Headfirst

Headfirst
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

...a picture of Honnemardu water sports...featuring Kiran, and Sudhir (friends) entering the water gracefully...

This has secured the third award in 'Journalistic Moments' category, in the Annual Salon by Sagar Photographic Society, India.

A road trip to the Rocky Mountains, Colorado

Ain't that MAGNIFICIENT?
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

junta,

here's an pictorial account of the inspiring road trip to the Rockies, Colorado. Hope you like them.

... shoot your comments at will....

teju
(ps: am waiting with bated breath, a dartboard held at my chest ;-) )

Minneapolis Downtown Skyline

Minneapolis Downtown Skyline
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

...this won the second runners up award at the eyemage photo contest... carrying the theme 'Urban Skyline' ....

SHOWER OF GOLD!!!

Shower of Gold
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

Christmas lights drape the insides of downtown buildings and malls.

IT IS THE HERALD OF HOLIDAY SEASON FOR SURE!!!

An evening at the Ice Skating Rink

"Uao ooo ooo ooooooo" screamed the playback singer, as Akshay Kumar skated over the smooth, and white ice surface in his sensational movie 'Aankhen', for the passionate song 'Gustaakiyan'. He manouvres his moves to the rhythm of the song, as he takes a wide turn, into the arms of the nubile females in mini-skirts, in gawdy colours. Then they all form a line, and glide around the rink, beautifully raising their legs as they perform to the song on their single legs. Reel life.
"AAAAAA uuuffff....urgh" screamed the voice, as I saw my feet come up in air, and the ice floor hit my soft hind. After the shock of the impact, I did realise that it was my own voice. "Are you ok?" the Chinese lady in white jacket beside me enquired, though she was too little for me to expect her to pull me up. That was my first day at the Ice Skating. Real life.

On this Saturday, the first day of bitter coldness ( a little less than zero degree centigrade) in Minneapolis, my friend came upon this skating rink near our apartments. He had given me a call to join him there, and half nervous hour later, I found myself gaping at the large, white and spotless surface of the ice skating rink. We had rented out skate boots, which resembled like that of the 'Giant Robot' , with thick metallic blades attached to the soles. One kick with this, and all the villians of Bollywood would give up any ideas to rape the heroes' sisters.
When the gates of the rink opened, all the young and the old there, eagerly entered the arena, with such glee that I had only witnessed in the eyes of the desi junta, the fat men with dark, ruptured skins and lanky kids with loose 'chaddi's, who would have escaped the guards' eyes at the dirty, Jayanagar swimming pool of my childhood days in Bangalore ( fyi: people with ruptured skins, and loose 'chaddi's aren't allowed into the swimming pools, legally).

As the people skated around, with such ease, my nerves cooled down, and I chanted my mantras, as I prepared myself to enter the skate zone. As soon as I entered the arena, I could feel it. Actually, I could not feel it. The 'it' being the friction, something that makes us move forward, when we put the pressure on our feet to move ahead.
Imagine a scenario where you are walking on a thick layer of oil, where the friction is absent. Can you feel my experience now?

NO, YOU CANNOT.

Because, on the thick layer of oil, you have the full surface of your feet to stand on. Here, I was to balance on the wretched blades of Mr Giant Robot's shoe :-(.

Suddenly, I felt myself moving. Even an unintentional, light jerk of a muscle is enough to make one move on this zero friction surface.
HEY, HOW DO I STOP THIS THING? I was panicking.
And suddenly, the help came from almighty, where I screamed like Akshay Kumar, as the different parts of my body kissed the cold ice below.

Holding the rink's boundary railings for support, I pulled myself up, and slowly moved, occasionally holding the railings to prevent falling i.e when I was actually on my feet. The average time spent on my feet were small in comparision to the average time spent in looking at the ceiling after a nasty fall, followed by the teethy smile at the people who stared at me, some with concern, and some stiffling laughter. Also, I had spent some time to let the blood flow back to the parts, which were forgotten by the other parts of the body, after a fall.

After two hours of testing the hardness of the almost all areas of the large skating rink, I was managing to move slowly without falling. I did complete a circle or two of the rink without falling.
"Are you a starter?" asked a kid, one of the numerous, who were skating around effortlessly, as fish in water.
"You bet I am," I smiled back at him.
Then, he parted with a few tips about how to go about doing it, without falling.
"Move your legs outwards, not straight. This would put pressure on the blades sidewards, which would prevent you from falling. The blades don't cut sideways," another stout man in his middleage ventured.

Soon, it was time for resurfacing. As everyone skates around on the ice surface, there are various grooves, and lines formed, which reduce the smoothness of the surface. This increases the effort required to skate around, also reduces the fun......supposedly. ( FUN!!! More smoothness = more slipping and falling......'Bekkige chellaata, ilimarige praana sankata'.... 'a whimsical play for the cat, threat on the life of the mouse' goes an old adage)
Everyone was asked to leave the rink for fifteen minutes. Soon, a quaint vehicle drove onto the surface, a replica of a steam engine, which wipes out the loose ice particles, and smears the surface with a layer of water. This layer of water would freeze on the surface, filling onto the grooves and lines, making the surface surprising smooth, and ready for another bout.

As I entered the rink, with a little confidence, as a result of not having fallen for the past half hour (fifteen minutes outside the rink included ;-) ), I carefully moved, watching the surface with complete attention, with hands in a posture ready to take any fall. As I slowly moved around like a scared Duryodhana in Indraprastha, I was building up my confidence, and also adding minutes to my track record of 'on-my-own-feet time'. Suddenly, a kid whizzed past me, the next moment I was watching the beautiful, glass roof of the rink. I was in no mood to appreciate its architecture, because the rear parts of my body were giving the last screams of survival. Then, I heard it. The laughter of Draupadi. Oh! Sorry. This Draupadi was dressed in green chemise, and jeans, and had spotless white skin with blond hair. Also, this Draupadi had used up much of the jeans cloth of Arvind mills (many jeans pants here, are Made In India ;-) ), to cover her XXL obese body. She skated away.

Here, the story differed. I did not get upset like Duryodhana. History repeats, NOT MYTHOLOGY. ;-))

I slowly pulled up, and continued my practise with shackled efforts.

My 'Duryodhana-in-Indraprastha' sequel started, and went on for the next hour. It was time for resurfacing!!!

After fifteen minutes, 'DING'!!! The third round of battle began between the ice monster and myself. The monster seemed to try out all the tricks to make me fall by giving me various surfaces, smooth and rough, but I managed to hold my ground. The armageddon had begun.
And I was determined to win it.

Just then, "Hey, is this your first time?" I heard a female voice say.
I turned around to see Draupadi...err.... the female who had laughed at me earlier.
"Yes," I smiled back, the same teethy smile came naturally to me, due to the numerous occasions of use on that day.
"You are doing pretty well, for the first day," she nodded with a smile, as she stood effortlessly on the skates. I desperately wanted to steal a glance if her shoes had some special stand or something (like cycles of kids) to help her stand without losing balance.
"Hey, thanks," I said, the teethy smile merging into a genuine one.
"It is very easy once you get the hang of it," she said, " I am sorry, I laughed at you earlier when you fell."
"Oh! That's ok. You still haven't seen me fall on the regular floor," I laughed out aloud, so that she laughs irrespective of whether she understood the joke or not.
She did laugh, and "Hang in there, you will get it," she said as she skated away.

An hour and a lot of falling later, my friend and myself settled down beside the rink, discussing the strategies that could be employed to skate better.

"Do we go in again?" my friend asked me, "to try out the strategies."

"Muchkond maneg hogana (let us shut up and go home)," I said.

Depot Ice Skating Rink

Depot Ice Skating Rink
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

Here's a picture of the second time experience at the rink. The story does not differ much from the first experience, but for more people who joined me in the venture. ;-)

On the anvil.....

coming soon is a vignette about my experience with the ITES, the facade and the core.... watch this space for more ;-)

To Be Happy, Be Free From Any Image Of Self

I don't post the works of other authors in here generally, but I found this to be very inspiring, and hence have posted it. This piece of wisdom is by By SWAMI SUKHABODHANANDA, which appeared on the Times of India centre page of December 2, 05.

" These days people are inclined towards glamour than goodness. Media highlights glamour. People are brainwashed to believe that glamour is equal to happiness. It is a wrong notion.

Why does glamour have more appeal than goodness?
There are three traits in human consciousness: Looking good, feeling good and being good. The most important is being good. Many people value feeling good. However, if feeling good is not anchored on being good, then people get into drugs. Drugs temporarily make you feel good, but are not good for your well-being. People also value looking good more because it helps to impress others. For them, looking good physically and psychologically is more important than feeling good and being good. There is nothing wrong in looking good provided it is based on being good. More often people want their image to be appreciated to feed their ego. Glamour is food for the ego; it decorates the lookinggood pattern. Hence glamour is of greater appeal.

