's 6.45 now'
Him: 'What? Ah, yes. Okay then I'll start by seven. What are you going to do?'
Me: 'Uhm... Just watch another inspirational video, I guess.'

___

My war cry - 'seri seri'!

Timing is the strong suit of the funny-type. Especially when the 'being funny' part hangs on a punchline or a well used verse. It all hangs on hitting it at the right moment. It'd help then if you can float like a butterfly through all the conversation and at the right moment tickle like a feather. If you get the timing wrong, instead of a feathery tickle, the punchline might sting like a bee. And wasn't there this wise guy who wrote 1330 couplets and in his 129th said - A fella'd forgive a timely punch but not an unsolicited punchline? .

And if you're daring enough to start narrating a cliched storyline and a familiar endline to a repeat audience and still expect them not to sigh or yawn (which is like balancing a Yokozuna and Keira Kneightley on a see-saw), then the result hangs, overwhelmingly, on getting the timing absolutely right.

So one of my very standard dialogues is 'seri seri' - meaning 'okay okay'. This is the deadly sword that nips a boring narration at the bud. The most important aspect of using this weapon is to sense and seize that perfect moment when its effect will be most lethal. Let's understand with an example. Suppose a friend Mr.X usually talks much, and the talk is often self-absorbed, it means it's time you start honing your weapon for he's the right kind of prey. When he starts stuff like 'When I went to Bangalore on my', just grab the moment when he pauses to take a breath or recollect things and use your weapon - say 'seri seri, let's go get coffee.' With the right timing, he'd be flustered, angry because he really wants to say it but you have cut him abruptly but not rudely. Job done. He'd just have to catch his tongue, stem the flow of words and swallow the boring story. You have just succeeded in making him swallow his own bitter boring pill. Of course he'd give you a look which would make you feel as if your sorry arse has been incinerated deep down the ground and is writhing in agony. But hey, you'll also feel the brimming satisfaction of stopping a boring story and saving your fellow mates from a tiring half hour. The next time some wearisome storyteller appears on the scene, your companions would look at you, achingly, filled with hope, for you to wear your shining armour, yell seri seri and save them from the depths of an ultimate drag. But remember, it all hangs on getting the timing right. If you're a moment late, your voice gets drowned in his chatter, a moment early and you appear like a rude fool. Timing, guys, is of essence.

One war cry for all blasphemous borers - simple, effective and artful. Seri seri - enough is enough.

On falling sick after getting drenched!

I got drenched in rain a few days ago and quite liked it. The next day, I went around my routine sneezing and the day after, fell sick. I do understand that it would've been tough for the rainman to digest that a few guys were rejoicing when he was working his ass off, co-ordinating the clouds and wind and sending down batch after batch of rainwater. It is like when you have your holidays but your dearest play-mate has his exams going on. You are bored but you flaunt even your boredom to piss him off. And he considers the most rhetoric of flaunts to be the irresistible of tempting devils. This time likewise, the rainman seems to have taken it a bit too personally, my rejoicing seems to have been perceived as a taunt. As if telling me to behave, he seems to have sent a few drops of raindrops on me with some deadly bugs. I know what he was thinking then. 'You cockroach, you enjoy my shower alright and you go and put a post on your silly blog about it to rub salt in my wound? Eat this, then. Go influenza, corynebacterium and staphylococci!!!' Yeah. You've had it. I fell sick. You got me by the balls. You win. Wait till I taunt you next time with a raincoat on.

Chennaiyil joraana mazhaikkaalam

It rained today. Here, in Chennai. The blue abode up above grew all murky and what followed was a generous downpour of H2O. No sweeteners, preservatives, wasn't carbonated or extracted from fruit concentrate. A shower of pure, unadulterated H2O. I got caught up in it while riding back home and it turned out to be such a nice experience. It eased traffic, the dense lot of commuters crowding under covers, awnings and shelters to escape the rain. Only four wheelers rode on and they too, were slow and accommodating.

It all started like this. The clouds thickened and there was a perceptible drop in temperature. When I started riding my bike, there came a forceful cool breeze. A meek kind of gust which made fallen leaves, torn up paper and roadside plastic scatter and swirl without pattern, as if terrorising them by announcing the arrival of a sudden torrent of rain and making them disperse in chaos. Then came the raindrops, stiff and firm, dropping heavily on the helmet. COME HAD THE RAINMAN. He sent shaft after shaft of pure rain drops down, playing and rejoicing with the few who cared to play along and sternly intimidating those who tried to escape him by indicating that he'd continue for some hours to come. Some immediately ran for shelter, some cursed and tried to hurry to their quite near destinations, some vacillated and looked around trying to make a choice while some rode on. Within seconds, the rain drops were coming down with a flourish, the initial stiffness of the clouds easing out as a travel-weary person on reaching his lodging would ease up while slowly un-shouldering his luggage. I just drove, happy to be in that place at that time. I got quite lucky, you see. A moving traffic that wasn't heavy, accompanied by a good steady shower of cool rain, the comforting thought that I'd soon reach home to warmth and dry clothes and perhaps some hot food, all combined well to place me perfectly in the position to get the most out of the rain episode. This was also the first good shower in quite some time, so the roads weren't really bad. Of course, when this gets over, it is all going to get slushy and stinky but as for now, the setting was perfect.

