the first part of this two part write up is here
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An year later, I was sitting at a Cyber cafe (Internet parlor), having created my first email account with Yahoo. I had just one email id to whom I could send an email. He was my cousin who was working for Intel in Portland, and had given me his email address when on a vacation to India. For my first email, I had typed a long letter with more than five hundred words. After I pressed the 'Send' button, I felt elated. I had sent my first email.
But, would he receive it? Was the email address right?
These questions haunted me as the Indian Postal Service always made it a point to lose all my letters (the real world version of the email) to my cousins.
The next day, I went to the Cyber cafe again and logged into my email account. I was surprised to find a reply to the email from my cousin. Though, as an Engineering student, I knew all the technology behind the emails, and the Internet, it was a strange experience for me to actually see that the message had traveled all the way to the United States, and had come back (figuratively). All this had happened within a span of one day, and with a cost of not more than twenty rupees per hour.
I had thought, 'God! What is the world going to be?'
I did not even think in my wildest imaginations, about the number of emails that I sending and receiving today.
"The wild animals visit this place almost every night," the forest guard told the four of us, pointing to a small water hole, a hundred yards ahead. Three of my friends and myself had ventured into a trek in the protected forest of Parambikulam in the November of 2006, with a few forest guards. We were staying in an old bungalow in the middle of the forest, built by the British in the last century. This house did not have any facilities, but was just a structure with a few doors and a roof to serve the wildlife enthusiasts to stay for a night. The house had deep pits dug on all the sides, to prevent the denizens of the jungle from coming near. A small plank on the pit on the front side was the only entrance to the bungalow. A small lantern was the only source of light, helping the cook to prepare the dinner using firewood from the jungle, and water from the nearby stream that we had brought, earlier in the evening. The ambience was eerie, as one of the assistant forest guards started narrating jungle tales of a tiger that was tormenting the villages skirting the forest. There was a occasional bark of a deer, a quacking sound of a strange bird, and some other sounds that I could not distinguish. After the dinner, the forest guard suggested that we could go out for a night walk, as it was a good time to sight wild animals. Though I trusted the experience of the forest guard, I was skeptical about him. He had behaved weirdly in the jungle walk, earlier in the evening. He did not interact much with anyone, but just kept to himself, and was always marching ahead when we trekked. Sometimes, he did try to speak to us in a language which my Tamilian friend guessed to be Malayalam, and my Malayali friend thought to be Tamil.
As we started the night trek, I started following the forest guards, with a torch in my hand, followed by my other friends. The forest guard did not even carry a torch, but just a stick, which he was swinging wildly as he walked. Few minutes into the jungle, and it was getting scarier, surrounded by dark green trees, bushes, and grass, in the forest, dim lit due to the partial moon. It looked more of a dream sequence, than a real life experience, as most of the things that I could see or hear were not clear. Suddenly, I could hear human voice. Unsure, I became more attentive. There was definitely a voice. As I observed, it was coming from the forest guard, who was more than fifteen yards ahead of me. I froze. It looked like he was chanting something.
Could it be a ghost chant? Or was he just crazy?
Suddenly, I could see a sparkle at he right ear. He was holding something.
It appeared like a mobile phone.
It was indeed a mobile phone. Later I was told that it was a BSNL connection.
Few years back, we did not have proper phones in important towns in India. Today, there was a cell phone connectivity in the heart of the Parambikulam jungle. Is the day far when the tigers and leopards would have email accounts?
On a recent visit to my native place Kilar, a secluded village off the NH 206; on the way to Honnavar from Jog falls, I had taken my digital camera. There was a Upanayanam (threading) ceremony of one of my cousins, and there was a large gathering of all my relatives, whom I had not seen since childhood. I like such gatherings because they are a great way of meeting up with everyone, and saving time rather than visit each of the houses. I was clicking a lot of candid shots, as this was a unique occasion, where all my relatives had come together, after a long time. After a hearty lunch, it was the time of giving gifts to 'Vatu', the person who has been threaded. I was happy that I could cover pictures of everyone, as all the people would definitely come to give the gifts. I positioned myself beside my threaded cousin, and his parents, and shot pictures at will.
After the eventful day, I had to return back to Bangalore the same night. I had to leave on an onsite deputation to Minneapolis, US in the weekend.
After reaching Minneapolis, I uploaded all my pictures on an online album, and sent the links over to my cousins in Bangalore.
The next day, I got a call from the sister of my grandmother in New Jersey. She had got my phone number from my family in Bangalore.
She told me that my cousins in Bangalore had forwarded the link to my pictures, to my cousin who was threaded in the secluded village. He had been able to view all the pictures through a dial up connection, and had sent the link over to my grandmother's sister over the phone. My grandmother's sister had browsed through all the pictures, and had called up to tell me that the pictures were nice, but I had missed out her friend, who had supposedly come to the gathering.
All this in one day?!!!
I stood stunned.
On my recent vacation to Honnavar, a place I loathed as a kid because of Sundays without TV, I could see my grandmother sitting with her kitchen help watching the latest report by 'Aaj Tak' on Iraq War. "This Bush is crazy, why is he still fighting in Iraq? Saddam is already caught," she was telling her help. "Many people may not know that Saddam is caught. Looks like there are not many TVs in Iraq," said the kitchen help.
From the days of the snake charmers, Kings and their elephants, it is a wonder to the world as India moves towards auto drivers with mobile phones, and blue toothed connected super malls. Kitchen helps talking about global issues, mobile phone connectivity in the jungles, and village boys sending Orkut friend requests, all hint at the communication media flattening the world. In this world, where each country needs the others to develop, a flat world would prove a boon to the humanity. Together, we will win.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Monday, December 10, 2007
Towards a flatter world...
As I was browsing through the book, 'The World is Flat' by Thomas Friedman, that talks about the amazing way in which the technological innovations were making communication so very easy that the world appeared flat without barriers, I began recollecting some of my experiences as an Indian, who stood as witness as it unfolded right before my eyes. Here is a slice of my journey towards a Flat World.
I stared out of the window into the unkempt, large garden, with thick undergrowth, and lovely jackfruit trees. It was a cold day, with the white light from the clouds creating the setting from a British movie 'Pride and Prejudice'. But, I was in a gloom.
It was not because of the clouds.
It was a Sunday in the winter of late 80s, and the day of the 'Heman and the Masters of the Universe' [a very popular cartoon TV series in the late 80s in India]. I was at my grandpa's place in Honnavar, an important coastal town in Karnataka, and it had no television sets then.
This was what I loathed about going on a vacation. No 'Heman' at nine, and no 'Mickey and Donald' at ten.
I remembered the attractive TV advertisements that I had seen of 'EC TV', in Bangalore. Though there were other brands, such as 'Videocon' and 'BPL', EC TV appeared like an inexpensive brand, which my calculative grandpa could be convinced to buy. A little afraid to propose this idea directly, I had scribbled 'Why not buy a EC TV' in Kannada, and left it at the dinner table.
I can still remember the roar of laughter that emerged from the dining room when my parents and grandparents sat for lunch.
'Hrrmmph', I had said to myself, 'these elders will never spend a paise for us.'
On an August day of 2006, I logged into 'Orkut', the most popular site amongst the young, and the most hated site by corporate firewalls. I had got a friend request from 'Pachchi'. I was confused. All the Prasannas (who become Pachchi for their close friends) that I knew were known by different petnames. There was only one Prasanna who was Pachchi that I knew. He was from my native village amidst the Western Ghats. Two years back, this village had no proper telephones, with the few houses that did, needed to have an incandescent bulb kept at a very close proximity to the instrument, without which the instrument would die of cold.
Pachchi had not only gotten hold of a computer, but had browsed the Internet enough to get to know about Orkut, and sent a friend request!!!
Gawd!!! Forget about the two digit growth of economy, this was more astonishing.
Soon he would stumble against a Brazilian woman interested in Indian culture, and due to his religious upbringing, would launch into a Gyan Transfer about Indian scriptures to her.
The Internet was flattening the world at a fast pace.