Is looking good wrong?
It is not a question of right or wrong. There exists a deeper meaning to it. A young girl, widowed at the age of 20, expressed that she was feeling lonely. I asked her why she could not remarry. She replied that she feared what people would say if she were to get married again. I asked her as to what people were talking about her right then. She replied that they felt that she was a good woman. However, I asked her if she was feeling good. In the eyes of the people she was looking good but she herself was not feeling good.
People sacrifice feeling good and being good for the sake of looking good. When looking good is not based on being good then life becomes a mess. The world runs on the illusion of looking good. If you do not look good, you will not survive this rat race, little realising that even if you win, you continue to be a rat. Are people happy in spite of being successful? Why is it that many successful people continue to be miserable? The reason being that they do not know the art of being happy. A study done on happy people showed that happy people were good finders. They always seek and find something good even in the bad.
Use the image of looking good but do not be used by the image of looking good. Just as you wear a dress, you are not the dress. To be happy, be free from any image of yourself. Be empty of image, thoughts, and conclusions. This inner emptiness is joy. This is a new way of looking.

Why should I be a good individual if being good involves more problems?
People throughout the world want only good things to be spoken of them. Nobody wants others to talk ill of them. It is thus clear that we are all seeking goodness. Being a good individual requires facing problems. In fact, being a bad individual also involves facing problems. Problems are part of life; hence train your mind to enjoy problems. Just as you go to a gym and enjoy the workout in spite of sweating, train your mind to enjoy problems. Problems often make you a powerful individual. "

At the rocky mountains

At the rocky mountains
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

...Sun filtering through the trees, at the legendary rocky mountains, on the Thanksgiving vacation to Colorado last weekend...

A Delhi Bee

A Delhi Bee
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

...A bee caught while loitering around after a meal at Tamil Naadu Bhavan at Delhi....

Here's a squirrel caught on a tree house, trying to munch on some nuts .... a daring one ... this did not budge even when i moved very close to it to take this pic.... 

The weekend trip to Gooseberry falls... a three hours drive from Minneapolis downtown 

Thatz more red from Bayfield Wisconsin. CLICK ON THE PICTURE TO VIEW THE IMAGES OF FALL SEASON :-)  

CRICKET'S IN OUR BLOOD ... the disciples of Ganapathi Temple of Horanaadu take a break amidst their vedic studies. Had captured this image when on a trekking trip to Horanaadu in Dec 04 

BAYFIELD!!! Picture perfect!!! 

Dil Chahta Hain.... the sequel ;-) 

On the way to Bayfield, Wisconsin.. in the chase of fall colours... Girish, Raghav and me posing on a railway track surrounded by fall colours, with Subbu behind the camera ;-) 

Movie Review of Rana's Wedding

Venue: Jerusalem, Tuesday 27 November, four pm, Al-Dahia roadblock.

"The name of the father of the bride is..." the heavy set man in a beige suit, and short graying moustaches utters aloud, for everyone to hear, about what he is going to enter in his huge, heavy register, "Mr Said Nasser Al Chatib"
"The name of the groom is ... ," he contiues, unmindful of the discomfort, a result of being sandwiched between the groom, and the bride's father, in the rear seats of a rusty, old van, on a busy, dusty roadblock, "Mr Khalil Amer Al-Mahfouz".
"Any witnesses present?" he looks out, to see a group of friends and relatives echoing "Yes."
"Name?” he calls out. "Ramzy Hussein Atalla," the clean shaven youngman in a casual, faded beige sweater, beside the groom, speaks out.
"What is the dowry?" the man looks up from his register to the groom, in a 'matter-of-fact' tone. He is the registrar, getting Khalil and Rana married. After a puzzled shrug, the groom in dark suit utters "One dinar."
"And the alimony?" the registrar turns towards the father of the bride, in an expensive, black, suit. "Ten thousand dinar," the father of the bride mentions in a sarcastic tone. He had never agreed to this marriage, and wants to get done with it, as soon as possible, as he has a plane to catch, to Egypt.
"Are there other conditions?" the registrar asks the father of the bride. He gets a "No" thrown at him.
Then the registrar looks at the lovely bride in white dress, sitting on the front seat of the van, turned towards the registrar, groom, and her father. "My dear, do you agree to the terms?" the registrar asks her. "Sure," she mentions, with a pleasing smile.
"Do you have any other conditions?" he asks her, just for the record. "No."
"In the name of the lord, please put your hand in the hand of the father. And repeat after me," the registrar says to the bearded groom. The groom reaches across to the hand of the father of the bride, in a hand-shake.

"I marry you my daughter, Rana, according to the law of Islam, with the dowry of one dinar, and alimony of ten thousand dinar," the registrar says to the father to repeat this. The father repeats it.
Then he turns to the groom, “Answer him and say, I accept this marriage, according to the law of Islam, and agree to all the conditions." The groom repeats the same.

"And hereby I declare this marriage valid," announces the registrar inside the van, to receive the exhilarated hoots of the large crowd surrounding the van, on the dry, muddy road, at the road block.

Interesting. Very interesting. That is something I could say about this movie, Rana's Wedding, by the Palestines, with English subtitles for the world. This is the story of Rana, a determined, lean Palestinian girl, under 21 years of age, who wants to stay in Jerusalem, despite the war. But, she is being forced by her father to come to Egypt with him, for further studies.
She can stay back, if she marries.
She is given a list of suitable grooms, by her father, and she is asked to choose one and marry before Tuesday, 4pm.
Then begins her research about the grooms, running amidst the huge, ancient stone structures of Jerusalem, the cobbled pathways, the narrow and damp corridors. Also, she has to move against a backdrop of heavily armed soldiers, and casually dressed freedom fighters (as portrayed in the movie), with guns and bombs.
At some point, she decides that the list is not worth pursuing, and catches up with her lover, Khalil. She asks him to marry her.
He agrees.
The search for the registrar begins with Rana, Khalil and Khalil's friend, driving along numerous dusty roads, and pathways to find the registrar, and beat the queue at the government office, to get the papers for marriage.
After a lot of road blocks, and running around later, Rana manages to invite some of their relatives to her marriage, which is to be scheduled and finished before 4pm, that evening. Her father would take her away, if she is not wed by 4pm that evening.
As the mild celebrations are on for the wedding, there is some small problem.
The registrar is stopped at a road block, and it might take a long while for him to be let free!!!
But, as the registrar cannot come to the wedding, can the wedding to him???

The simple story of one day, is narrated with a vigor which matches the intensity of Rana's search. The camera work is deft. The camera moves along with Rana, for all the whole of the movie. It runs when Rana runs. It scans the landscape in abrupt movements, when Rana is searching. It even moves along with her in the car.

Something that impressed me the most, is the casual way in which the general Palestinian population responds to the war. Even if there is fighting going on between armed soldiers, and small children trained to throw stones at the soldiers (with some bullets catching the children at legs, and hands), the general population move around hurriedly, minding their own businesses. Rana ducks, while she is passing such a mini-battleground, and reaches to the other side, where she boards a public bus. This shows the life of the people, who have taken the war to be a routine, something that is a part of their public life.

The movie, demystifies the Palestinian war to an extent, and is successful in narrating a love story between all the fighting.

An impressive show.

a shot from Rana's Wedding... 

Panera Bread

The fortress did not have any guards, but certainly was well guarded by its thick walls on all sides. Completely. 360 degree. Thatz Panera Bread (a local chain of restaurants) sour dough for you (featured in the picture below). The lump of bread has an impermeable crust, which appears like a well cooked pork, and is a feast.... for the eyes. The plastic spoons which accompany the meal are no match against the defence of the crust. The plastic spoons gave away, and had their spinal cords broken when we used them as soldiers against the fortress of the bread.
Subbu, Sarvesh, Reggie, and Shilpa had accompanied me on the friday meal to give a send off party to Kanna, the IIM grad, working for Infy, moving to Seattle in the weekend. The most interesting part was.... Kanna was not there in the party. ;-)
He had to take care of all the women.
Ahem!!! Doesn't that make the story juicy??? ;-)
But, the juice is more sour ;-)
The women who were cruel BAs of his office, who were not letting him free even in the last few hours that he was at office, before eloping to Seattle.......... with two boys, Gowda and Sarvesh....heh heh.... what did you think???
Coming back to the bread fortress, we mused about how to attack it, and cut it open. Just then, Subbu came up with this wonderful idea to remove its lid (the thick crusted bread, had a thick crust lid???!!! ) and pour all the soup (veggie soup, which resembled 'Tomato Sambar', but was charged more than twenty five times than in India) into the dead bread.
We did that, and managed to soften the dehydrated lump.
Few vain attempts, and a lot of jokes later, we decided to call it quits, and beat the retreat in our war against the (almost metallic tough) sour dough.
Out came Subbu's 'housemade Bisibele baath', from his lunch box, which he had prepared for later use. We rampaged on it like the hungry lads of the Mumbai slums. ;-)
The unknown female, who was to be impressed by Subbu's culinary skills had to excuse him that day, I guess ;-)

The picture below stars tragically puzzled Sarvesh, trying to use his engineering skills to find the point of weakness of the material. He definitely would have scored a great deal in his Engineering 'Strength of Materials', but miserably failed to make his way through the monstrous mould.