So I reached home and thought if I should write about this. We sometimes write for ourselves and often for others. But in certain cases, we write for the sake of an experience. Some wonderful experience which deserves to be remembered, which deserves its place in writing, just so that they are preserved, in however minuscule a forum. I guess this was one such pleasant experience - a little romantic, poetic and much cliched, yes, - but still so damn pleasant that it does deserve its own little dwelling in this maze of a world.

One of those satisying weekends! - Sunday

Sunday, mate. Fun-day. It was the perfect climax to the week. A sleep that stretched to the wee hours of afternoon. Direct lunch. Then caught up with friends. The best thing in life would be to have a rocking set of accessible friends. You meet a lot of rocking guys, they stay with you a while and get scattered to some other part of the city, if not the world. They are not accessible most of the time. But not your neighbourhood guys. Friends here, though in different universities or jobs always are readily accessible for fun - especially on a weekend. So I caught up with the guys after a lot of days. And was enchanted. They still called each other by nicknames. You know, the sort we give each other when we do our sixth grade. It sticks. And some the sort we give each other in high school - the cheeky ones for cocky guys. And if you're thinking - 'High school is so over', I do beg your pardon. High school, my friends, is never over. Ditto with neigbourhood fun. Never gets over. So we played cards, and football and then some more cards.

A lot of fun, they say, and a bit of a run,
Is top class life, second to none.

One of those satisying weekends! - Saturday

I had a satisfying evening. All those shrill voices that often pronounce that the world is heading to the bin and life is becoming routinely crazy and crazily routine took a break. The more dominant voices this evening were those of the good kind - that there is still plenty of goodness here, men can be trusted and mankind admired.

I went to Kovalam beach, the drive along the East Coast Road was pleasant and the company engaging. I went with two guys, both interested in photography. So when we reached the beach, they started shooting pictures, it was a bit over my head but they explained the basics of that complex camera thing and I could soon get along. They were pretty much involved in taking pictures and it was a nice leisurely activity. I posed for them a bit, then came a beautiful sunset and it relieved me of the posing duty, though I did like the guys taking pictures of me eagerly and didn't want it to end all that soon :) Then we drove back, had dinner on the way before reaching home.

Well, a simple evening, some genuine conversation, friends who were really interested in what they were doing - overall a pretty good time. Evenings like this really give you that much required leisure and a time to be laid back, get into that tranquil mode, feel good about the world and recharge yourself. I was lucky too, a cheerful waiter, playful kids, caring parents and happy couples made the scenery more gratifying while some rude waiter or a rash driver would've spoiled the evening. These are the moments when you realise how little sweet acts can go a long way in smoothening your ruffled mind and guide you into that Vasudhaiva Kutumbakam and Ubuntu mode embracing all humanity with good temper and a glad heart.

These evenings make you wonder if a good life has to necessarily be a rather quiet life, for it is in times of leisure and beauty that you really find the mood to be all that you mean to be - good, kind, tolerant, humorous and in the flow. And these evenings are much more enjoyable after long work hours as it heightens the contrast and so enhances its preciousness, just as an extremely thirsty man would savour a chill drink of Nimbooz more than a normal guy.

End of the day, I felt at ease and was wondering why everything in the world isn't nice and easy? I think this nursery rhyme sums up what I felt quite well.

"A wise old Owl sat on an oak;
The more he saw the less he spoke;
The less he spoke the more he heard;
Why aren't we all like that wise old bird?"

That was it, altogether. Wanted to keep the post simple, just as the evening was, earnest and without decorations.

Getting up on time

'Time' is a cold and unforgiving taskmaster. It gives us that dreary chore of routine and lashes its twin whips of day and night with unfailing exactitude. Everyday the alarm goes off in the morning. The tone of it has become so familiar to me that just the beginning of the beep makes me curse and mutter involuntarily. Snooze. I recede into that dreamy borderline of sleepy bliss when the alarm sounds again. Snooze. Before I can stop my muttering this time and step into the dream world, my mom reminds me of the time and urges me not to be late. At least today, she says. So I get up, get ready and start off.

For the next half an hour the entire world appears to me cruel and heartless. All of it created by the cruelest of the lot - time. Can't it wait for five minutes? That's all I ask. 5 minutes of extra sleep. And then another 10 minutes. That is all. Extra minutes of sleep, with the number of minutes strictly in an arithmetic progression with a common difference of 5. What is it with time? It runs fast when we want it to stay and barely moves when we want it to fly by. It moves at the speed of light years per second when I watch good movies but treads at millimetres per millennium when my grandmother lectures me. I'll have my revenge on you some day or the other, time. I'll make you suffer like you make me. All in short time. Until then, I'm just biding my time for the right time to tackle your tricks, you time!

Reviewing the parcel!

Things have changed since I began blogging. A few things that I blogged about have also changed. Let's see.

I named the blog inspired by Vitae Lampada and The History Boys and they still inspire me very well. So that hasn't changed.