The Internet was an enigma to me in the summer of '98. I had just met up with a friend of mine the other evening, who was boasting of a 'Hotmail Account' that he had opened for free. I had never used a Windows machine, and was totally ignorant about what the 'Hotmail Account' was.
I did not even have an idea about what the 'Internet' looked like.
A recent article in a local magazine had great words to speak about the new phenomenon called the 'Internet'. As this was somewhere related to the Computers, and as I was a Software Engineer aspirant, I decided to read the article. In there, I was introduced to the concept of URL. I wrote down the URLs like nationalgeographic.com, readersdigest.com mentioned there.
I called up my friend with the 'Hotmail Account' and got the directions from him to go to the 'Yahoo Cafe', which was one of the first few Internet cafes in Bangalore. I pulled another friend of mine to join me to check this new invention.
As we followed the directions to 'Yahoo Cafe', we moved through small lanes, and dirty roads. Finally, we saw a new board sporting 'Yahoo Cafe', on the first floor of a dilapidated building. I was upset. How could they not treat this new invention with respect? How could they have it accessible at such a run down place?
'Two Hundred rupees for one year membership, four hundred rupees for life membership," uttered a spectacled young man behind a flaking table of the Yahoo Cafe.
"What is the cost for using Internet for non-members?" I asked him.
"Eighty rupees for non-members. But only sixty rupees for members," he smiled.
"I will use it now. I will become a member next week," I told him.
"Your wish," he shrugged, as he directed us to a dark, damp room, with eight computers.
He clicked on an icon on a computer, which opened up a window, and then he went away.
As my friend stared at me, not sure what to do, I pulled out the paper with URLs with a broad smile. My article had empowered me on the Internet.
I typed 'Readerdigest.com' and the site opened. I read through the site for a few minutes. Then I typed 'NationalGeographic.com' and the site opened. It was a very basic site, with minimal pictures. We read through that. Then, I did not know what to do. It was just ten minutes, and we had fifty more minutes to go.
INTERNET WAS BORING.
"I am told that there are some sites that you can search, using Yahoo.com,” my friend said.
I typed 'Yahoo.com' on the URL. The Yahoo homepage appeared. We saw a place to type the subject, and a 'Search' button by its side. Now, what could we search for on the Internet?
My friend typed "Shah Rukh Khan" and clicked on the Search button. It was irritatingly slow, and after a minute of blank white screen, some links appeared. My friend clicked on one of them. After one more frustrating minute of blank white screen, the site began to load on the screen. Suddenly, we saw a picture of an attractive woman on one of the sides of the web page, with a 'Want me? Click Here' statement highlighted. My friend clicked on that. Another screen popped up. One link led to another, and we had more than twenty windows opened up. It was now very, very slow, and did not respond for almost five minutes. It was a mess out there.
We did not know how to close the windows!!!
I suggested that we call the person to close the windows.
"Are you out of your mind? How can we let him see all these windows?” my friend said frantically.
We waited for five more minutes. We were in there for almost an hour now. I took the courage to go up to the young man behind the table, and told him that we were done. As he came up to the computer, and began closing the windows, I observed how he was doing it, meanwhile getting embarrassed with all the content of the windows.
We came back home with a decision, never to waste our money on Internet again.
Later at home, "Internet is boring," I told Ravi, my friend who was like a tech-guru to me.
"Why?" he asked.
"Pah! I surfed the Net for one hour, it was so boring," I said in disgust, and added, "Wasted eighty rupees."
"Arre," he said, "You don't know how glorious the Internet is. I went to a site that was hosting movies. I saw that they were showing 'DDLJ'." DDLJ was a blockbuster Hindi movie of the mid-nineties. Though, now I realize that he was bluffing, because this was an era when the Internet was so slow that each byte appeared to come to India through Air India, the bluff did create a renewed interest in me towards the Internet.
Few days later, I chanced upon a book on Netscape Navigator. As I browsed through the book, I became aware of the power of Internet, and its numerous possibilities.
A month later, I had the occasion to meet up cousin of mine, a newly married Software Engineer from California, who visited us with his wife. In the process of showing off my intellect on Internet, and associated technologies, I blurted out everything that I remembered from the book on Netscape Navigator. He listened to me with keen interest.
Then I asked him, "A lot of data is said to be 'floating' around on the Net. What do you mean by 'floating' around? It should be stored somewhere, right?"
"Actually, yes. It is stored in some place," he said after a moment of silence, not very sure of his answer.
"But, Internet is said to uncontrollable by Governments, and private people. If the data is all stored in a place, don't you think the Government of that country will get an upper hand on the whole of the world?" was my sincere question to him.
He thought for a moment. He thought for almost a minute, which was a pretense that he was trying to make sense out of my question.
Then he said, "Actually, I do not deal with Internet technologies, but I am told that it is stored in Holland."
"Why Holland? Don't you think that Holland will get the power over the Internet if all the data on the Internet is stored in that country?"
"Actually, though it is stored in Holland, their Government does not know that it is stored there," he said.
Actually, he did not know anything about it. But, it did leave me thinking, that when the Holland Government comes to know that all the data on the Internet is stored in its country, it is going to become the Superpower of the world.
(Thank you for visiting my page..... Watch this space tomorrow for the concluding part......)
I stared out of the window into the unkempt, large garden, with thick undergrowth, and lovely jackfruit trees. It was a cold day, with the white light from the clouds creating the setting from a British movie 'Pride and Prejudice'. But, I was in a gloom.
It was not because of the clouds.
It was a Sunday in the winter of late 80s, and the day of the 'Heman and the Masters of the Universe' [a very popular cartoon TV series in the late 80s in India]. I was at my grandpa's place in Honnavar, an important coastal town in Karnataka, and it had no television sets then.
This was what I loathed about going on a vacation. No 'Heman' at nine, and no 'Mickey and Donald' at ten.
I remembered the attractive TV advertisements that I had seen of 'EC TV', in Bangalore. Though there were other brands, such as 'Videocon' and 'BPL', EC TV appeared like an inexpensive brand, which my calculative grandpa could be convinced to buy. A little afraid to propose this idea directly, I had scribbled 'Why not buy a EC TV' in Kannada, and left it at the dinner table.
I can still remember the roar of laughter that emerged from the dining room when my parents and grandparents sat for lunch.
'Hrrmmph', I had said to myself, 'these elders will never spend a paise for us.'
On an August day of 2006, I logged into 'Orkut', the most popular site amongst the young, and the most hated site by corporate firewalls. I had got a friend request from 'Pachchi'. I was confused. All the Prasannas (who become Pachchi for their close friends) that I knew were known by different petnames. There was only one Prasanna who was Pachchi that I knew. He was from my native village amidst the Western Ghats. Two years back, this village had no proper telephones, with the few houses that did, needed to have an incandescent bulb kept at a very close proximity to the instrument, without which the instrument would die of cold.
Pachchi had not only gotten hold of a computer, but had browsed the Internet enough to get to know about Orkut, and sent a friend request!!!
Gawd!!! Forget about the two digit growth of economy, this was more astonishing.
Soon he would stumble against a Brazilian woman interested in Indian culture, and due to his religious upbringing, would launch into a Gyan Transfer about Indian scriptures to her.
The Internet was flattening the world at a fast pace.
The Internet was an enigma to me in the summer of '98. I had just met up with a friend of mine the other evening, who was boasting of a 'Hotmail Account' that he had opened for free. I had never used a Windows machine, and was totally ignorant about what the 'Hotmail Account' was.
I did not even have an idea about what the 'Internet' looked like.
A recent article in a local magazine had great words to speak about the new phenomenon called the 'Internet'. As this was somewhere related to the Computers, and as I was a Software Engineer aspirant, I decided to read the article. In there, I was introduced to the concept of URL. I wrote down the URLs like nationalgeographic.com, readersdigest.com mentioned there.
I called up my friend with the 'Hotmail Account' and got the directions from him to go to the 'Yahoo Cafe', which was one of the first few Internet cafes in Bangalore. I pulled another friend of mine to join me to check this new invention.