To Eat... or Not To Eat...that is the question???................................Sarvesh wondering what this is... supposedly named Sour dough with soup 

FALL COLOURS IN THE DOWNTOWN...... the beautiful colours of the Fall Season are blooming out... right in the centre of the downtown... featured is the ING building amdist the vibrant colours of the fall season. I took this picture from the top most floor (32) of my apartment.... 

amist the fall colours.... well, this did remind of that song..... Saaaathiyaaaa....un hunh.... Saaaathiyaaa ... un hunh..... 

Salaam Bombay (1988) - my view

You can love it. You can hate it. But you certainly cannot ignore it.

The exciting story of the young boy 'Chaipau' (tea boy), eking out a living in the sleazy streets of Mumbai, where the drains are free to crawl onto the streets, the half naked street children play around their simple games, the hungry leers of the men are met by skin show of the prostitutes. Contrastingly, the same dirty streets house the huge statues of 'Ganapathi Bappa' during the festival, which is celebrated with fervor more intense than any national festival, in Mumbai.

Thatz Mumbai. And this is the story of Mumbai, through the eyes of a street urchin.



The story runs thus....

Krishna is a boy on the street, working as a tea delivery boy. He sleeps on the streets, and eats whatever he gets. But is generous enough to share his small earnings with some of his other street friends, which includes a drug peddler Chillum (Raghuvir Yadav). He has a past. Like the thousands of children on the streets. They were not born that way, isn't it?

But what makes him special, is his dream. Now, whatz special in dreaming? Especially in MUMBAI, the city of dreams???

He has a dream, which he pursues to accomplish. He works, and saves his money to collect Rs 500, which would be enough to let him into his house in his village.

In a tiff, he would have burnt his brother's motor bike. His mother would have left him at a local circus to earn that money before he can come back. Due to the turn of events, he loses the link with the circus, making his way to Mumbai. He starts working as a tea boy for a small tea stall. As the story begins to make its way from his sand strewn road side sleeping place, to the infamously busy Bombay railway stations, and also through the creaking doors of the prostitutes' houses, it carries with it a narrative about the triangular love story between a ten year old girl, Chaipau (alias Krishna) and a sixteen year old beautiful girl, destined to be a prostitute.

Then there are the drugs, the booze, and a burglary. Chaipau is taken away by the police on a night, from a rain washed street. But interestingly, it is not for that burglary.

Does that kindle your curiosity?? Wait. There's more.

A jail break and a murder.

Amidst all these is the subtle humor of the Dickensian characters, which keeps you amazed all the way.



What I liked about the movie....

Bombay had always fascinated me. The numerous movies about the emotional coldness of the Mumbai contrasting against the warmth of the close Marathi knit community, the ruthless gangsters contrasting against the best police force in the country, the highest number of rich men contrasting against highest number of slum dwellers, had me interested in this strange phenomenon called Bombay.

I was always interested in people. The responses of the varied minds to the more varied stimuli, their beliefs, and their life.

But Bombay? Hey, hold on. I was never sure if I was ready to handle din and noise. Am not sure if I can handle it now, too.

Curtsey, a Bangalorean friend of mine who quit his software job and came back, just because he could not handle the crowd of the local train ;-).

Imagine my surprise to find Salaam Bombay video, in the Public Library of Minneapolis!!!

The movie does not glamorize anything. It rips out the facade painted to it by the bollywood, and throws at you, the unmade up story of the streets. No hero-heroines, occasionally vacationing, singing on the Swiss Alps, where as living in dilapidated houses with flaking walls. No gun trotting gangsters with birds' nest on their chins.

Bombay. Direct!!!



The hype...

Salaam Bombay, after having won awards at the Cannes Festival, had been nominated for the Academy Awards, in 1988.



The audience...

This movie is not for you if you have cooed at romantic comedies. This movie is not for you if you are looking out for a quick 'fill-the-gap' movie. This movie takes you down and dirty, right amidst the real life characters. Watch it if you have it in you, to gulp down the occasional bitterness dished out to you.





Till then,



Salaam Bombay....salaaaam Bombaaay!!!



with warm regards,

Teju

Colors of the fall.... the leaves attired in vibrant colors near the Canadian border...Grand Portage State Park, Minnesota. 

This is Minneapolis downtown, taken over by the pearl white clouds. 10:30 am in the morning of Sunday, the September 25, 05. 

Sunday, 25 Sept, 05... a short walk around the lake in the Como Park of Minneapolis... Chetan showed me a location for a good shot ;-)  

A lazy Sunday morning by a lake.... 

The picture of a squash fruit at the Farmers' Market of Minneapolis. The Farmers' Market is an interesting place in the weekend, as it resembles the village weekend market of India, and the farmers' directly sell their products to the customers. The prices are a little less, but the produce is fresh, and the ambience is totally desi. ;-) Watch out this space for more pictures of this interesting place..... 

A quick stop at the bank

Walking to the bank to deposit the pay cheque is a pleasure that makes the fortnight of work drudgery to be washed away from even the remotest corners of the memory.
Yesterday, the stride was exuberant, and the world looked a bit more colourful, as I walked through the skyway (a tunnel like structure, connecting multi storeyed buildings in the downtown) towards the bank with my pay cheque. Laptop, digital SLR, mp3 player, and many more dreams were in their formative stages, and were thirsty for capital ;-)
It was half hour to five in the evening, and the tellers had closed their counters. They were loitering around, waiting for the clock to scream 'five'.
I made it straight to the only teller, who was still working. She was assisting a student with his cash.
I waited for my turn.
A minute passed.
"You have a nice evening," the student with an unkempt blond beard, and a sleazy jeans cap uttered to her, and proceeded towards the exit.
I stood before her, with an excited 'Hi'.
She looked at me for a moment, her mascara eyes widening a lil. Did she recognise me from any place???
'Haaaai' she uttered, almost as a whisper. She was still looking at me, as though surprised. Pleasantly surprised, fortunately.
"I do not have my account number, and was wondering if I could get it using my ATM card," I uttered the usual words, with a slight bit of the American accent. I had never made any effort to remember the account number, as the tellers always helped me out with this ;-).
Her smile warmed, and she nodded eagerly, as she took my deposit slip from my hands.
No boyz... sorry. I won't lie that her hand touched mine, and she did that deliberately and all. All those things do not happen in the real world.
But yeah, she was pretty.
She looked at me with those sparkling eyes, and whispered something, with rippled smiles.
No.
It is not what you think.
"Pardon me," I leaned over to hear her properly.
"Please swipe the card on the machine," I could hear her this time.
I did that, and entered the number. I fished out two more cheques of smaller amounts. "Could I combine all the amounts together in a single deposit slip, rather than one each?" I spoke. The accent was included. ;-)
"Sure, I can help you out," she reached out eagerly, to the other cheques that I held.
"And the total...." I thought aloud. Mentally, I added the amounts, as she searched for the calculator.
I declared the amount aloud, trying to showoff my steadfastness.
She chuckled, as she slowly typed those amounts on the calculator. The amount was the same.
She looked up to me, with glowing eyes.
I gave a light laugh.
Slowly, she ran her carefully manicured fingers over the keyboard, as she entered the cheque information. She ran the cheques through the scanner, looking at me everytime.
I was enjoying this. It was fun to be adored this way. At the first sight!!!
I had never guessed that I could have this kind of effect on a girl. Guess, it was there after all. ;-)
Though my mother occasionally reminded me that I looked like a joker, I sought relief when my friends called me Hritik.
"Lo, he has a pointed chin, and a gawky face," uttered my friend one day. "And you feel nice when people call you that???" he crushed my happiness in a single wave. "You look like Sanjay Dutt, maga. Super height, and gym body," he told.
And he thought he was complimenting me. :-(
"You look like Ananth Kumar, the MP," a BJP activist had once told me, when I was working for the party for '96 elections.
Though Ananth Kumar won the elections, he had unknowingly threatened my confidence for many years.

Then, I settled for me looking like myself.
What better than looking like Thejas, who did not resemble anybody looking great, funny or bad. AND WHO HAD FLOORED THIS FEMALE BEHIND THE DESK ;-)

The receipt erupted from the printer, and she tore it out as though her life depended on it. As she handed it over to me, she looked at me with a bit of sadness in her eyes.
"Thanks," I uttered.
She was still staring at me.
"Bye," I said, waiting for her to say something.
She whispered again, which I heard as 'bye' after a delay, as though the sound waves were so feeble, that they needed extra time than their usual speed of 0.33 kmps.

As I came out of the bank, and made it in the skyway towards home, there was no thought of laptop, or the digital camera, or any of the customs officers I will have to face on my way back home. It was a great elation of being admired.
Finally, I had been presented with that smile, that I have seen only in the movies.