There is a post on - On having an ipod. I still stand by it, only I have replaced that ipod with another one. There was also an interim period where I had no ipod. It was miserable, especialy while driving. So I should probably follow up the post with a sequel - On not having an ipod. May be after a while I'll come up with a final version titled I'm apple Ipod, like Sly came up with Rocky Balboa after just 5 previous parts. Or was it 6?

I then wrote a boy to man series, which hangs mid-way because I've got two versions of part three in the drafts, both of which are not very interesting. I've been telling myself that if Coppola takes 27 years to come up with Godfather 3, I can take a bit more time to do my part three.

Then was a post on a first hand football watching experience. It was awesome, only now it reminds me of how little I play at all, pissing my pleasures away like the good adult! But that has started changing from the previous weekend. Working towards becoming a better time tactician! Strategy, guys. That's all it takes. Strategy! More on this later.

Then there is this post - The dream of building a bathroom. Well, it remains a dream. Only other dreams of building a farmhouse, starting a business, becoming a bureaucrat, directing a film etc, have piled on top of this dream. I guess my dream of the bathroom must be stronger than the concrete bathroom itself, to withstand the weight of other dreams and all that.

Then I see a post on how galeej Chennai was and is. It remains exactly so. People spitting the exact same way and autokars directing their curses to commuters' eardrums with pinpoint precision.

A post on my notorious bike - Boxer Eight-nine-nine-four,
I don't drive it anymore,
I've got a new ABS Apache,
Which has a slick press-start-key!

And then on pani puri - I love it still, so no change there, may be a slightly increased degree of obsession, that's all.

A rant, a review of a book, a good hike remembered and one on kaiyendhi bhavan with an interview. I've skipped a few posts, to cut a long story short and not to fatigue the reader. Not a lot of change in the views of these posts, however.

So some things, even those dear to me - like the ipod and bike (as much as I hate to admit it, it seems I have a soft corner for the old bike!)- have come to pass, while few others remain unaltered.

What did I learn doing this review? - Just that I have got plenty of stuff in the drafts that haven't been posted. I started the blog because I love writing but I haven't posted many of my thoughts because either I didn't think they were good enough or I thought I'd make them better, with one more polish, but was too lazy to get around to it.

One blogging trick I found: If you've got a good idea but can't form an interesting narrative, resort to bullet points. Five reasons for doing this, three ways to fool around and such stuff. Usually works.

One hard fact I've come to terms with: Doggedness is essential in a writer. Lack of it is the main reason I haven't come up with more posts. You can't be spontaneous all the time. And most times, planning and perseverance eat spontaneity for breakfast and dinner.

One universal truth I stumbled upon: A good writer is a good writer, first, foremost. The subject of his work, the use of metaphors, the scene, are all secondary. If you see a bowl of spaghetti - unevenly boiled, salt and pepper sprinkled at will and sauce poured without pattern - and if you've got an eye for it, you'll manage to pick up that one strand of spaghetti that is boiled, saucy and has a fair amount of salt and pepper. And a good writer does exactly that. Though it is never perfect, it is almost always edible and often enjoyable.

Mi'lord, let's fine-dine in our Kaiyendhi bhavan!

Kaiyendhi bhavan (henceorth kd bhavan) is the king of all manners of dining. Here are five reasons why they are the absolute best and the rest are all inferior to it.

1. The menu: The most important aspect of any restaurant. The menu of my favourite kd bhavan is a classic - Idly, molagai bajji, all egg accompaniments (omelet, half-boil and the sort). Bull's eye. You keep ordering and they keep serving, hot, fresh and without delay.

2. The best place for the indecisive: Leave dining alone, a fellow can't even get a cup of coffee easily these days. Picture this in a coffee shop:
'What would you have sir?'
'Coffee, please.'
'Yes but hot, cold, espresso, capuccino, mocha, latte??'
'Cold coffee. Adikra veyilku, cold is better, don't you think? :)'
'Tall, medium venti, small grande?'
'The medium thing, I guess. Am not much of an eater... or a drinker, I suppose.'
'Decaf, normal, blah-bloo-hooo'
'Sorry?'
'Never mind. Would you like some cream or marshmallows on top??'
'Yes, just cream, I think :)'
'Would you like to take this with the offer of the day or our special combo?'
'Well, it's all a bit complex for me!' after going through the available offers. 'I'll just have my coffee, I think. As long as you guys don't dip it in yogurt or flavour it with onions. Haha.
The girl in the counter keeps a straight face.
''Tis a puzzling world, it is.'

And at each step you have to decide, and decide, and decide. And did I mention decide? God, they give us a prompt headache for the coffee to work on.

None of this in our kd bhavan. You don't have to choose your sauces from some numismatic puzzle - chipotle southwest, honey mustard, sweet chilli?? sweet chilli in Chennai??!!! Will you just stop already! In kd bhavan you get unlimited servings of kaara chutney (hot chilli), coconut chutney and sambar.

A real manager in action - Watch and learn: Running a kd bhavan is no easy task. With just one helper, you have to keep making idlies and bajjis, podufy innumerable omelettes (with very finely chopped onion, mind it!), get the plates cleared up and keep track of the cash register. And they remember orders with such elan. Kd bhavans have just two work environments. Pressure and high-pressure. And all you MBAs, come with your notepads ready, for this is your laboratory.