As we followed the directions to 'Yahoo Cafe', we moved through small lanes, and dirty roads. Finally, we saw a new board sporting 'Yahoo Cafe', on the first floor of a dilapidated building. I was upset. How could they not treat this new invention with respect? How could they have it accessible at such a run down place?
'Two Hundred rupees for one year membership, four hundred rupees for life membership," uttered a spectacled young man behind a flaking table of the Yahoo Cafe.
"What is the cost for using Internet for non-members?" I asked him.
"Eighty rupees for non-members. But only sixty rupees for members," he smiled.
"I will use it now. I will become a member next week," I told him.
"Your wish," he shrugged, as he directed us to a dark, damp room, with eight computers.
He clicked on an icon on a computer, which opened up a window, and then he went away.
As my friend stared at me, not sure what to do, I pulled out the paper with URLs with a broad smile. My article had empowered me on the Internet.
I typed 'Readerdigest.com' and the site opened. I read through the site for a few minutes. Then I typed 'NationalGeographic.com' and the site opened. It was a very basic site, with minimal pictures. We read through that. Then, I did not know what to do. It was just ten minutes, and we had fifty more minutes to go.
INTERNET WAS BORING.
"I am told that there are some sites that you can search, using Yahoo.com,” my friend said.
I typed 'Yahoo.com' on the URL. The Yahoo homepage appeared. We saw a place to type the subject, and a 'Search' button by its side. Now, what could we search for on the Internet?
My friend typed "Shah Rukh Khan" and clicked on the Search button. It was irritatingly slow, and after a minute of blank white screen, some links appeared. My friend clicked on one of them. After one more frustrating minute of blank white screen, the site began to load on the screen. Suddenly, we saw a picture of an attractive woman on one of the sides of the web page, with a 'Want me? Click Here' statement highlighted. My friend clicked on that. Another screen popped up. One link led to another, and we had more than twenty windows opened up. It was now very, very slow, and did not respond for almost five minutes. It was a mess out there.
We did not know how to close the windows!!!
I suggested that we call the person to close the windows.
"Are you out of your mind? How can we let him see all these windows?” my friend said frantically.
We waited for five more minutes. We were in there for almost an hour now. I took the courage to go up to the young man behind the table, and told him that we were done. As he came up to the computer, and began closing the windows, I observed how he was doing it, meanwhile getting embarrassed with all the content of the windows.
We came back home with a decision, never to waste our money on Internet again.
Later at home, "Internet is boring," I told Ravi, my friend who was like a tech-guru to me.
"Why?" he asked.
"Pah! I surfed the Net for one hour, it was so boring," I said in disgust, and added, "Wasted eighty rupees."
"Arre," he said, "You don't know how glorious the Internet is. I went to a site that was hosting movies. I saw that they were showing 'DDLJ'." DDLJ was a blockbuster Hindi movie of the mid-nineties. Though, now I realize that he was bluffing, because this was an era when the Internet was so slow that each byte appeared to come to India through Air India, the bluff did create a renewed interest in me towards the Internet.
Few days later, I chanced upon a book on Netscape Navigator. As I browsed through the book, I became aware of the power of Internet, and its numerous possibilities.
A month later, I had the occasion to meet up cousin of mine, a newly married Software Engineer from California, who visited us with his wife. In the process of showing off my intellect on Internet, and associated technologies, I blurted out everything that I remembered from the book on Netscape Navigator. He listened to me with keen interest.
Then I asked him, "A lot of data is said to be 'floating' around on the Net. What do you mean by 'floating' around? It should be stored somewhere, right?"
"Actually, yes. It is stored in some place," he said after a moment of silence, not very sure of his answer.
"But, Internet is said to uncontrollable by Governments, and private people. If the data is all stored in a place, don't you think the Government of that country will get an upper hand on the whole of the world?" was my sincere question to him.
He thought for a moment. He thought for almost a minute, which was a pretense that he was trying to make sense out of my question.
Then he said, "Actually, I do not deal with Internet technologies, but I am told that it is stored in Holland."
"Why Holland? Don't you think that Holland will get the power over the Internet if all the data on the Internet is stored in that country?"
"Actually, though it is stored in Holland, their Government does not know that it is stored there," he said.
Actually, he did not know anything about it. But, it did leave me thinking, that when the Holland Government comes to know that all the data on the Internet is stored in its country, it is going to become the Superpower of the world.
(Thank you for visiting my page..... Watch this space tomorrow for the concluding part......)
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
As the tide rises....
I didn't switch on the car radio. The intermittent muted thud of the windshield wipers as they wiped the shapeless splashes of rain drops induced a gloom that I was enjoying. Stuck in the internationally acclaimed traffic jam near the world famous Silk Board circle of Bangalore, I was looking at the 'TATA' board on the rear of the truck poised in front of my car. Any moment, the traffic light that I could not see would turn to green, and the lazy drivers would be forced to shift the gears to the first, and traffic would move, I thought.
I was enjoying watching the reckless biker, who had rudely cut past me in the previous signal, wait helplessly ahead, getting drenched in the light drizzle. I was secretly hoping for the rain to come harder, so that the water would creep into the dude's pants too.
Just then, there was a slight hint of the movement of the vehicles, and the truck in front of me moved ahead slowly.
As I passed the SilkBoard signal, and swerved right into Hosur road, I was happy with the speed with which the vehicles were moving. I guessed that the traffic jam was only on the previous road.
Or!!! I was wrong.
I hit the brakes violently. The traffic abruptly came to a halt by the side of the Silk Board flyover.
I was clueless about this strange phenomenon. This was not a hot spot for traffic jams, as Hosur road had been relatively free after the expansion in the last six months. I waited patiently, as curious Hari and Geetha stared at me from the rear windows of a Toyota Qualis. I did not know them personally. Actually, I had not seen them in my life ever before. The two people were staring out of a rear window that proclaimed 'Hari' and 'Geetha' as though the initial credits of a Kannada movie, on the glass.
Suddenly, it rained harder. I turned the knob of my windshield wipers to move faster. I was secretly happy, imagining the plight of the biker, whom I could not see now. This was fun.
Just then, I saw muddy water build up on the road. I was wondering about where it all would go. I saw an opening beside the road shoulder, where all the water was flushing down. I waited for the traffic to move, not very much aware of the cause of the jam. I imagined that it could be some confused traffic manager, hired by the Traffic Police, who had no clue about what he was doing. Undernourished, and untrained, these chaps seem to be hired in a hurry by the Bangalore Traffic Police. Similar to the hordes of freshers being herded into the IT industry, some of whom have never touched the ';' button on the key board in their past, and the management suddenly disappearing from the sight, leaving the hapless clients staring at these chaps in the hope that the person who wrote "Outsourcing in the latest 'in' thing" is right, the hired 'Traffic Policemen' always try their best to come up with some strategy to convince the junta that they are right for the job. They think creatively, coming with some mini 'STOP' boards, orange jackets, and sometimes whistles too, but are not able to stop the James Bond inspired crazy men behind the wheels of the Tempo Travelers of the IT companies, who are licensed to kill.
As I waited in the lashing rain, watching Hari and Geetha, exchanging some comments about me, I could hear the light lapping sounds. The last time I had heard, was a climax scene in an English movie where a boat is drowning.
Where the hell was this coming from????
Now, I could see that the water had built up enough, so much so that it was lapping in light waves against the bottom of my car.
I was shocked.
Dammit!! I was not on a boat. I was in a car. And cars have holes. Through which water can come in.
Suddenly, I looked at the opening through which water was being routed out. The water level had risen beyond the hole. I could not see the hole now.
My heart sank.
(to be continued.... along with a video)
I was enjoying watching the reckless biker, who had rudely cut past me in the previous signal, wait helplessly ahead, getting drenched in the light drizzle. I was secretly hoping for the rain to come harder, so that the water would creep into the dude's pants too.
Just then, there was a slight hint of the movement of the vehicles, and the truck in front of me moved ahead slowly.
As I passed the SilkBoard signal, and swerved right into Hosur road, I was happy with the speed with which the vehicles were moving. I guessed that the traffic jam was only on the previous road.
Or!!! I was wrong.