Half hour later, I joined my roomate for the evening tea, watching CNN screaming against Bush for Katrina, and few words about Rita, the big hurricane to hit the Texas in the next few days.
"Guruve (Pal) ," I started the topic, "Banknalli super expereince kanappa (Great experience at the bank)," I said.
He looked at me puzzled.
And I narrated the incident.
As the narration proceeded, his interest and smile grew. At the end, he was laughing aloud.
Now, it was the time for me to be puzzled.
"You know how all these banks operate to retain the customers???" he said amidst laughters.
"WHAT???"
"The other day, I went to the bank, that lady at the first teller counter called me out, to say I am cute," he said.
I was listening.
"Then the other teller seconded the first lady that I was indeed cute. And then they started discussing that I was cute," he said, as he laughed aloud, " And you are telling me stories, half of which you have imagined," he continued in between his laughters.

And there, my brief moment of hapiness came to an end.

Short review of Memento

There is this uncle of mine who believes that, to enjoy a movie, enter the movie hall half hour late. Irrespective of what the movies dishes out to you, romance, comedy or action, you are certainly going to enjoy the mystery of trying to guess about what has happened in the first half hour.

Little does he know that, his idea has been transformed into a multimillion dollar movie, the 'Memento'.

Story:
Leonard has a weird mental condition. He has no short term memory. He had been a normal person, until a singular incident where his wife is raped and killed, and in a dual with the killer, he would have a head injury, due to which he develops a weird mental condition. All he can remember is his life till the incident. From there on, at any point of time, he would remember incidents only in the very recent past. To exemplify, if you have met his person in the morning, he would remember you till the afternoon, but he would certainly have no clue about who you are, by the evening.
The story is about this person with this condition, going around hunting for his wife's killer.
Is that thrilling enough?
Wait, till I tell you that the story is narrated by the director in the reverse direction. There are two parallel stories running, one in colour, and the other one in black and white, with one of them being in the reverse direction, the other being in the forward direction.
The result is an awesome experience, which keeps you on the edge of the seat, every moment. This is highly unlike any other thriller that you have seen in the past where you would have to wait for the ending for the mystery to be revealed. In here, every scene creates a mystery, which is resolved by the next scene, but, it creates a mystery of its own.
The incident becomes the primary focus, and not the killer.

The pluses...
Almost everything about the movie is a plus. The narration takes the lion's share of the applause, followed by the slick camera work, the realistic locales, and the concept of such a mental condition.

A drawback...
Call it a drawback if you must, but not something worth mentioning. This movie requires focus to link the different parts and enjoy it. Easy for movie buffs, and a lil tuff for the ones with little patience for movies.This is to be watched for excitement on a lazy afternoon, rather than a relaxing evening after a hard day's work.

Enjoy the hunt for the incident.

Have a great week ahead.

With warm regards,
Thejas

Pictures of Niagara

hi friends,

...five youngmen started out on a Thursday evening... dream of Niagara in their eyes... desire of Niagara in their hearts.... and most important of all... credit cards in their pockets ;-)... 26 hours of drive, which included a drive throughout thursday night.... being driven away by Canadaian consulate at Detriot.... losing booked hotel in Toronto.... and a lot of gate crashing into the 'Burger King' and 'Taco Bell' restaurants....

Here's the pictorial account of the same ....

http://community.webshots.com/photo/430607114/430607114KtUGKk

Hope you have a great time watching them, as we had a great time living them

with warm regards,
Teju

Life Amidst Stars

I have always lived amidst the stars. The Amitabh of the early eighties, to the Roshans and Oberois of the day, life's always been interesting with the stars around me.

What's an interesting life without colour?! From the innocent crushes for Meenakshi Sheshadri of 'Shehenshah', to the current day bubbly girl Miss Zinta, life's been colourful too.

But there's always room for the sweet and demure Miss Balan. ;-)



Then, 'Paheli' happened!!!



Amol Palekar has given some ace performances in Chchotisi Baath, Golmaal, and others. But, why did he have to punish Shah Rukh for the arrogant overacting in earlier movies ?!

Squandering Shah Rukh's money on all the colourful costumes, the awesome picturisation of the dry, dusty Rajastan, the candid capture of the local culture, Mr Palekar presented to us, something which resembled the India Hour of National Geographic. Ofcourse, there was some small thing missing.

THE SCRIPT!!!

But the nostalgic Indian population of Minneapolis, US, did chuckle out laughter, time and again, for the few PJs that he had managed to stuff into the documentary. Remember the "Phala..............Phoooola.........aur.........."

I had joined them too. ;-)

The most interesting part, was ..... THE INTERVAL. Delicious samosas served with the green chutney, by the Punjabi aunty (she did manage to get it to all the Hindi movie screenings), who did not ape the American accent. She had all the desis, some chingis and blacks too, standing in a queue to get them. It almost resembled the the Saturday evenings at the Forum, Bangalore.



My career in films had begun quite early in life (watching films ofcourse ;-)) ). I don't remember it, but am time and again told by my mother about the anecdote at a Bangalore's theatre screen Sharaabi, of Amitabh, when I was two-threeish. I am told that I was so very excited at the scenes of Amitabh bashing up the bad guys, that I had jumped off from the seat in excitement. Aunt, and mother had to pull, and pin me back on the seat. Later, I had refused to accept that Amitabh had been acting all while. I had believed for sometime that he was a drunk hero, and earth was a safe place as long as he was there.



Highschooling in the famed National High School helped my career in films.

WHAAA......T?!!!

Well, the highschool takes attendance two times in a day. The first time is at the beginning of the day, and the second time is right after the interval. Hence, if a person was cunning enough to maintain the minimum attendance, and was the elected representative of the class ;-) , and was believed to be innocent by all the teachers ;-)), he could take an occasional half day off, to watch movies at the nearby Urvasi theatre, at the second class price of Rs 10. He could also take the first half of the day off on Fridays, if a big movie was releasing.

This is not mentioned in the school brochure ;-))



I had managed to cover all the movies from the good ones like '1942 - A Love Story' to the stupid ones like 'Hum Hain Bemisaal' (don't blame you if you haven't heard of this one) in the year '94.



One question ?!

Why is 'elected class representative' characteristic required?

Well, ask that friend of mine who had enjoyed 'Kaadalan' (superhit Tamil movie) , and was court marshalled the next day, in the first class, by the class teacher, in front of the whole class.

"Hegithappa Kaadalan?" (How was 'Kaadalan') she had asked him harshly. He had his head down, sadly facing everything she had to say.

Later, he told me that, he was actually analyzing the movie then. "Madam, songs are good, but heroine is a little fat," he had wanted to say, before he was told to go back to his seat.



Our enemies were black ticket marketeers.

The three of us were standing in the queue to the ticket counter of the Sagar theatre. Five more guys to go, and we could get the tickets to '1942 - A Love Story'. Suddenly, like the Yama announcing that 'your time has come', a dark man appeared beside the counter and announced 'Sold Out'.

"What do we do?" I looked worriedly at the other two.

"We will have to buy it black," my friend announced. I was horrified. Wasn't that illegal?

The Rs 20 ticket was bought at Rs 45 each. I was apprehensive, as I believed that we were cheating the government. The other friend bought three tickets. We looked at him, puzzled.

"I am expecting a friend, and her friend," he smiled.

The bugger had ditched us!!!

Not because he was going with his girlfriend at the last moment, but his girlfriend was bringing along only one other girl. We were two :(

"Not yet a girlfriend maga," he said apologetically.

We realized that, when she later turned up with her mother, and her brother. Her burly brother was one of the last to get tickets legally.

My 'lover-boy' friend had to sell his tickets for half price later, when she had refused to even acknowledge his existence there. ;-))

With the guilt of the black tickets, I watched the movie. (The guilt was there only till Manisha made her appearance through the window of the wintage bus, on the silver screen ;-) )



Some people liked Shah Rukh, and some loved Aamir. But, my hero was the Amitabh of my childhood. Tall and masculine. Where could I find one, amidst the dwarfs, who were generally made to look tall by the camera placement tricks?

Then, Kaho Na Pyaar Hain hit the screen.

Masculine, with ripping muscles, and a height, which could tower above all the heroes of the present, Hritik represented the typical hero. I had an immediate liking for the guy, till he started crying more than his heroines, in all his movies.

Lagaan was an experience I would remember for a long time. Dil Chahta Hain is a script I was bowled over.



After the advent of the Home PC, movies came to be categorized at 'Theatre Movies' and 'CD Movies'. Theatre movies were big movies with wide landscapes, and huge stars. Movies, which required prior planning to grab a quick breakfast and stand in the burning sun for tickets, only to get the evening show, where there was no chance of sighting college girls with tight jeans :(.