Feel good about the world: The kd bhavans never keep count of what you eat. They don't serve scantily and bill secretly. You eat how much ever you want and when you finish, tell the guy what you ate and he'll tell you how much you'll have to pay. I can guarantee that the most voracious eaters won't exceed Rs. 80. But the trust! The trust! He never doubts your account and I've never seen him cross checking it. Oh he's so busy working, it feels like collecting cash is a pain to him. He does it hurriedly and gets back to attending his stove and customers. When you witness such scenes combined with the enterprise of the guy and the healthy appetite of the customers, I bet it'll act as the perfect antidote to living in this often crazy world. Your tummy full and heart likewise, life will appear so much more pleasant.

Beat falling ill: There is but one remedy to prevent illness. Enjoy, enjoy your food and merrily, merrily live. Eat how many ever idlies, molagai bajjis and half boils in whichever order, and say ciao to illness. (Atleast the psychological effects will fight the lifestyle effects?)

Here is an interview I took of my favourite kd bhavan owner (his name is Thamaraiselvan). It's quite raw but I caught up with him not without difficulty, so you guys better watch it. :)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6k8ZDvc5DuI

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zxkd5Lhb9CA

Some pics of Thamaraiselvan's KD Bhavan

On enjoying Jane Austen's 'Pride and Prejudice'

I have been wanting for sometime to write about the books I read and the films I see. But my own disposition, being that of a very negligent and dilatory blogger, was floating around flirting with various prospective topics. But I just finished reading Jane Austen's 'Pride and Prejudice' and I feel such elation at the unision of Mr. Darcy and Ms. Bennet, that I can hardly contain myself from sharing how I feel. The involvement in the plot and the enjoyment of the content has been so much that appreciation of the writer comes as a much later wave of feeling, like a pleasant after-breeze to the immensely drenching first shower of monsoon.

The plot itself is woven with such skill, the characters etched with pleasing sensibility, the narration filled with an abundant supply of compelling wit, generous spraying of subtle humour, garnished with a lady-like charm in its execution and served in a characteristic platter of British restraint, which makes the reading of the novel exceedingly gratifying. This book is definitely to be tasted and savoured, swallowed and held up, chewed and enjoyed to its very essence, wholly digested and permanently cherished. For you won't be able to enjoy it once and not go back to it again and again for procuring further joy.

The book opens wonderfully, the introduction of characters is smooth and their interactions flow with a fluidity that deserves credit. Mr. Darcy and Ms. Bennet meet, move in and out of the story while it revolves around them, excite our minds and supply us with ample reasons for turning the pages of the book with eager anticipation. The etching of Mr. Collins and Lady Catherine is nothing short of excellent. The resigned ridicules Mr. Bennet bestows on his wife combined with his warm affection for Lizzy are wonderfully portrayed. His incredible sense of humour, evident as the book reaches its last few phases, had me in raptures. It earned me many an awkward glance, with everyone around serious with work or study and me laughing heartily at Mr. Bennet's statements often accompanied by a vigorous shaking of my head.

All the major characters blended into the plot so perfectly that I couldn't help but admire Jane Austen's sense and skill and was often left wondering on what prompted her to make the characters as they were and if there is any shade of her at all in any of her characters. Perhaps she resembled Miss Darcy? It'd indeed be terrific if I can just be invisible and watch Jane Austen going through her drafts, reading it to her friends and family, making modifications here and there and hear her speak in an interview of what she thinks would happen to Miss. Darcy or how good will the Bingleys' children be or how deceiving and wicked Wickham is!

The last 100 pages is just gem. It is stellar Jane Austen in her wonderful fluidity. A witty statement, a wonderfully humorous one, a funny lamentation and a romantic suspense tumbles one after another hardly giving the reader time to take in all the beauty at the first reading.

I just finished the book today and felt wonderfully happy. With a disposition that makes happiness spill forth into mirth and chatter, I couldn't help but talk about it. Even after sharing it with my close mates, I'd nevertheless have talked about the book and its author to every unlucky acquaintance who happens to pass before me for the next one week had it not been for the wonderful invention of a blog. Now that I have poured forth my joy in this cosmic blogger void, any fellow who glances upon it perchance or by intention can make all he can of it. If that fellow happens to have read Jane Austen, well, welcome to the 'honourable brotherhood of guys who've read awesome Austen'. If not, then perhaps this post'll tempt you to read Austen and join the brotherhood.

P.S: Though I'd like to think I was calm and composed while writing this entry, I know I'm very much hung over from reading Jane Austen. This post was written without consideration and published without correction, so make what you want of it and comment what you like! Hail spontaneity!

Some life lessons I learned walking along the great glen!

I went on a hike in Scotland along the Great Glen during the spring of 2010. It was a very memorable trip for a lot of reasons. I accompanied Dolly Sim, a veteran hiker, now serving as a naval officer in Singapore. While on the go, I couldn't figure out east or west but she was always great at finding a way out through the woods. I remember, we even wandered into a creepy place in the middle of the woods decorated with plastic dolls and threads hanging from trees and recorded a video just in case we don't make it out of there alive! So without further ado, I'd like very much to reminisce on that lovely experience and list out some things that I took back from the 6 day trip.