I hit the brakes violently. The traffic abruptly came to a halt by the side of the Silk Board flyover.
I was clueless about this strange phenomenon. This was not a hot spot for traffic jams, as Hosur road had been relatively free after the expansion in the last six months. I waited patiently, as curious Hari and Geetha stared at me from the rear windows of a Toyota Qualis. I did not know them personally. Actually, I had not seen them in my life ever before. The two people were staring out of a rear window that proclaimed 'Hari' and 'Geetha' as though the initial credits of a Kannada movie, on the glass.
Suddenly, it rained harder. I turned the knob of my windshield wipers to move faster. I was secretly happy, imagining the plight of the biker, whom I could not see now. This was fun.
Just then, I saw muddy water build up on the road. I was wondering about where it all would go. I saw an opening beside the road shoulder, where all the water was flushing down. I waited for the traffic to move, not very much aware of the cause of the jam. I imagined that it could be some confused traffic manager, hired by the Traffic Police, who had no clue about what he was doing. Undernourished, and untrained, these chaps seem to be hired in a hurry by the Bangalore Traffic Police. Similar to the hordes of freshers being herded into the IT industry, some of whom have never touched the ';' button on the key board in their past, and the management suddenly disappearing from the sight, leaving the hapless clients staring at these chaps in the hope that the person who wrote "Outsourcing in the latest 'in' thing" is right, the hired 'Traffic Policemen' always try their best to come up with some strategy to convince the junta that they are right for the job. They think creatively, coming with some mini 'STOP' boards, orange jackets, and sometimes whistles too, but are not able to stop the James Bond inspired crazy men behind the wheels of the Tempo Travelers of the IT companies, who are licensed to kill.
As I waited in the lashing rain, watching Hari and Geetha, exchanging some comments about me, I could hear the light lapping sounds. The last time I had heard, was a climax scene in an English movie where a boat is drowning.
Where the hell was this coming from????
Now, I could see that the water had built up enough, so much so that it was lapping in light waves against the bottom of my car.
I was shocked.
Dammit!! I was not on a boat. I was in a car. And cars have holes. Through which water can come in.
Suddenly, I looked at the opening through which water was being routed out. The water level had risen beyond the hole. I could not see the hole now.
My heart sank.
(to be continued.... along with a video)
Friday, September 07, 2007
Brief moment of almost fame
"Guess who called up today?" my mother asked me one evening, a few weeks back. Just returning from a long day at office, I did not care if it was from the Prime Minister himself.
"You guess," I told her back.
She smiled at the fatigued joke, and mentioned, "Sumitha aththe (aunt)".
Oh! Sumitha aththe was the wife of my father's uncle who was a famous politician, and moved around in powerful circles.
"What's up?" I asked her.
"She wanted to talk to me about a proposal for you," my mother mentioned with a naughty sparkle in her eyes.
Aha!!! This had been going on for the last six months now. The first step of the process of an arranged marriage. My mother was getting unnecessarily excited about almost every proposal, some of them very good looking, some of them very smart, and some of them were both. A look at the mention of the height on the 'Biodata' of the able ladies, and my mother would sink in her chair in disappointment. Having a son whose height two men could share was certainly not working out for her. Most of the girls would look like kindergarten kids in front of me.
"Hmm," I said.
"The girl is very tall, it seems," she said.
"How much?" I threw the question, untying my shoe laces.
"Pretty tall. I think you might have seen her," the smile was still on her face.
"Eh?! I have seen her? Where?" I was surprised. A train of memories of all the marriage functions that I had attended in the past few months flew past me. Naah!!! None were 'tall'.
"Deepika Padukone," she uttered.
I was stunned.
A moment of silence followed.
"She is a Super Model. She is a celebrity," I uttered, voice barely coming out.
"I know her. She has also acted a movie I think," my mother said.
Why on Earth would Deepika want to marry me???
Oh! Lemme rephrase the question. 'Why on Earth would Mr Padukone want to propose her to me???', because I am sure that Deepika would not want to marry me if I am the last man on this planet.
Or, may be she would..... if I am the last man on this planet.... and only in that case...... or.... would she..... hmmm....
"But, Sumitha aththe says that her family is traditional. They are looking out for boys from traditional families," my mother added.
How do I qualify for being ‘Traditional’? The only times I wear Kurta/dhoti are during the times of Ethnic Days in my office.
May be I could wear Kurtas more often, I thought.
"Because she is into movies and modelling, and you were into movies and modelling before, she thought that we might consider the proposal," mother continued.
A chill traveled down my spine. Was this really happening??!!!
"Are you crazy???" I asked her, excited enough that I could not make out whether I was feeling happy, or confused.
"I know. I told her that she may not fit you in anyway other than the height," now my mother was smiling, almost on the verge of laughing.
Whew!!! That was something. Sumitha aththe had some real wild imaginations. Mother did think logically.
"You and she will not make a good pair. She is a little dusky I am told," laughed out my mother aloud.
Err.... anyway, she was never my favorite.
"You guess," I told her back.
She smiled at the fatigued joke, and mentioned, "Sumitha aththe (aunt)".
Oh! Sumitha aththe was the wife of my father's uncle who was a famous politician, and moved around in powerful circles.
"What's up?" I asked her.
"She wanted to talk to me about a proposal for you," my mother mentioned with a naughty sparkle in her eyes.
Aha!!! This had been going on for the last six months now. The first step of the process of an arranged marriage. My mother was getting unnecessarily excited about almost every proposal, some of them very good looking, some of them very smart, and some of them were both. A look at the mention of the height on the 'Biodata' of the able ladies, and my mother would sink in her chair in disappointment. Having a son whose height two men could share was certainly not working out for her. Most of the girls would look like kindergarten kids in front of me.
"Hmm," I said.
"The girl is very tall, it seems," she said.
"How much?" I threw the question, untying my shoe laces.
"Pretty tall. I think you might have seen her," the smile was still on her face.
"Eh?! I have seen her? Where?" I was surprised. A train of memories of all the marriage functions that I had attended in the past few months flew past me. Naah!!! None were 'tall'.
"Deepika Padukone," she uttered.
I was stunned.
A moment of silence followed.
"She is a Super Model. She is a celebrity," I uttered, voice barely coming out.
"I know her. She has also acted a movie I think," my mother said.
Why on Earth would Deepika want to marry me???
Oh! Lemme rephrase the question. 'Why on Earth would Mr Padukone want to propose her to me???', because I am sure that Deepika would not want to marry me if I am the last man on this planet.
Or, may be she would..... if I am the last man on this planet.... and only in that case...... or.... would she..... hmmm....
"But, Sumitha aththe says that her family is traditional. They are looking out for boys from traditional families," my mother added.
How do I qualify for being ‘Traditional’? The only times I wear Kurta/dhoti are during the times of Ethnic Days in my office.
May be I could wear Kurtas more often, I thought.
"Because she is into movies and modelling, and you were into movies and modelling before, she thought that we might consider the proposal," mother continued.
A chill traveled down my spine. Was this really happening??!!!
"Are you crazy???" I asked her, excited enough that I could not make out whether I was feeling happy, or confused.
"I know. I told her that she may not fit you in anyway other than the height," now my mother was smiling, almost on the verge of laughing.
Whew!!! That was something. Sumitha aththe had some real wild imaginations. Mother did think logically.
"You and she will not make a good pair. She is a little dusky I am told," laughed out my mother aloud.
Err.... anyway, she was never my favorite.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
One monsoon visit to Jog Falls
Holding the slippery boulder tight, I peeped down. It was an exhilarating experience to watch the vigorous muddy water of the Jog Falls, trying to squeeze into the crevices between the rocks, and lurch out into air, before descending down the ravine, appearing as a heap of crystals. The bottom of the waterfalls could not be seen, as the water was falling into a mist that was erupting from down below.
I just stared at the magnificent falls, as the excitement simmered down, and I began losing myself in the aura of the nature's magical creation, the Jog Falls.