Most of the other movies consumed were read out of pirated cds, which the CD-ROM drives hated, but we always had the last say, after fighting with them using the Windows Media Player, and repeated restarts when the media players hung unceremoniously. After all, the CD-ROM drivers were pirated too ;-)

Almost all Govinda movies, and some english comedies fell into this category. Rs 20 movie rentals were shared by 5-6 friends.



One cold Friday night in march earlier this year (it is winter in March in the US), just two weeks after I had come to the US, after a dinner at a MacDonalds, my friend was getting me back to my hotel in his car. My eyes fell upon a cine multiplex. 'Avaitor' , the quaint poster with Leonardo Di Caprio announced, on one of the display windows. I had planned to watch this movie, but had missed it out in India. I made a mental note to watch it the next day.

"What is this place called?" I asked my friend.

"Columbia Heights," he said. I noticed that the multiplex's name 'Regal Cinemas' glowed in large letters.



The next day, unaccustomed to the American way of finding out places (google maps, and mapquest ), I browsed through the local yellow pages to locate the Regal Cinemas.

There was one in Edina. And I had no clue where and how far it was. I called up the phone number against it, and I was told that it would take approximately half hour for me to go there from downtown, where I lived. I called up a cab, and gave the address to the cabby.

"Where are you from?" I put the question across to the middleaged man.

"Somalia," he replied, "Are you from India?" he asked me.

I was surprised. "How did you know?" I asked him. "Oh! There are a lot of Indians here in Minneapolis," he said.

That was true.

After quite a while, I was watching the fare rise from teens to the early twenties, and now, it had just crossed thirty.

Was a movie outing such an expense for the people in the downtown? I mused. The ticket would definitely be $8-$10. If the one way fare was going to be thirty, to the movie theatre, one had to shell out almost seventy - eighty bucks. Was that acceptable? Why didn't these guys have theatres in the city? Don't Americans like movies? I thought that Hollywood was the ultimate place for cinema productions.

I was very, very puzzled.

"Are you going to the cinema?" he asked me.

"Yes," I said.

"Why are you going so far? There are a lot of theatres in downtown," he said, as though reading my mind. I felt like a fool. I didn't know that.

"Actually, there is a movie which is played only in that theatre," I uttered to save my face.

"Alright," he said. "It should be an Indian movie," he said to himself, aloud.

"We watched a lot of Indian movies in Somalia," he added.

I was taken by surprise. "Is it?"

"Oh!Yes. I remember Durrmendrr, Omitabb Bochchon," he uttered. "And also there was a beautiful lady," he added.

"Rekha?" I ventured to help

"No...it was ...some ....Malini."

"Hema Malini," I uttered aloud, to which he agreed excitedly.

"I watch them, when I was young," he said

I began marveling at the reach of the Bollywood movies, before even the software industry was born, and to the countries where the 'software' is yet to be distinguished from cotton clothes ;-)

"Is Omitabb still hero?" he asked.

"No, his son is acting as the hero. Amitabh is acting middleaged roles," I told him. Then, the conversation shifted onto his experiences of hindi movies as young boy in Somalia, and so on to other topics about his country.

When I got out of the cab, I was $37 poorer, but literate about Somalia.



To my surprise, the multiplex resembled the multiplex in Bangalore's Forum in all respects.



Two weeks later, the superhit Kannada movie 'Joke Falls' was being screened in one of the multiplexes in Minneapolis, according to www.localfiles.com (I was getting accustomed to the American way of finding information ;-) ). I had wanted to watch this movie in Bangalore, but had missed this one, too. Hence, reached there on the Sunday evening. There was a diverse group of people, some scurrying around, and others socializing, leisurely.

As I had already got the tickets from a Kannada colleague of mine, and wanted a refund for another that he had bought, but could not make use of, I ventured to the ticket counter. The two men behind the counter, flood with DVDs of 'America America', and 'Nanna Preethiya Hudugi', handed me the refund for my surrendered ticket. As my eyes were searching for people whom I could befriend, I noticed that the ambience was different than in Bangalore.

In Bangalore, the theatres screening Kannada movies in KG Road, had audiences which could leave one irritated. The multiplexes in Bangalore had the youthful crowd, north Indian guys with black tights, and their weirdly dressed girlfriends, busily speaking over the mobile phones, blending with the crowd of spectacled software engineers with drooping shoulders reading sms forwards. This was very much unlike the laid back crowd here.

Suddenly, my eyes fell on a handsome young man resembling a Punjabi (north Indian), and his two well dressed friends. I wondered if this person had come to check out a Kannada movie, or his south Indian girlfriend/fiancé had dragged him to it.

Casually, I walked upto them, and introduced myself, which they reciprocated.

They were all Kannadigas, with two of them Infosysians ( am sure there ain't a place left where Infy has not reached, but Mars… and that is because TCS has a monopoly there ;-)) ), and the Punjabi-looking guy, Chetan, was a MS guy working for a local software firm.

"Oh! Bangalore??!! Where do you live in Bangalore?" I asked Chetan. "Girinagar," he said.

"Oh! Girinagar??!! I live in Girinagar too," I told him. The three of them laughed out aloud.

"What street number?" Chetan asked. I smiled.

"There are no 'street numbers' in Bangalore. I live in 13th 'Cross'," I mocked.

"Oh! I just live three streets adjacent," he said, not minding my remark. I definitely felt like a FOB (Fresh Of the Boat… nickname for fresh desis who didn’t know the American way of life yet).

"Hmm, I know the street. I have a friend of my father who lives there," I said. I joined the 'street' jargon users group ;-).

"Actually, in the beginning of the street, there is a house with name 'Banni Mane'," he ventured information.

"Ah! That is the house that I am speaking out. Would you know my father's friend?" I mentioned the name.

"He is my father!!!" the guy blurted out the guffaws, leaving the other two bewildered.

I was taken by great surprise, no less than he was.

Of all the countries in the world, of all the cities in the US, of all the multiplexes in the city, he had to make it to this one??!!! (Inspired from a line of 'Casablanca' :) ). More than a decade we lived in the same city, with our fathers being friends, but we were destined to meet at this point in timeline??!!! That's destiny for sure :).



The evening went great, with the company of 'Hudugru', watching Ramesh (the movie hero of 'JokeFalls') moving around the naturally landscaped, green Malnad of Karnataka.



I have always been around stars. The peep of the Bollywood stars into my life may have become less frequent now, but there are my friends, who are my stars. They not only form my comfort zone, but also amaze, support, and inspire me untiringly. That makes life interesting.


Thank you for joining me on the cyberspace for this slice my experiences.

Have a great week ahead.

With warm regards,

Teju

"Swish, click, tick" and the horror at the Hair Saloon

George Bush ordered those bombs to be dropped on Iraq, but but did you know that some of them were a contribution from the desis here???

'How?' You may ask.

There are more than two million desis, and most of them go to the hair saloons for more than 10 times in a year. All the loads of taxes generated would definitely cross a few millions, enough to make a lot of bombs.

Now, you agree with me. Don't you? ;-)

For a guy, who is accustomed to pay a paltry sum to the barber for a great haircut, I was in for a very big surprise in the US.

"Where can I get a good hair cut here?" I asked my friend, a month after I had come to the US.

"Arre," he uttered, with a tone of 'didn't-anybody-warn-you'.

"You should have gone to the haircut before coming here," he said, as he guffawed. He was repeating the same statement as many others, that a haircut in the US is very expensive, and in some places, needs prior appointment.

I had a closer look at him, and surely he had been to at least one haircut after he had last visited India, more than an year back.

"Buddy, I did that. But, it has been a month since I have come here, and you know, I drink a huge glass of milk everyday," I smiled.

"What's that got to do with haircut?"

"Milk helps in growing. The hair grew back," I uttered, as the other friend in the rear seats of the car burst out in laughter.

I still remember that day, some eighteen years back, seated at the rear part of my house, on the stone structure erected to wash the clothes, beside a 'water pump' fitted well, watching my sister getting a haircut from my dad. I had asked him about why were we being operated on by him, whereas he always went somewhere else to get a haircut. I do not remember his answer, but realized that feeling of the creative elation, when I accomplish my passion of washing the dishes, now. Before people start getting ideas, lemme confirm that I do not do that for a living, or my dad, a very senior level executive officer in a huge public sector company ;-).

The first time I entered the 'portal' of a hair cutting saloon, with my father, the lean barber was more than happy to welcome the new patron. I felt like a king when I was made to sit on a special wooden plank laid on the handles of the seat, whereas none of my neighbors were getting that.

I was wrapped under a white cotton sheet and then, the process began.

The sharp 'swish' of the steel scissors, then the 'click' of the steel scissors, and then 'tick' of the plastic comb when he hit it to the scissors. I swayed to his tunes, as the sleep inducing plastic comb danced on my head, the barber handling them elegantly, nudging my head in various directions in between. As the time passed, I felt the itches, as bits and pieces of the strands were all over my nose, cheeks, and ears, as though they were trying to punish me for getting them chopped off.