1. Lead a good life and play your fiddle with pride! - On the first day of our hike, we were having our dinner in a beautiful home-stay. It was just getting dark outside and from the door I could see Ben Nevis, the tallest peak in Britain. It stood majestic and undaunted, framed in the fading silver light. Just a couple of days earlier, I got all worked up to submit a couple of sheets of assignment on time. But at that moment, staring at that intimidating yet welcoming mountain, all those worries and shackles in which your mind is almost always caught up, seemed so irrelevant and silly. Life seemed so simple and easy. So if you're all worked up at something, just pause and check if it's worth it. Just lead a good life and keep it simple.

Lesson 1: Life is simple. Keep it that way.

2. Have a thick skin to enjoy life - The trees and mountains and farms and meadows were all so blissful and satisfied, it seemed to me. You bend a branch on your way, it gets back to where it was when you're gone. It doesn't chase you to get even. I know it cannot do that but it is also not worth it. You can't drill sense into the galactically stupid. Do your job well, help if possible and leave it at that. Interference often makes situations worse (The string of U.S secretaries of state would probably vouch for it).

Lesson 2: Don't waste your time trying to get even.

3. Know when to say nothing! - I often rambled on things and Dolly shared her experiences too. But at times during our walk, we just walked. Nobody said anything, it was just the rustling of the leaves and the rush of the water. These phases were so lovely. And Dolly just knew and kept it that way. She never spoilt these silent spells with 'hey the weather is good' or 'those trees are lovely'. She sensed perfectly when to say nothing.

Lesson 3: Silence at the right time is awesome. In the long scheme of things:
When the quality is less and talk seems like a lot of bore;
It is not that I like speech the less, but value silence the more.


4. The country charm - It was the first time I was venturing into the countryside for almost a week. The famed charm of nature and the merry, easy-going attitude of the people really got to me. I made a note to myself to live in a village in India for at least two years.

Lesson 3: Experienced the beauty of a laid-back country life.

5. That terrific gesture! - This was perhaps the defining moment of the hike for me. We were in the last phase of the walk and I'd lost my jerkin on the way. We were in high altitudes, it was moorland, the wind was cold and then it started drizzling. My fingers soon went numb and the rain was really consistent now. I looked at Dolly and asked 'Why aren't you wearing your jerkin?' She said 'Well, it wouldn't be good if I wear it and you just get wet. So I decided I'd give you company!'. Dear me! Was I touched! We walked a few paces in silence and then I mockingly said 'If you're bent on getting wet, then I'll use your jerkin'. She smiled back and we just walked in the rain, without a jerkin.

Lesson 5: When the moment comes, choose the right, large-hearted thing to do.

For a much better and less bullshitty account on the hike, visit Dolly's blog. She has a complete account of all her hikes (remember, I told you she's a veteran!).

Confused without, brewing within!

Note: This post is a reflection on the evolving society around me and the way I see it. The post is intensely drawn from my own everyday experiences - the things I see and hear, read on newspapers, gather from discussions with my friends and the like. Therefore, I guess I speak more for me than for my generation.

This generation may seem confused and all over the place but I definitely believe it is tremendously brewing within into that terrific stew that melts pragmatism and ideology in one boiling pot. Guys my age are forever getting ready, trying to grow old without growing boring; to gain information without hopefully, losing touch with morals; to grow in efficiency without compromising on a balanced life. But what they also have to do if they want to really contribute, is to bite the bullet - to take a leap of faith at some point and start facing things head on instead of hiding behind pseudo-intellectual discussions.

Taking that decision and owning up to it may make all the difference. I read in newspapers about women being molested and raped, about neglected tropical diseases, 1.4 billion people living in extreme poverty around the world, ugly corporates turning the world slowly into a dumping place of refuse and dirt. And I read about real social sector initiatives, I see a guy working ceaselessly from dawn to dusk in pursuit of his dreams and I see happy couples, young and old, enjoying the breeze in the beach with a content smile on their faces.

So what's it going to be? Is Mr. GenX going to be satisfied by educating his grandmother to send mails or donating clothes to the poor and being a good Joe? Or is he going to do his bit of activism and get involved in social issues, exercise his right to information and encourage public debate and initiate awareness on key issues?

I feel the problems the world is facing has compounded infinitely in the last few decades. But the world has also matured and bloomed in these decades. Just like a middle-aged man has more issues to deal with than an infant, so it is with the world. But just like him, the world too is now more matured and capable of dealing with those issues than it was a century earlier.

Over familiar through over use

The existing banality of it all is tiring. So there was this day out, when some of us went to watch a movie. And there was the familiar friends circle, a bunch of cool well-educated guys with that local stamp that makes their behaviour all so charming. I remember adoring these guys during my school days and some of my most memorable sporting days were with them. 9 hours a day of cricket during the summer, evening football games during high school, that 25 km cycle ride and a 3 hour soaking ritual in a swimming pool during weekends (yes, absolutely like buffaloes) and that glorious first day-first shows at the end of which we walked out like superheroes, cape and all.