Jog Falls, counted as one of the famous waterfalls worldwide, was just another place for me. This place was one of the most common places that I visited every summer since my childhood days, as it was a half hour drive from my grandpa's place in Talaguppa. We had to drive past Jog for visiting any of my other relatives nearby. Once, I had seen it in summer, sporting less water than the water pipe to my grandpa's garden. I always wondered 'what’s all the hype about?’
And suddenly it happened. Due to the heavy rains in the catchment areas in the Western Ghats this year, all the waterfalls in the Ghats were in the best of their spirits. But the celebrity amongst them was none other than the famous Jog Falls. The Linganamakki Dam that is built against Sharavathi River had been filled up to the brim; the gates of the dam were opened to the maximum. The gushing river had flowed down to the Jog Falls, forming a feast for the eyes. Immediately, news had flashed all over the television channels, and newspapers that Jog Falls is at its powerful best, a scene that had been witnessed twelve years back.
Four of us friends planned a one-day trip to the place. A night bus from Bangalore took us to Sagar (Shimoga District) on August 11th, and from there we were able to get my uncle’s car to Jog Falls. As we drove through the intermittent drizzle, I noticed the carpet of fresh green grass that was splashed out from the road shoulders, to the farms, trees, and even walls of the village houses. I was almost tempted to stop the car, get out into the drizzle, and roll on the green spread.
We had been advised to visit the Linganamakki Dam, the China Gate, and the Jog Falls in that order.
On the National Highway 206, also called at the B H Road, we took a deviation to the left at Churikatte, 18 kms from Sagar. This route passes through a small village Idwani. We stopped there and got down to ask at the roadside cycle shop about the way to go to Linganamakki Dam. "Jog straight, Jog straight," the man at the cycle shop screamed, misjudging us to be foreigners, with our weird clothes, hats and expensive cameras. He appeared surprised when I asked him the way to Linganamakki Dam, in my native language Kannada. He showed us another deviation, a nondescript road to the left that took us to the viewpoint from where we could get a good sight of the charming dam.
As it was already nearing the afternoon, we drove straight to Jog Falls, from Linganamakki Dam. As we parked our car in the Mysore Bunglow viewpoint, and came out to watch the falls, I could feel my heartbeats racing. Finally, I was going to watch the Jog Falls in full splendor. This was the waterfall that I had watched as a kid, and as an adolescent. Though it had attracted tourists from world over, it had never fascinated me as I had always seen it in the summer, and the winter, when the gates were hardly open.
Now, it was like the first time I went to college. I was nervous, and curious.
Slowly, I pulled out my umbrella, my camera, and walked towards the viewpoint, where hundreds had already assembled to watch the 'performance'. The roar of the waterfalls drowned all the excited screams of the crowd that had gathered. As I made my way to the viewpoint, I was shocked.
I could see nothing.
It was just plain white all over.
The mist had taken over.
The disappointment was huge. Finally, after all these years of bearing the waterfalls in its gawky form, we had traveled all the way from Bangalore, specifically for this occasion. This was a cruel joke of Nature on us. I felt let down, and frustrated.
But, all was not lost. The crowd assured me that in a few hours, there would be rough winds that might clear the mist. We waited for an hour, during which, there was occasional glimpses of the Jog Falls, in its knightly form. Though the mist never cleared completely, to get a full view of the falls, it did give us some special moments to click some good pictures.
We decided to move to the other viewpoint, the British Bunglow, constructed by the British during their rule. This viewpoint is very close to the waterfalls, and promised to give us a better view of the falls. The British Bunglow viewpoint is a ten-minute drive from the Mysore Bunglow viewpoint, built by Mysore King during British rule. As we parked our car, and came up to the viewpoint, the view made it all worth. Magnanimously, the Sharavathi River showed off all its muscles, as it created the powerful, and the angelic waterfalls, diving into the abyss below. As my eyes swept the landscape, the exquisite waterfalls pouring out all over, bordered by the green trees in the background, and light blue sky visible between white clouds, I stood marveling at the heart catching spectacle.
The Jog Falls consists of four main waterfalls. The Raja, known for its majesty, the Rani, known for its elegant form, the Roarer, known for the loudness, and the Rocket, known for its shape. Due to the flood of water from everywhere, the four waterfalls were in full flow, unlike any pictures that is often used on the calendars.
We decided to move closer to the waterfalls. As we made our way through a muddy path, in the light drizzle, we came across an official board on which somebody had painted carelessly 'Danger'. We proceeded, as there was a continuous flow of the crowd to the rocks at the edge of the waterfalls.
It was on the rocks on the edge of the waterfalls that I had an experience of my lifetime, when I peeped down into the waterfalls from up above.
On the way back, we stopped at the China Gate, between the Linganamakki Dam and Jog Falls. The water flowed smoothly over the concrete structures, creating a beautiful setting.
An hour drive back to Sagar, on the silky and wet highway amidst the greenery, and we were set to board the bus back to Bangalore.
Jog Falls holds mystery of the Sathoddi falls, the grace of the Abbi falls, and power of the Hebbe falls. It has not only helps build a local economy by its tourism, but contributes Lion's share of the electricity needs of Karnataka. It is on the itinerary of all the ministers, and other government officials who are on official visits in the neighboring districts. But, beyond the hullabaloo, it has been a friendly neighbor to me that always smiled at me, on my occasional visits to my grandfather's house. It has been the kid next door to me that makes me feel that I have grown up with it.
Here are some of the pictures of the trip.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/66091089@N00/sets/72157601627219813/
Here’s a video of the Jog Falls from the top, in Mungaru Male stye ;-)
Hope you like them.
Thejas
I just stared at the magnificent falls, as the excitement simmered down, and I began losing myself in the aura of the nature's magical creation, the Jog Falls.
Jog Falls, counted as one of the famous waterfalls worldwide, was just another place for me. This place was one of the most common places that I visited every summer since my childhood days, as it was a half hour drive from my grandpa's place in Talaguppa. We had to drive past Jog for visiting any of my other relatives nearby. Once, I had seen it in summer, sporting less water than the water pipe to my grandpa's garden. I always wondered 'what’s all the hype about?’
And suddenly it happened. Due to the heavy rains in the catchment areas in the Western Ghats this year, all the waterfalls in the Ghats were in the best of their spirits. But the celebrity amongst them was none other than the famous Jog Falls. The Linganamakki Dam that is built against Sharavathi River had been filled up to the brim; the gates of the dam were opened to the maximum. The gushing river had flowed down to the Jog Falls, forming a feast for the eyes. Immediately, news had flashed all over the television channels, and newspapers that Jog Falls is at its powerful best, a scene that had been witnessed twelve years back.
Four of us friends planned a one-day trip to the place. A night bus from Bangalore took us to Sagar (Shimoga District) on August 11th, and from there we were able to get my uncle’s car to Jog Falls. As we drove through the intermittent drizzle, I noticed the carpet of fresh green grass that was splashed out from the road shoulders, to the farms, trees, and even walls of the village houses. I was almost tempted to stop the car, get out into the drizzle, and roll on the green spread.
We had been advised to visit the Linganamakki Dam, the China Gate, and the Jog Falls in that order.
On the National Highway 206, also called at the B H Road, we took a deviation to the left at Churikatte, 18 kms from Sagar. This route passes through a small village Idwani. We stopped there and got down to ask at the roadside cycle shop about the way to go to Linganamakki Dam. "Jog straight, Jog straight," the man at the cycle shop screamed, misjudging us to be foreigners, with our weird clothes, hats and expensive cameras. He appeared surprised when I asked him the way to Linganamakki Dam, in my native language Kannada. He showed us another deviation, a nondescript road to the left that took us to the viewpoint from where we could get a good sight of the charming dam.
As it was already nearing the afternoon, we drove straight to Jog Falls, from Linganamakki Dam. As we parked our car in the Mysore Bunglow viewpoint, and came out to watch the falls, I could feel my heartbeats racing. Finally, I was going to watch the Jog Falls in full splendor. This was the waterfall that I had watched as a kid, and as an adolescent. Though it had attracted tourists from world over, it had never fascinated me as I had always seen it in the summer, and the winter, when the gates were hardly open.
Now, it was like the first time I went to college. I was nervous, and curious.