Finally, after almost three quarters of an hour, it was done. Two rupees, was the charge.

Summer holidays of the primary school meant loitering in the unkempt streets of my native village, Talaguppa. Some memories include the grandpa's big 'benaa' (playing field) where I have played a lot of innings of 'chinni-dhaandlu' (gilli danda) with cousins and friends, where some Olympic records were broken too ;-). Also pleasant are the memories of some unique short trips in railway steam engines (not bogies) as a railway line ended in the village, and the engine drivers were friends of my cousins. Also, dear to me are the memories of the barbers of the village, who not only were very gentle in handling their scissors, like a beautiful woman's touch, but also told me some adventurous stories of the surrounding forests. But the usual question was definitely there, "With whom did you get a hair cut last time? He has not trimmed the top properly."

Beautiful women have professional jealousy too. Didn't Aish try to malign Mallika ? ;-)

Two rupees, was the charge.

The NCC was a turning point in the way I got my hair cut. Well, it is for many, isn't it?

The high school NCC officer was very strict, and saw to it that all the cadets had very, very short hair below the barret. (Barret is the circular cap that the cadets, and other defense personnel are made to wear, when in uniform). In the beginning of every session (twice in a week), the PO cadet (senior cadet) would run his fingers on the sides and the rear of the head below the barret. If he was able to grip any hair, he would either try to manually pull it out ( relax, I am exaggerating :-) ), or give a severe punishment. This introduced me to the concept of military cut. I liked the cut, as I had seen similar hairstyle being sported by the numerous good-looking, protagonists of the American war movies :-)).

Ah! An incident which tickles my funny bone.

One fateful day, I was getting late for the session, and had forgotten to get a haircut the previous day. The image of the severe punishment loomed before me. It was scary. A weird idea struck me. I went to the bathroom with a pair of scissors, put the barret on, and cut my hair at the rear and the sides, wherever I could grip them. The result was, well, a strange expression, the blend of anger and humor on my father's face. But, I had no time, and had to rush to the session.

In the session, I escaped the cruel fingers of the PO cadet, who was shorter than me, but could not dodge the rip roaring laughter that I provided to my classmates at school, later in the day. One of them even branded me 'ili kachchida tale' [mouse feasted head, literally translating :-( ]

In the evening, the expert barber (with an experience of more than 20 years), to whom I went, was left wondering about who the dumb barber was, who had rampaged on head.

Twelve rupees, was the charge.

Well, thankfully that is all past.

After a week more in the US, I resembled the 'hippies' of the 70s. A brief research over the Internet, and I was enlightened about two chain of hair saloons. The 'Super Cuts' and the 'Great Clips'. They maintain websites of their own, and you can look up the store near to your place, over the internet. What is the world coming to ? ;-)

That evening, I found myself in front of a skyscraper of the downtown, in which one of the shops housed the local 'Great Clips'. The store is a small one, with five chairs and mirrors for the service. But first, you need to register yourself with the man behind a computer, at entrance. The first name, last name, social security number need to be given out. He gives you an estimate of the time for which you would have to wait for you to be serviced.

After twenty minutes of going through a men's magazine, in which I read all about the awesome exercises of muscle building, which I would never do, I was disturbed by a female voice "Theyaas" she called out.

That was me. 'Ja' is pronounced as 'Ya', due to Spanish influence.

A lanky female with blond hair, twisted and stuck somehow in a hurry, artificial make up biting into her pale, dry skin, and loads of lipstick, showed me to the chair.

Am I going to be operated on, by her???!!!

"Where are you from?" she asked.

"India," I spoke.

"Oh! That's a far off place," she said.

"Yes."

"Where is it?"

No surprise.

"Beside China," I said, very much sure that she would not suddenly be interested in India, if I gave her immaculate travel directions.

"That is the other part of the world," she said as she pulled out the electric shaver.

"Yes."

"What would you like?"

"Military cut," I spoke. I was addicted to it.

"What's that?" she stopped.

"Like they show in the movies. Like the marines. Very short to the sides, and back. Medium long at the top."

"Awh. Awright!" she said.

I knew I had to spell out numbers as specs. But, this time I wanted to do it the Indian way. If I had found it satisfactory, then I wanted to freeze on the numbers and spell out the same numbers every time.

That is, if she had not made me look like a bulky chicken.

In the next five minutes, she had finished my hair cut. 14$ after 1$ discount. Plus $2 tip. Dare to multiply by 45? ;-)

The bulky chicken trudged out, and rushed home.

For the next few months, I am going to enjoy a lot of 'hat' shopping, I thought. ;-))

My first time at Great Clips, was a horror.

Now you know why I have my weird hat on, in all my Florida pictures.

In the next few times, I have understood how to communicate to them though not in exact numbers, but with a combination of numbers, and images. I even did a bit of internet surfing for images with hair cut men. ;-)

But, a feeling of nostalgic sadness does sweep over me, when I think about my barber in Bangalore, getting a meager sum of Rs 35, for an excellent haircut, with least explanations from my side, and just the first time. He even does the tempering of the hair before the haircut, so that it is soft and straightened before he brings out the scissors.

One of the most relaxing times, have been the times that I have spent at the barbers at Bangalore, on Friday evenings. (Boys... you have liberty to laugh it out ;-) )

But then, he is happy with it, and continues to spread happiness to the stressed out souls of the city, through his tools 'swish, click, tick'.

From the creative scissors of my dad, to the electric horror of the Great Clips, with a lot rusticity, care, and some 'rampage' in between, it has been a great walk down the memory lane for me. Hope you have enjoyed reading about it, as I have enjoyed writing about it.

Have a great weekend.

With warm regards,

Thejas

Michael Crichton's 'Timeline' Review - The curse of the seventh grade

The dark faced, gaunt 'Social Studies miss' (the History teacher) of my seventh grade still haunts me. The vapid way in which she blurted out history from the frail State Government text book, and equalled history to memorising the important dates (still remember , 1602 - Establishment of the British East India Company, 1665 - Establishment of the French trading company ....see!!! Wasn't she a tyrant? ;-) )
Yes, there was a small mention of the Hundred Years war between the English and the French, in one of the earlier chapters, I guess. See??!!! I don't remember this part.

THAT IS WHY I HAVE BEEN CURSED WITH MICHAEL CRICHTON'S 'TIMELINE'.

The book flaunts the flashy quotes in inverted commas.... 'COMPULSIVE READING...BRILLIANTLY IMAGINED'... says the Los Angeles Times. They get a few grands extra than the other reviewers of the book, I suppose, for authorizing this LIE. This book is also heralded as the New York Times Bestseller. Aha! That is something that everything printed in the US gets to flaunt.
Check out my next book "Michael Crichton's TIMELINE, a Review by Thejas K R" .... THE NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER.
That would be a bigger version of the woes that I am presenting before you this day.

The book begins promisingly. A weird old man, is found in the middle of the Arizona desert, with no car nearby.
His fingers are blue, and looks mysterious. He speaks some strange words, which are dismissed as incoherent mumblings of a retard.
He is rescued by a family on a vacation, but he breathes his last on his way to the hospital.
The scene then, shifts to a group of Yale University students and professors, and other professionals, involved in studying the excavations of the an ancient fort in Dordogne, France.
Would you believe if I tell you that these scenes are linked to the enterpreneur who has sold his hi-tec company, and has been involved in coming up with low-hyped, development of a Time Machine , which employs quantum technology to take you to the past.
"There is no such thing as time travel," he insists, "Because past has not gone anywhere. It is all a perception. Past is right here, amidst us." An interesting theory, isn't it?

The theory is much more deeper than that. Because of my intense awe towards it, I beg you to allow me a few lines to explain the theory.
In simple terms, Quantum theory specifies the light to be made up of particles called Photons.
Remember the 'Theory of Interference of Light' in the twelfth grade. This experiment had us send light through two key holes, and when the light is obtained on a screen on the other side of the key hole, there are alternate black and white stripes found.
Quantum theory states it to be a resultant of interference of photons.
Now, if a beam of light with a single photon is sent through the key hole, we should not be getting any stripes, as there is only a single photon. But, the pattern appears!!! This shows that a single photon can cause interfernce too, but is not seen as a routine. Based on this, the explanation is arrived at, that every instant, the Universe is splitting, and this splitting of the Universe leads to different universes running at different times. Hence, past can be recreated if you are able to collect all the particles of that instant. Or better, if you are able to recreate yourself using the particles of that Universe, you could find yourself in that Universe. Simple, isn't it?
This is the theory of Multiverse.

Due to the turn of events, the protagonists are electronically transported into the past of fifteenth century, where the English and the French are battling the Hundred Years war.
The first hundred pages provide you with intermittent interesting scenes, between certain spiritless ones. Well, Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham???
The last interesting scene is when Crichton writes about a medieval clash of swords ( or lances to be precise). This is in the first quarter of the whole novel..The fight is explained with a brutality, which would make one feel surprised. Never before have I experienced the gory fight, when I watched all those brit knight movies.
Soon, it is time for history lessons. Crichton has done extensive research for this novel. And he painfully makes it visible in every paragraph that he has penned.
Did the editor actually went through this crap? Or is he one of those over worked software testers of TCS, who was doing this for an extra buck???