So I met some of these guys after a long gap for a movie. Everyone was placed now and they came with their usual style, bella figuras with funky bikes, casual attitude and a walk like they own the place. We started our chatting and catching up and I realised that they still were the 'local machas' with that lovely stain of the streets of Madras on them. They were hooting and whistling and amusing people but to my surprise, there was an overdose of swearing. The gang was sans my usual close friends. If they'd come, it'd have been like that wonderful football game that Ayyampettai Arivudainambi Kaliyaperumal Chandran graces with his presence in Thillu Mullu (what with all of us having to lie to our bosses for getting off early to make it to the afternoon show).

But what started this way turned topsy-turvy in moments. The guys, I soon realised, were mouthing the same insults at each other and laughing for over-refrigerated and cold storage-d jokes. The laughter was indifferent and mirthless and was way too on-your-face. You say 'fuck' at the right moment once, it makes me smile. You say it 5 times, I shrug, you say it 10 times, it makes me feel uneasy, you keep saying it over and over, I just feel like walking away from your yammer and giving you the one-finger salute. And that's exactly how I felt amidst the group. Without my usual friends who jest at each other gracefully and stretch their imaginations miles apart to act out funny scenarios and creatively taunt the stronger guys in a way that makes the insulted, insulting and the spectators to laugh along and together, these guys were just foul-mouthing again and again putting on a loud exhibition of their shallowness and stupidity. And the situation slowly deteriorated from charming to boring to vulgar and to downright grotesque-ness. I was hanging around trying to conceal my frustration of having wasted a rare free afternoon and ruefully thinking of some blissful hours of sleep I could've caught up on. And then the movie started! Boy, was I relieved! And the movie, at least, turned out to be lovely. That was a real lifesaver. When we came out, the guys kept at it, relentless as they were, criticising the movie, the seats, the crowd. I edged away from the godforsaken group and got back home, deeply disillusioned. What a goddamn waste it is to be so living, as Sir Walter Scott puts it, to disappear into the vile dust whence they sprung; unwept, unhonoured and unsung!

The Traffic Police Transformation Front - Radical Wing!

A few days ago, I was witness to this rather unusual incident in my neighbourhood.

A traffic police distributing pamphlets to motorists. The pamphlet had a list of things to follow while driving. The initiative was part of the road safety day program conducted by the area's Lion's club. There were some school kids and adults volunteering for the activity. In a place where government officials are seldom pro-active, this was a pleasant and mildly amusing sight. As a mark of respect to this club, cop and kids, I wear my helmet each and every day now (though I smuggle my ipod into my ears through the helmet-head boundary. But hey, songs are my only respite while driving in the peak hour rush amidst choked roads, blaring horns and blazing sun.)

Thanks to this incident, I've come up with a set of suggestions on how we can transform the role and image of our city's traffic cops from uncompromising vasool-rajas to stylish and accommodating Major Mannars.

No more traffic cops! Instead Chennai City will have a set of Transport Facilitation Teams. There'll be 17 such teams to cover the 176 sq.km area of the city. So each team gets approximately 10 sq.km of jurisdiction.

Each team will consist of 10 members and their roles will be divided thus:

1. A rocket riders squad - 4 members. These guys/girls will be daredevil cops and would keep patrolling their jurisdiction constantly. In the city's arterial lanes such as GST road, NH road, Arcot Road, there'll be freelancers to assist them (illegal racers and efficient youth can be employed for this). This might also generate part time employment and provide a good avenue for many amazing young riders in the city who find professional racing a costly affair. The rocket riders will chase rash drivers and drunkards and punish them on the spot. This means that they'll be some sort of white knights in an Apache and not the paunchy traditional nose-picking nitwits.

2. Sara Vedi Sirs: 2 members. They are in-charge of complete monitoring and they communicate with the rocket riders and keep informing them as to what is going on around them based in their video surveillance in crucial junctions. They also take care of emergency calls, forward calls to ambulance and act as the big brothers of the traffic scene in their jurisdiction.

3. Mathaappu monks: 2 members. They form the Research and cultural wing of the team. They bring in new ideas to regulate traffic, innovative activities to engage motorists and make their travel tolerable. They also initiate awareness campaigns and bring in an element of fun to the whole scene. During peak hours, they make announcements in crowded spots to aid Sara Vedi Sirs and Rocket Riders.

4. Bijli Vedi Boy and Atom Bomb Uncle: While Bijli Vedi Boy is a mechanic who takes care of problems in signals, CCTVs and also keeps the bikes of the rocket riders and others in fine tune, Atom Bomb Uncle is a construction guy who takes immediate care of minor road problems, ditches, putting in new speed breakers and the sort.

There'll be awards for the best maintained jurisdiction for which a gold rimmed cap would be given to the Officers of the particular team. So hopefully there'll be healthy competition among the 17 teams and the deserved winner will patrol his area proudly with his gold rimmed cap.

This set up would also change the minds of Chennai's commuters. The curse-at-sight & fine-at-sight interaction would give way to mutual understanding and respect for road rules. The traffic cops too wouldn't anymore be sluggish sloths but stylish municipal stars.

Instrument of Instructions (The background of the scene, a concept similar to the directive principles of the Indian Constitution, which was borrowed from the Irish, who in turn took it from the Spanish): Attention should be given to recruitment. For instance, daredevil yet responsible riders for the Rocket team, mature and analytical guys as Sara Vedi Sirs, humorous and pro-active guys as Mathaappu Monks, efficient and active guys as Atom Bomb Uncle and Bijli Vedi Boy would make the Transport Facilitation Team a grand successful combo.