Slowly, I pulled out my umbrella, my camera, and walked towards the viewpoint, where hundreds had already assembled to watch the 'performance'. The roar of the waterfalls drowned all the excited screams of the crowd that had gathered. As I made my way to the viewpoint, I was shocked.
I could see nothing.
It was just plain white all over.
The mist had taken over.
The disappointment was huge. Finally, after all these years of bearing the waterfalls in its gawky form, we had traveled all the way from Bangalore, specifically for this occasion. This was a cruel joke of Nature on us. I felt let down, and frustrated.
But, all was not lost. The crowd assured me that in a few hours, there would be rough winds that might clear the mist. We waited for an hour, during which, there was occasional glimpses of the Jog Falls, in its knightly form. Though the mist never cleared completely, to get a full view of the falls, it did give us some special moments to click some good pictures.
We decided to move to the other viewpoint, the British Bunglow, constructed by the British during their rule. This viewpoint is very close to the waterfalls, and promised to give us a better view of the falls. The British Bunglow viewpoint is a ten-minute drive from the Mysore Bunglow viewpoint, built by Mysore King during British rule. As we parked our car, and came up to the viewpoint, the view made it all worth. Magnanimously, the Sharavathi River showed off all its muscles, as it created the powerful, and the angelic waterfalls, diving into the abyss below. As my eyes swept the landscape, the exquisite waterfalls pouring out all over, bordered by the green trees in the background, and light blue sky visible between white clouds, I stood marveling at the heart catching spectacle.
The Jog Falls consists of four main waterfalls. The Raja, known for its majesty, the Rani, known for its elegant form, the Roarer, known for the loudness, and the Rocket, known for its shape. Due to the flood of water from everywhere, the four waterfalls were in full flow, unlike any pictures that is often used on the calendars.
We decided to move closer to the waterfalls. As we made our way through a muddy path, in the light drizzle, we came across an official board on which somebody had painted carelessly 'Danger'. We proceeded, as there was a continuous flow of the crowd to the rocks at the edge of the waterfalls.
It was on the rocks on the edge of the waterfalls that I had an experience of my lifetime, when I peeped down into the waterfalls from up above.
On the way back, we stopped at the China Gate, between the Linganamakki Dam and Jog Falls. The water flowed smoothly over the concrete structures, creating a beautiful setting.
An hour drive back to Sagar, on the silky and wet highway amidst the greenery, and we were set to board the bus back to Bangalore.
Jog Falls holds mystery of the Sathoddi falls, the grace of the Abbi falls, and power of the Hebbe falls. It has not only helps build a local economy by its tourism, but contributes Lion's share of the electricity needs of Karnataka. It is on the itinerary of all the ministers, and other government officials who are on official visits in the neighboring districts. But, beyond the hullabaloo, it has been a friendly neighbor to me that always smiled at me, on my occasional visits to my grandfather's house. It has been the kid next door to me that makes me feel that I have grown up with it.
Here are some of the pictures of the trip.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/66091089@N00/sets/72157601627219813/
Here’s a video of the Jog Falls from the top, in Mungaru Male stye ;-)
Hope you like them.
Thejas
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
my 2 cents on behavioral observation
"Treat others the way you want to be treated," goes the popular advise.
But, does it work?
Let's analyse.
Assume that you are a very punctual person. You have promised a person that you meet him/her at eleven in the morning. If you reach the place at the specified time, you realise that the other person has not come yet. You wait for half an hour. Then, the person arrives, with a smile.
There may or may not be a trivial mention of apology by the person, with a smile that is almost stops at saying 'I don't value your time.'
Let us not go into the right or wrong of the actions of the other person, as the focus here is about you.
Let's assume that you reach the place by twelve, an hour late. The person is just half hour late, and has been waiting for you for the rest half hour. When you reach the place, you may or may not come across a look that makes you feel guilty.
If you do not apologise, it is still alright with the person.
But, if you throw a few words of apologies, even though you don't mean it, the person buys it wholeheartedly.
What works in this situation is "Treat others as they want to be treated" and not "As you want to be treated".
What do you think?? ;-)
But, " Treat others as you want to be treated " was easier. You know how you want to be treated. You could taken actions based on those. " Treat others as they want to be treated" is difficult, as you are not sure about how they want to be treated.
Valid point.
But, who said life was easy??? :D
One way to go about understanding how the other person wants to be treated, is the way the other person treats you. If the other person is very sensitive, he/she expects the same of you. If the other person is easy going, and you become all sensitive, emotional.... you may get a "Jeez, cool it!!!". If the other person is not very punctual, he does not expect you to be punctual.
However, I would like to throw in my disclaimer on this observation. This line of thought only works when the relationship is not of the type mentor-mentee, or coach-coachee. In these situations, it becomes the "job" of the mentor, or the coach to not sell short for mentee or coachee, but beat them to shape irrespective of the personal behaviors of the mentor or the coach.
For your success,
with warm regards,
Thejas
But, does it work?
Let's analyse.
Assume that you are a very punctual person. You have promised a person that you meet him/her at eleven in the morning. If you reach the place at the specified time, you realise that the other person has not come yet. You wait for half an hour. Then, the person arrives, with a smile.
There may or may not be a trivial mention of apology by the person, with a smile that is almost stops at saying 'I don't value your time.'
Let us not go into the right or wrong of the actions of the other person, as the focus here is about you.
Let's assume that you reach the place by twelve, an hour late. The person is just half hour late, and has been waiting for you for the rest half hour. When you reach the place, you may or may not come across a look that makes you feel guilty.
If you do not apologise, it is still alright with the person.
But, if you throw a few words of apologies, even though you don't mean it, the person buys it wholeheartedly.
What works in this situation is "Treat others as they want to be treated" and not "As you want to be treated".
What do you think?? ;-)
But, " Treat others as you want to be treated " was easier. You know how you want to be treated. You could taken actions based on those. " Treat others as they want to be treated" is difficult, as you are not sure about how they want to be treated.
Valid point.
But, who said life was easy??? :D
One way to go about understanding how the other person wants to be treated, is the way the other person treats you. If the other person is very sensitive, he/she expects the same of you. If the other person is easy going, and you become all sensitive, emotional.... you may get a "Jeez, cool it!!!". If the other person is not very punctual, he does not expect you to be punctual.
However, I would like to throw in my disclaimer on this observation. This line of thought only works when the relationship is not of the type mentor-mentee, or coach-coachee. In these situations, it becomes the "job" of the mentor, or the coach to not sell short for mentee or coachee, but beat them to shape irrespective of the personal behaviors of the mentor or the coach.
For your success,
with warm regards,
Thejas
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Lakkavalli memoirs...
I had been to the Bhadra Tiger Reserve in Lakkavalli, near Tarikere in Karnataka.... Here are some of the pictures of the same....
junta,
Due to a mess up with my camera at the Inspection Bunglow, I could not do justice to the wildlife out there.
Hope you like these.... :)
junta,
Due to a mess up with my camera at the Inspection Bunglow, I could not do justice to the wildlife out there.
Hope you like these.... :)
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
FILM APPRECIATION WORKSHOP
To inculcate good culture of appreciating art films, by viewing the films, critically participating in discussion session with the directors, and other experts, 'Sine Maathu' an enthusiastic group has set such programmes for the coming months, by screening 8-10 films in series through film appreciation workshop. 'Sine Maathu' has already accomplished screening three critically acclaimed Kannada movies 'Nayi Neralu' and 'Beru' in the month of April, and 'Mussanje' in May. Discussion sessions with the film directors Girish Kasaravalli, P Sheshadri and Ramadaasa Naidu along with artists added extra flavour to the participants of the workshop.
Press reviews of these events have been encouraging.
In June, 'Sine Maathu' has come up with another movie 'Mouni' in Kannada (with English subtitles), directed by B S Lingadevaru.
This film will be screen at 5pm, on 17th June 07, at 'Sine Maathu' , at K V Subbanna Aaptha Rangamandira. Sri Lingadevaru(director), along with main artists and others will be present for discussion with participants after the screening of the film.