As the feeble story line toggles, dangles, and droops pathetically, around a few locations of a castle, a village, and a monastery, the characters try to create a make believe mystery, quoting that a person of their century might have come here earlier.
What's this? Chandrakaanta???

The novel reminds me of another pathetic work, 'Yaadein', a movie in Hindi. An excellent director Subhash Ghai confuses the audience between the sensitive story of a father and his three daughters to begin with, which suddenly shifts to Hritik Roshan's story of the revolt against his family's psedo values, where there was no room for love.
(Believe me, 'then', if I were him, I would have done the same for Kariena ;-) After 'Chameli', I have shifted my loyalities ;-) )

The ambience of the setting of the story, the attires of the characters, and their dialects are handled well, by the novel. So does the history text book.
The most essential part is the story. The story is very weak, and cannot be ignored despite all the efforts that went into the research for the book. Reams, and reams of historical facts are being blurted out by the weak characters, who have no sense of the time. By the time they come to the point.....ouch. It is 9 o clock. Time for the 'Sex and the City', rerun.

With warm regards,
Teju
(ps: Actually, I haven't yet finished the book. Had to take out my frustration before I could continue even for a page. 60 pages more. Will definitely update you on the disappointing climax.
Also, for the unenligthened junta, 'Sex and the City' is a television series, which involves four single women of New York city, who whine incessantly that the world lacks non-weird men, and drive the ones they find sane, to insanity. Thot of explaining it, to play safe from doubting Thomases ;-) )

The Miami Beach on the final day – the Florida tour ends

As the Sun prepares to set at that distant place, where the sea meets the sky, the handsome dude stretches out his lazy muscular hands. He is on the beach, his legs stretched out towards the sea, as he looks relaxedly at his laptop. An angelic woman in a flimsy but colorful wrap around walks towards him, with an elegant glass in her hand, filled with a color fluid. She offers it to him, as he smiles at her. As she turns back, and moves, we see the exotic resort with palm trees, and swimming pools behind the man.
"24 hours Internet facility, to be in touch, all the time," echoes the voice for the TV commercial.
BEING IN TOUCH ALL THE TIME!!!
THAT IS REEL LIFE!!!

"Hello," croaked the rough voice of Shiva, who had just woken up.
"The code abended. You have missed a test case!!!" the shaky voice on the other end spoke hesitantly. A chill struck Shiva's spine, as he was jolted into the real world from the date with Aish, which he had been living the whole night.
With no laptop, or internet connection, Shiva dictated to his colleague hundreds of miles away, to browse through his test cases, carefully perusing the application, bit by bit, as he bathed, got into his beach gear, and finally drove us from Fort Lauderdale to Miami South Beach. BEING IN TOUCH ALL THE TIME???
THIS IS REAL LIFE!!!

As Shiva ended his very long long-distance call, we had reached the Miami. A futile search for the elusive 'Shiva Indian Restaurant' (pompously flashed on Google during our initial research) seemed to have disappeared overnight.
Alrightey. We will go to an Italian Restaurant, for lunch, we decided.
And that is when it all started.

On entering the Italian restaurant, a 'drop dead gorgeous' female, the chief waitress, approached us, asking if she could help us. I did not pay much interest to her, but noticed that she had worn a white top, black skirt, and black slippers. Well, I did not pay much interest to her, but, just noticed that she had pulled her hair back tightly, having tied it together, and a leaving it back to rest till her nape. Well, that's it!!! Just to add, she had a very clean complexion, and thin gold colored neckwear. Also, manicured nails with the polish of color.... oh! Crap!!!
Never paid much attention to her. ;-)
The hotel's architecture was quaint, with modern pieces of furniture of metals, and glass tables.

An Italian thin Pizza, which carried the word 'Special' amidst the words of its long name, tempted us to order for that. The woman 'to whom I did not pay much attention' had called out for another waitress attired in black, who was equally stunning. This lass, who could clear the Infy HR round without much of an effort, stood there, with a pen and a pad, taking out our orders for the Pizza with Mozarella cheese.

The pizza was horrifyingly different than the regular American Pizza, and had some weird toppings on a very thin crust, which appeared something like a desi 'papad'. This pizza was disappointing, and thank heavens, we were not made to eat these original pizzas at our Pizza Huts!!!

"Buddy, now don't look at her immediately, but whenever I look towards her, she is smiling at me," said Shiva while munching on that pathetic pizza. Ouch!!! I could feel the familiar feeling of jealously. I casually turned towards her, and she flashed that brilliant smile.
I smiled back. My soul will rest in peace!!!
Shiva gave me that 'Didn't I tell you not to look at her?' glare.
I gave him that 'I am stupid, as always' smile.

Meal finished, bill paid, and it was time to go out.
Shiva asked the waitress in black, some directions to go to the South Beach. The damsel leaned down towards him closely, and started out with the directions.
Shiva asked some very ignorant questions, which I am sure he would not remember now!!!
Then she began to give directions with her immaculately presented fingers, about the numerous turns to take. I mentally memorized the instructions, pretty much sure that her magnetic field would have erased out any data that Shiva's memory would be trying to load.
Then, it was time to say it!!! C'mon Shiva SAY IT!!! BLURT IT OUT!!! SCREAM IT OUT TO HER!!!
(No, it is not what you think........ we had already paid the bill ;-) )

He did not say. So, the onus was on me.
"You are very beautiful," I mentioned it as we were getting out. I hated to steal Shiva's limelight, but that is the least I could do, when we had not given her any TIP!!!
After we came out, "I had thought of saying that," Shiva said, also imagining me with hands and legs tied to two parallel poles, as he shot at me with an AK 47. Before his imaginations could get more creative, and grouse, "So, remember any of the instructions?" I asked.
"No," he smiled.

Miami beach.

Certainly, not as clean as those bewitching beaches of Goa, but the beach made up for it with a back drop of skyscrapers. It certainly had loads of men and women, with very, very less amount of clothing.
I thought of those ill paid export textile workers in India, who would be ruined if this trend continued. [Didn't think about them then, but am thinking about them now. Does it make a difference? ;-)]
No David Hasselhoff, or the lady Anderson. But, it certainly had some able bodied male Life Guards, but ....hey ladies!!! Don't start imagining things. Most of them had their shirts on.
The Sun was hot, and the beach goers were allowed to go only till a limited distance into the ocean, where there were floating markers for boundary. I appreciated the system after a glance.
Two great hours later, drenched in salty water, I took a shower at the beach. Soon it was time to battle out the rush hour traffic to Fort Lauderdale, toggling between helplessness and hope against reaching in time to catch our flight back to our homes.

Frantically, I rushed from one escalator, to another, shuffling in between different floors of the airport of Fort Lauderdale, finally pulling my carryon luggage bag to the check in counter. Ten minutes to the departure.
"No sir, you cannot board now," said the dark lady behind the desk. "You have to be here atleast fifteen minutes before departure," she added.
I missed that knowledge.
I stood there shocked. Stranded at a great distance from my comfort zone, with a wasted air ticket, I cursed myself for not having turned up earlier. 'Why does it always happen to me?' this is one question that I did not ask, because I knew beforehand about why it happened to me. I had missed the flight in Bangalore, and I had once again missed the flight now. The message was clear. I HAD SCREWED UP!!!
No excuses. I felt I deserved this, atleast to wake me up from the complacency, and jolt me into planning things better. Is this a reflection of the things that have been going on in my life? Always realize the facts late, to realize that I have missed the bus. And this time, it was the plane.
It was hightime that I took charge of my life, and decide its course, else, would have to be satisfied with the course that the life decides for me. Something that I had known for a while, but had been postponing to think about. Life has its way of teaching us of its nature, I realized. IN TIME!!! I breathed a sigh of relief that it had been a small price to pay for this rude awakening. I was definitely thankful to the almighty for this.

"But, the plane would not have left yet. Can't you make this one exception this time? I did not know the rules," I said.
The huge woman was in no mood to be chivalrous and listen to my 'damsel in distress' story. She said I could go ahead, and call the airline helpline.
The airline helpline was not much of a help, but gave me a choice to select between a set of planes starting at 9 in the same night (presently it was almost 6pm), or another one starting at 7 in the next morn. The one starting at 9pm, would cost me 273$ more, but the one starting next day morn would cost me only 50$ more.
Any guesses of my choice????
But, I would have to land up at Minneapolis at 12 noon, on a weekday!!!
Well, I COULD STAY IN FLORIDA FOR A DAY MORE!!! ( positive thinking.... ;-) )

Sandy was a great help in contacting the different hotels, with a combination of 'airport pickup' and the price for a night. As I bade him farewell, I had myself booked in Comfort Inn, a twenty minutes drive from the airport, with the 'airport pickup' facility. For 63$ a night, it was a steal!!!