Signing off here is Agarbatti administrator - Shyam.

Mukul from Gopalganj, Bihar.

This is Mukul from Gopalganj, Bihar. He works, like many of his friends, as a contract labourer. He currently installs Air Conditioners for the Anna Centenary Library in Kotturpuram, Chennai. Before this he worked in the Indira Gandhi International airport in Delhi. He moves wherever his contractor takes him. His wage is Rs. 200 per day (around $4), a part of which again goes to the contractor as rent for the place where he stays. He says he takes some money for his food and sends the rest to his family in Bihar. He has two elder brothers and a younger sister. Obviously, he doesn't have the privilege of choosing his profession. Before coming into this vocation, he worked in his brother's barber shop in Assam. After three years there, he and his brother had to confront the fact that the shop wasn't doing well. So his brother, being the elder one, goes into unskilled labour work and Mukul follows suit. He works hard for long hours without any security for his job or life (four of his colleagues died during the construction of this library by falling from the top floors, according to one of the watchmen here. So the authorities organised a pooja, sacrificed a goat and fed the others meat and other delicacies, then resumed construction from the next day).

Right. So that's his square as of now. I ask him if he has an idea on what he wants to do in the long run. Studying is not an option, he says, even if he starts right away, it'd be too little too late and also too damn demanding (financially and psychologically). When I ask him more about it, being a cheerful lad and having that rare air of naivety around him, he smiles, shrugs and makes some vague hand gestures. And I smile with him too. We part ways when we reach the entrance of the library. I go into the glass walls, he remains outside and starts arranging sacks of sand.

Pani puriye sivam

Pani puri is divine. Among all the celestial chaats found in the universe, Pani puri reigns supreme. Made up of that crunchy crispy crust, a delicious potato mash mantle and a tangy, hot pani core, this chatpata explosion will rock your palette and will mutate your sense of taste forever. If you believe in the holy powers of Pani puri and hail HIM to be the supreme prophet to have ever come into the world and frequently visit any of HIS places of worship (I'm a regular at the Pani puri shrine in Nungambakam High Road outside Karishma sarees showroom, Chennai), then you're in the right path that leads to Nirvana. That fuzzy halo which comes around your head when you munch on the golgappas would one day turn bright and lead you to enlightenment. I do strongly recommend all the devotees in Chennai to take a weekly pilgrimage to the Nungambakam High Road shrine.

While it is acceptable to pay your obeisance to HIS cousins bhel puri and dahi puri, do not ever incur the wrath of the Almighty by favouring the Satan trinity of Caesar salad, Arugampul juice (Bermuda grass extract) and Protein shake.

Remember also to chant this secret prayer once a day, O' faithful ones:

Golgappaooo akbar illahee,
Protein shakeee-il-shaithaan;
Pani puryaha kamal hassan shivam,
Arugampullaha nasser rakshas;
Watery Indian Bread, hallowed be thy name,
Caesar salad shall thee burn in hell.

...Amen... (open your mouth wide like eating a pani puri while doing this!)

I hereby also call upon my faithful brothers and sisters who worship HIM in varied incarnations such as Pani puri, golgappa, phuchka, gup chup, watery indian bread, crisp sphere eaten etc., to unite and start a Jihad (for militants) or Satyagraha (fast by eating only pani puri until death, for moderates) and condemn all the faithless blackguard-ism in the world.

Time to take a LOOK around!

In line with the blog's preamble of being a secular, sovereign, democratic, republic page, by the authorities vested in me, I've decided to change the directive principles of the post policy from 'appreciate and communicate beauty' to 'scratch, become aware of, appreciate and communicate beauty, raves & rants, and out of the ordinary issues' with effect from the 12th of January, 2011, by amendment 31A of the Blog's constitution.

Justification:

There are so many fantastic things that happen right around us. Things we fail to REALLY see. Recently when I had this assignment in my office with the theme of getting to know the city, I realised that there are so many heart-warming things and deeply disturbing issues happening right around us. Even after completing the official assignment and moving on to other things, I couldn't help but notice the very many extra-ordinary things that are there dead-right before our eyes. So from now on I've decided to put posts especially on things that I consider 'out of the ordinary' or lovely things that I often take for granted. This I hope would help in my self-development as a person with a better social and aesthetic awareness and understanding.

Mission-ary

Background - It is circa 2050 A.D. The whole world is mechanised and is highly result-oriented. Children are genetically modified with desired traits even before they're born. There is no fun, nor any wisdom. People are lost in information gathering and pursuit of excellence. Men are turning into machines. Homo sapiens (wise man) is extinct and the earth is inhabited by Homo machina. Words like 'leisure', 'dreams', 'arattai', and 'pot-belly' do not exist.

There is a huge commotion in an MBA (Mission Behaviour Analysis) class and people are arguing animatedly over a chapter in their book which has just been covered. Cut.

Same time period. Same chapter. Students in an MBBS (Masters in Behaviour of Bygone Sapiens) class discuss and argue heatedly. Cut.