Brief synopsis of the film will be given to the participants before the screening of film and the interaction session will be held in camera. The outcome of the discussion will be recorded, viewed and studied later, for research purposes.
The fees for the workshop is Rs. 50/- . Please register your participation on or before 15th June, Friday, 7pm since seats are limited to 55.
Here are the details,
Mouni
Direction: Sri B S Lingadevaru
Screened on 17/6/07, Sunday, 5pm onwards
Discussion and interaction with director, artists and experts from 7pm onwards
Venue
'Sine Maathu'
K V Subbanna Aaptha Rangamandira
No. 151, 7th cross, I Stage, Teachers Colony, Opp to Vasudha Bhavan
Near Dayananda Sagar College of Engineering,
Bangalore – 560078
Contacts
9242523523 – B R Gopinath
9845931306 – K S Rajaram
9945530192 – Manohar Salimut
9980934686 – Thejas K R
Further details are in the attached poster. The maps to the venue have also been attached.
Regards,
Thejas
MAPS
Posters
Press reviews of these events have been encouraging.
In June, 'Sine Maathu' has come up with another movie 'Mouni' in Kannada (with English subtitles), directed by B S Lingadevaru.
This film will be screen at 5pm, on 17th June 07, at 'Sine Maathu' , at K V Subbanna Aaptha Rangamandira. Sri Lingadevaru(director), along with main artists and others will be present for discussion with participants after the screening of the film.
Brief synopsis of the film will be given to the participants before the screening of film and the interaction session will be held in camera. The outcome of the discussion will be recorded, viewed and studied later, for research purposes.
The fees for the workshop is Rs. 50/- . Please register your participation on or before 15th June, Friday, 7pm since seats are limited to 55.
Here are the details,
Mouni
Direction: Sri B S Lingadevaru
Screened on 17/6/07, Sunday, 5pm onwards
Discussion and interaction with director, artists and experts from 7pm onwards
Venue
'Sine Maathu'
K V Subbanna Aaptha Rangamandira
No. 151, 7th cross, I Stage, Teachers Colony, Opp to Vasudha Bhavan
Near Dayananda Sagar College of Engineering,
Bangalore – 560078
Contacts
9242523523 – B R Gopinath
9845931306 – K S Rajaram
9945530192 – Manohar Salimut
9980934686 – Thejas K R
Further details are in the attached poster. The maps to the venue have also been attached.
Regards,
Thejas
MAPS
Posters
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Monsoon at my workplace
"Bahar itna achcha mausam hain aur aap idhar baitkhe kaam kar rahe ho," uttered my colleague in the office. She had triggered a wave of sadness in me.
'Aha!!! Let'z go outdoors' I decided and came out of the building to witness this....
Monsoon at my workplace.....
'Aha!!! Let'z go outdoors' I decided and came out of the building to witness this....
Monsoon at my workplace.....
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Joney Bellaaa.....
"Your grandma feasted on the joney bella ( fluid jaggery) today," announced my mother, with a smile just after I returned from work yesterday.
"Oh! Is it?" I looked at my grandmother with a mischievous glance.
"No...no," my grandmother said in defence, " I just had a few drops along with avalakki ( south indian dish )".
"No, your grandma pretty much feasted on the bella," insisted my mother playfully.
I narrowed my eyes on my grandmother, with a look suggesting that she may better tell the truth.
Suddenly, she burst out in laughter, her lips parted revealing a funny toothless hollow, adding to the sparkle in her eyes. She had been caught. She was never the one who would easily give it up. But, it looked like the fluid jaggery had an amazing effect on her. I felt it cute.
"Your father and sister have been attacking it too," added my mother.
"What about you?"
"How can I stay different?" she gave a toothy smile.
Earlier that day, my guru of trekking, Mr Shastry had called up. He had been insisting that I pick up the original fluid jaggery that he had brought in one of his trips to west coast of Karnataka. Fluid Jaggery is a very important part of the breakfast of the Havyakas of Sagar (maybe Havyakas of other parts too). The fluid jaggery is pretty much different from the fluid jaggery that can be prepared by boiling the solid jaggery in water. The original fluid jaggery is completely sweet, without the traces of salt/limestone that is added to jaggery to make it solid. The original fluild jaggery, called the joney bella, is obtained by the direct processing of the juice obtained from squeezing the sugarcanes. This processing is done in certain farms, in a location called 'Alemane'.
My first memories of this wonderful liquid goes back eighteen years. In the summer of '89, "Joney bella, joney bella, joney bella," screamed the kids at the breakfast table, at my grandpa's place in Talaguppa, near Sagar. My two cousins, and myself sat waiting and screaming for the joney bella to come. My chikki (aunt) brought the liquid marvel in a plastic container, and placed it on the table for us to rampage. As we drew several helpings of the thick fluid, I found a thick ant floating in the joney bella on my plate. I was horrified looking at the size of the ant. It was unusually big. I could imagine that a bite would have been fatal.
But, it appeared like it was dead. It was not making any movements.
"Don't worry, that is just 'Bellada Godda'. It won't bite" told my grandmother.
"What is Bellada Godda?" I asked, curiously. I was sure that my grandmother from the village didn't know how dangerous the ants were. She did not know about my experience of having worn the cotton vest that was left for drying, in the path of red ants, due to which I had to bunk my school that day, two months back.
"These are a kind of harmless ants. The are fond of joney bella. They somehow make it to the container, but most of them die, drowning," told my grandmother.
"What do I do now?" I asked like a punctilious brahmin, afraid to touch anything that has been in contact with animals/insects.
"Don't waste the bella. Take the ant out, and have it," she said.
What??? God knows how voilent was the insect's death, and what are the fluids that might have come out of the insect while dying. I could only simulate this to the underwater adventures that my friends and myself were involved in the pool, during swimming classes. What if the ant had pissed or puked in the container?
"Don't you think it will be dirty?" I asked.
"Don't be silly," said my grandma, as she fished out the corpse out of my plate. "I just said a mantra that has purified the bella in your plate. You can eat in peace," she added to my satisfaction.
As I began to relish my idlis with joney bella, my grandpa, sitting at the other end of the table called out to my aunt. "Get me some sugar please," he said.
He added a spoon of sugar to the joney bella and relished it further.
Now, do you blame me for the sweet tooth?? ;-)
My trekking guru had been insisting me for sometime, to go to his place and collect the joney bella that he had got for me and for some of his other disciples. I drove to his place today, and met up with him. As he gave me the container full of joney bella, he told me that he had obtained it from the island of Igunda. This is an interesting island near Honnavar, in Karnataka, which has 40 Havyaka families. The island has some farms, and farm houses, and the only means of coming up to the main land is on the boat.
He told me that they prepared the best joney bella he knew. He had bought a hundred kilograms of the bella, and had brought it to Bangalore to give it to friends and trekking team. I had thanked him for his benevolent gesture, and had brought it home.
It really did bring about a new excitement in the family.
"Oh! Is it?" I looked at my grandmother with a mischievous glance.
"No...no," my grandmother said in defence, " I just had a few drops along with avalakki ( south indian dish )".
"No, your grandma pretty much feasted on the bella," insisted my mother playfully.
I narrowed my eyes on my grandmother, with a look suggesting that she may better tell the truth.
Suddenly, she burst out in laughter, her lips parted revealing a funny toothless hollow, adding to the sparkle in her eyes. She had been caught. She was never the one who would easily give it up. But, it looked like the fluid jaggery had an amazing effect on her. I felt it cute.
"Your father and sister have been attacking it too," added my mother.
"What about you?"
"How can I stay different?" she gave a toothy smile.
Earlier that day, my guru of trekking, Mr Shastry had called up. He had been insisting that I pick up the original fluid jaggery that he had brought in one of his trips to west coast of Karnataka. Fluid Jaggery is a very important part of the breakfast of the Havyakas of Sagar (maybe Havyakas of other parts too). The fluid jaggery is pretty much different from the fluid jaggery that can be prepared by boiling the solid jaggery in water. The original fluid jaggery is completely sweet, without the traces of salt/limestone that is added to jaggery to make it solid. The original fluild jaggery, called the joney bella, is obtained by the direct processing of the juice obtained from squeezing the sugarcanes. This processing is done in certain farms, in a location called 'Alemane'.