The movie on TNT was interesting, but could not help my hunger. The cozy room of the artful hotel had me channel surfing for a while. Then, I pulled myself out to grab a grub in some nearby super store (as most of the eatouts here either have junk food, or non-vegetarian). On enquiry, I was directed over a nearby bridge, on the other side of which I would be able to find some stores. As I ventured out into the night, on the wide road, showered with orange light from sodium vapor lamp, I was unnerved by the desertedness of the place. There was not a single human anywhere in sight, but occasionally a huge car or a truck, zooming along the road at uncomfortable speeds.
Nowhere before in India, I have had this fear of being mugged, because I always had my huge structure for comfort. But in here, where I am one among the millions to have a height more than 6 ft, that could not be quoted as an advantage. Also, I remembered the headlines being flashed all over the US when I had just come. It was a school shootout by an adolescent, in Minnesota state. Guns were not very extra ordinary here. This had added to the generic fear.
But, then, it was thrilling too.

Just when I was on the bridge, I turned to look down below. Freeways, and state highways merging, and forking out, all drenched in orange streetlights looked awesome. Temptation to take a picture resulted in an interesting photograph.

A few more minutes of walk down the bridge, I came across a superstore, where I grabbed a quart (1 Litre approx) of milk, along with some buns, and came out. While going back, I was walking behind two guys, an obese white, and a tall, muscular black, talking loudly as they walked. Suddenly, they stopped in their tracks, and looked at me.
"You go ahead," said the black.
Carefully, I trudged ahead, and as they started walking behind me, I could hear the black speak out, "I don't like a tall man tailing me. It gives me the nerves. He has broad shoulders......." he said to his friend, and shouted out, "Ma'an, YOU WORK OUT, DON'T YOU???"
CONGRATULATIONS, MR THEJAS!!! YOU HAVE DONE A HAT TRICK OF BEING CHECKED OUT BY MEN!!!
First it was that fellow Indian, who had identified me by my pants, in the workplace cafeteria. Then, it was the long bearded man in the Minneapolis Skyway, who had mentioned 'You have nice eyes', to my embarrassment when with my colleagues. Now, the ill luck had followed me all the way to Florida!!! :-))))

Anyway, I turned back with a smile, and joined them in their idle talk on my walk back to the hotel.

Early in the morning, the hotel’s escort dropped me at the airport. A flight to Cincinnati, and another flight to Minneapolis, left me staring at the Minneapolis Downtown from air, with a deep breath of relief.

The most exciting trip and finally come to an end. And what an end it was!!!

Thank you for accompanying us on this adventurous and tumultuous journey to the most sought after vacation of the US.

Hoping to see you all sometime soon, someplace soon, somehow.

Thanks,

Have a great week ahead.

with warm regards,
Teju

sandy and the soda loving shark 

The shark of the Shark Adventure... 

the blood curdling mummy ride... 

the Twister blows towards you... 

"Hey... kewl sword...where didja buy it???" asked Shiva... "At 'price cut' sale in Walmart," said his egyptian friend 

Universal Studios, a trip to Florida part 3

I was yanked about wildly, and as my vision cleared, a huge skull formed at an altitude, lit with green and yellow colours. A path of colourful fires lit towards us from the skull, and we were climbing up at break neck speed towards the gigantic skull, which was screaming in earth shattering voices. As it guffawed, we screamed, as we were being hauled into the enormous, green smoke filled mouth of the skull. As the shrieks of the females in our cart reached its zenith, to my horror, we were pushed into the mouth of the skull, and all I saw was green, green and greener smoke. Suddenly, everything went black, as we had been hauled into an endless pit, which did not seem to end. Within the batting of an eyelid, we were scooped up, and thrown into a maze of caves through which our cart scurried around, and finally halted to view the smiling face of Brendon Frazer on a flat screen, declaring the end of the ride .
"Hope you liked the Mummy Ride" he says. Believe me, he has no idea how much I liked it.

The most attractive of all rides, for me, at Orlando were the Mummy ride, and the Back To The Future. Visit them the last, if you wanna enjoy the other rides :-)

Earlier, in the day, we had managed to get out of the hotel by half past seven, with Sandy getting out earlier than the previous day. He had given up on swimming practice I guess ;-)

A little more than three hours drive in the Ford Focus, by the gentleman driver Shiva (he did manage to break the speed limits, going at about 110 miles an hour, but only when challenged by that blonde in that red convertible ;-) ). No stopping for trash disposal, or rest rooms. There was no time to lose, and everything had to be carried to Orlando.

At Orlando, we parked the car in the huge parking lot, where one can easily lose track of where one has parked it. As we moved towards the entrance, I was entranced by this world, which was different from the world outside. A wave of nostalgia swept over me, reminding me of the summer of 89, when a friend of mine had narrated me his adventure at the Disney World of California. I had been listening to his story with such devotion that, though I do not remember the complex (?) circuits of Basic Electronics of my engineering student days, but definitely remember every line of his ancient story. And this was supposed to be better than that one.

The tickets cost a whopping 70$. There was an offer too. If one would buy tickets for two days i.e 140$, he would get three additional days free.
We bought tickets for a single day.

Though, the tickets cost a lot, there is no ticket for the individual rides inside. The rides can be taken unlimited number of times. But, to finish all the rides, one would require almost a day. But, one would have to be quick to move from one ride to another, as there is a waiting time of fifteen minutes to thirty minutes for every ride (displayed outside the rides).

Ah! Yes. Shiva met his old buddy, and the buddy was envious that Shiva had developed skin since they last met. ;-)

We started off with the Twister experience.

You are taken through a series of torn down rooms of a house (one of them has a car wrecked into the roof of the room, still dangling dangerously), while continuously being enlightened by the Twister movie stars Helen Hunt, and Bill Paxton, through giant screens, about the havoc that tornadoes can create. Then you are taken into a setting where the tornado is recreated, right in front of you. Ripping electric poles, breaking light boards, heavy rains make way to the slender, but dangerous tornado, with flying cows, and crushing roofs. You are not witnessing it. You are right there in the middle, experiencing it.

Mummy is an experience beyond description. The mysterious structures, the falling shutter, the popping mummies, and then there is the dash into the devil's cave, which shames all other rides on this planet.

Terminator is a show, which involves the wearing of 3-D goggles. As the story of Terminator unfolds, the on screen drama makes way to the offscreen, on-stage actors, as the story toggles between the reel and the real. The war between the men and the machines is not what you see on the screen, but in the war field where you are at the center.

The Men In Black ride had us shooting at aliens, and scoring points. This is purely for the kids. (As Sandy outrageously beat me, I would refrain from sharing my tips with you. Also, it has made me hate the ride, for life ;-) )

A pizza at the Pizza place, ( $3 off says the sign, but nobody's speaking about the 'on' price X-( ), and we were off to the Shark Adventure. A boat ride with an enterprising boat woman into a lake swarming with sharks, popping now and then, the fun was more in getting drenched when the boat tilted to and fro, whenever a shark popped up from below.
And before my friends start worrying about my life, and 'cruel' friends start worrying about my Life Insurance amounts, I would want to reveal to you that the Sharks were all wooden. ;-)

The 'EarthQuake' ride has all the passengers of a train right in the middle of a 8.0 earth quake. At an underground station, the earthquake starts off mildly, then there is the breaking of the water supply pipeline, gushing waters all over the station, the blinking tubelights, the short circuited roof's electrical linings, and finally the roof of the underground station breaks loose, with a road above falling down into the station, bringing along with it an oil tanker, which comes close to hitting the train on which one would be seated at the edge of his seat.

The Back To the Future takes off where the last movie of the series [Back To the future 1,2, and 3] left off. Here, we are chasing Biff ( the villian) in a car which can not only move between different times, but can also slide, fly and rip through the building boards, tower clocks, and hover over oceans. We chase Biff's car at different times of history, present and future, over mountains, ridges, heavy traffic city streets, and into the waterfalls.
This is nothing but the best.
And all these things by the car, are simulated!!! Such realistic is the simulation that Shiva developed motion sickness, and refused to come a second time, though actually the car had not moved an inch. It had just turned at different angles, and moved in sync with the dome screen in front of us.

In between all these busy rides, Sandy still managed to hunt a shark, and steal its soda.

At about half past five, we started on our walk back towards the huge parking lot, to find the car, and zip away towards our sojourn at Fort Lauderdale.

Tomorrow: Do not miss the trip to the Miami South Beach, the exotic beach of the world. Also, Shiva's love story with his cell phone, as misses out on the love story, which could have been with a stunning girl. And again, my nerve wreaking experience - I MISS THE PLANE BACK HOME.

Have a great day.

with warm regards,
Teju

the pictures of the trip at
http://community.webshots.com/album/322459456dLVbhf