In their desks, there is a document with a controversial chapter. And the chapter reads as follows:

In the year 2011 A.D, a man belonging to Homo sapiens, a blasphemous loafer who didn't believe in machine-like work, managed to achieve a target with an amount of focus that only machine-worshiping Homo machina are capable of achieving. This was because he had a queer illness called 'emotionalia' (caused by the now extinct species Mycobacterium emotionalisis. For MBBS students: The illness might take an aggressively violent turn, especially in aged female Homo sapiens after 6pm when they watch serials).

Excerpts from his journal:

I've started on a mission to achieve 'A$%^B%$#@C'. But I've found that I'm unfocused and inconsistent because I find routine, machine-like work boring. So I've decided to make my journey fun-filled (Students scratch their head at this new word!). When I start working hard, there are a few symptoms that keep troubling me which might lead to procrastination (students gasp in horror as this is an illness in the Homo machina world called cancer) and laziness (which is AIDS!). But I've found some medications and plan to make use of them as soon as these symptoms rear their ugly heads out.

'Can I get there?' Symptom:

You see, being on pursuit is always tricky. The question keeps coming back to you whenever you rest a bit - Can I get there?

Medication:

Get to work. Whenever in doubt, work. At the end of a power session of work, all those tricky endhorsefins will help get your confidence back. If this doesn't work, think of how Magellan must've felt when he was going around the world. He must've asked himself 'the question' more times in those three years of voyaging than we'd ever ask ourselves in forty lifetimes - Can I get there?

Symptom: Work related dreams. Grrrrr...

Medication:

For those absolute dreamers, meditation is the best medication. If you're new to serious work and these work-related dreams (when the cat says meiow-sis and the duck quakes in Richter scale, you've become a victim of the syndrome!) psyche you out, don't run to a psychiatrist for remedy. Not that I have anything against those spooky gentlemen who've been sending millions to mental health institutions through their therapies, it's just that work-dreams might actually be a good indicator of your progress. Let's look at it that way. Mission-men are supposed to eat, breathe and think only of their goals, right? Dreaming about your mission is a great you're-on-track indicator. Dyslexic cracks like me, moreover, have this advantage of getting breakthrough ideas through dreams. This way, you work even when you sleep! You can even start a dream diary and record your dreams. Many interesting ideas might pop up and it'll make a good story for your grandchildren years later.

I believe:

A mission man need not necessarily be a machine man.
A mission man can be a little ignorant and learn new things about his mission from time to time and it's okay for him to have some fun on the way.
________

Students gape in amazement.

THE END!

Yelelo Ailasa - Hauling up the moottais!

Again, a post about what happens right around us. Why do construction workers in Chennai, and I presume also other parts of India, (especially women, often with no slippers) climb many many stories carrying loads and loads of bricks and sand in baands? (for those who don't know chaste urban thamizh, baand = a concave metallic carrier instrument used for transporting building materials like cement and sand).

Why can't they use a pulley (which is a primitive iron age tool) from the top of the building to pull these loads? Is it to generate employment and use the excess unskilled human capital that India has in abundance? Nope. Surely, the building contractors don't give two hoots about such stuff. Then is it that pulleys are costlier than manual labour in India? Negative, again. This certainly can't be the case. Has the thought not occurred to the construction guys till now? Nobelium, yet again! After employing all those limited probability skills at my disposal, taking into consideration 5000 years of India's civilisation, over 1.2 billion brains inhabiting it at present, this seems highly improbable.

What then is the reason, I wonder. I can't figure out the reason. May be I'm again being that ignorant superficial onlooker who doesn't really understand why things work the way they do. But I was relieved to see that such a machine (do forgive me for my lack of imagination in civil/mech. engineering terms), obviously more advanced than a pulley, was employed in the premises of the Anna Centenary Library. I managed to get a snap of it in operation, though it meant waiting for some minutes and enduring some awkward glances.

But what didn't change was this.

Why is there a coin shortage in India?

I have often wondered why everyone is stingy with their coins here, in our India. Can't people just go to the bank and get desired coins for the desired amount of money and live in peace? Especially people whose profession demands daily dealings with a lot of change, like autokars and vendors. As ever, it turns out that I've been this naive, idiotic on-looker who whinges without understanding the way things really work.

Going into the details, Shyam's committee on the Indian Currency System Today presents the following data on the topic:

Here's why India is short on coins. The volume of rupee coins and notes is controlled by the RBI. Under its direction, the total number of rupee coins in circulation in India is around Rs. 9984 crores! (as of 2008-09)

Now coming to Rupee notes, whose printing is also the monopoly of the RBI (Issue Dept.), currencies worth around Rs. 7,88,279 crores are issued (as of 2009-10).

This explains why we're always short of coins here. Too many notes, too little coins. As simple math would point out, the note-coin ratio is atleast around 80:1. Now, I did get curious as to why the Reserve Bank has this partiality towards currency notes, but me being just a Shikari Shambu and no Sherlock Holmes, couldn't muster up the courage to go deeper and read more boring documents to get the answer. However, the wise, enlightened, economic crocodiles who read this post are welcome to give their thoughts and justifications.

Recommendations of the committee:
Let's not anymore whinge about the helpless autokars. Let's form one auto-passenger union to go and jointly whinge before the gates of the RBI!