My first memories of this wonderful liquid goes back eighteen years. In the summer of '89, "Joney bella, joney bella, joney bella," screamed the kids at the breakfast table, at my grandpa's place in Talaguppa, near Sagar. My two cousins, and myself sat waiting and screaming for the joney bella to come. My chikki (aunt) brought the liquid marvel in a plastic container, and placed it on the table for us to rampage. As we drew several helpings of the thick fluid, I found a thick ant floating in the joney bella on my plate. I was horrified looking at the size of the ant. It was unusually big. I could imagine that a bite would have been fatal.
But, it appeared like it was dead. It was not making any movements.
"Don't worry, that is just 'Bellada Godda'. It won't bite" told my grandmother.
"What is Bellada Godda?" I asked, curiously. I was sure that my grandmother from the village didn't know how dangerous the ants were. She did not know about my experience of having worn the cotton vest that was left for drying, in the path of red ants, due to which I had to bunk my school that day, two months back.
"These are a kind of harmless ants. The are fond of joney bella. They somehow make it to the container, but most of them die, drowning," told my grandmother.
"What do I do now?" I asked like a punctilious brahmin, afraid to touch anything that has been in contact with animals/insects.
"Don't waste the bella. Take the ant out, and have it," she said.
What??? God knows how voilent was the insect's death, and what are the fluids that might have come out of the insect while dying. I could only simulate this to the underwater adventures that my friends and myself were involved in the pool, during swimming classes. What if the ant had pissed or puked in the container?
"Don't you think it will be dirty?" I asked.
"Don't be silly," said my grandma, as she fished out the corpse out of my plate. "I just said a mantra that has purified the bella in your plate. You can eat in peace," she added to my satisfaction.
As I began to relish my idlis with joney bella, my grandpa, sitting at the other end of the table called out to my aunt. "Get me some sugar please," he said.
He added a spoon of sugar to the joney bella and relished it further.
Now, do you blame me for the sweet tooth?? ;-)
My trekking guru had been insisting me for sometime, to go to his place and collect the joney bella that he had got for me and for some of his other disciples. I drove to his place today, and met up with him. As he gave me the container full of joney bella, he told me that he had obtained it from the island of Igunda. This is an interesting island near Honnavar, in Karnataka, which has 40 Havyaka families. The island has some farms, and farm houses, and the only means of coming up to the main land is on the boat.
He told me that they prepared the best joney bella he knew. He had bought a hundred kilograms of the bella, and had brought it to Bangalore to give it to friends and trekking team. I had thanked him for his benevolent gesture, and had brought it home.
It really did bring about a new excitement in the family.
Monday, May 21, 2007
"Swish, click, tick" and the horror at the Hair Saloon - reminiscence....
haven't been able to think up new things for a while....
here's one of the older ones that I had penned during my stay at Minneapolis, US.
Hope you like it...
----------------------------------------------------------------
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.
here's one of the older ones that I had penned during my stay at Minneapolis, US.
Hope you like it...
----------------------------------------------------------------
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.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
What You Say is What You Get... by Vic Johnson
hey junta,
here's something that I came across.... insightful :)
------------------------------------
"Thoughts, words, and acts are seeds sown, and, by the inviolable law of things, they produce after their kind." - Above Life's Turmoil
We focus a lot on how powerful our thoughts and actions are and in so doing, we overlook one of the most powerful killers of dreams --- our words.
In fact, many of the dream-killer words we use, we do so in casual conversation with not much thought of what we're really saying. At one point in my life, when I had a few more challenges than normal, I got into a very bad habit of using this reply when asked how I was doing, "Oh, you know, when it rains, it pours."
I'm not sure why I used that reply (maybe I was looking for some sympathy), but I know the results were devastating. Not only did it keep raining, it began to storm!
In the Northern Hemisphere we're coming to a season when colds and the flu usually increase. Would you think I've gone off my rocker if I said we speak some of those maladies into existence? Before you decide, read this article http://msnbc.msn.com/id/14309026/?GT1=8404 Placebo's power goes beyond the mind) on the medical evidence of the power of belief, and then understand that when we speak something we give power to it --- we increase our belief in something when we speak it.
So when someone asks you how you're doing and you reply, "I think I'm coming down with something," you're actually contributing to the illness you end up with. And the same goes for the other words that people speak like, "I don't ever have any money," "I'm always so tired," "I've got the worst luck," and on and on.
What words are you speaking? Stop and listen to yourself, whether it's your self talk or your words to others. Can you see the connection between what you're saying and the life you're experiencing?
Regardless of the religious faith, the spoken word is acknowledged as having great power. Hindu writings tell of yogis that have used mantras to light fires, materialize physical objects like food and even influence the outcome of battles. In the Christian Bible, we find these words in the Gospel of Mark, "those things which he saith shall come to pass; he shall have whatsoever he saith."
And that's worth thinking about.
here's something that I came across.... insightful :)
------------------------------------
"Thoughts, words, and acts are seeds sown, and, by the inviolable law of things, they produce after their kind." - Above Life's Turmoil
We focus a lot on how powerful our thoughts and actions are and in so doing, we overlook one of the most powerful killers of dreams --- our words.
In fact, many of the dream-killer words we use, we do so in casual conversation with not much thought of what we're really saying. At one point in my life, when I had a few more challenges than normal, I got into a very bad habit of using this reply when asked how I was doing, "Oh, you know, when it rains, it pours."
I'm not sure why I used that reply (maybe I was looking for some sympathy), but I know the results were devastating. Not only did it keep raining, it began to storm!
In the Northern Hemisphere we're coming to a season when colds and the flu usually increase. Would you think I've gone off my rocker if I said we speak some of those maladies into existence? Before you decide, read this article http://msnbc.msn.com/id/14309026/?GT1=8404 Placebo's power goes beyond the mind) on the medical evidence of the power of belief, and then understand that when we speak something we give power to it --- we increase our belief in something when we speak it.
So when someone asks you how you're doing and you reply, "I think I'm coming down with something," you're actually contributing to the illness you end up with. And the same goes for the other words that people speak like, "I don't ever have any money," "I'm always so tired," "I've got the worst luck," and on and on.
What words are you speaking? Stop and listen to yourself, whether it's your self talk or your words to others. Can you see the connection between what you're saying and the life you're experiencing?
Regardless of the religious faith, the spoken word is acknowledged as having great power. Hindu writings tell of yogis that have used mantras to light fires, materialize physical objects like food and even influence the outcome of battles. In the Christian Bible, we find these words in the Gospel of Mark, "those things which he saith shall come to pass; he shall have whatsoever he saith."
And that's worth thinking about.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Helmetting
...the government comes up with a rule for helmets for all two wheelers...and the dudes come up with workarounds for the same ;-)
taken on Sirsi Circle Flyover on a sunny day....
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Fellowmen to help
On a cloudy Bangalore evening, April 12, amidst the light drizzle of the first showers of the year.....I was enjoying the nice drive from office, with Radio Indigo blasting out the great numbers to suit the mood.....just then...caught these guys in the act.
The auto rickshawallahs, though form the most rowdy crowd of the service industry in Bangalore, form a tight knit community.
Tell me, would a colleague help you like this, if your vehicle breaks down in the middle of the street?? ;-)
Monday, April 09, 2007
Awarded
junta,
Good news.
This picture has been awarded second runner up in the pictorial section of the members contest in Youth Photographic Society of Bangalore.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
the Hampi Rendezvous
junta,
I had been to on a wonderful trip to Hampi. The place is enchanting, to say the least.
Here are some of the pictures of the same.
Hope you like them.
Visit it for sure.
I had been to on a wonderful trip to Hampi. The place is enchanting, to say the least.
Here are some of the pictures of the same.
Hope you like them.
Visit it for sure.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Achievement Article
here's something that gives me an insight..... hope it helps you too :)
--------------------------------------------------------
Get Off the Nail! by Jerry Clark
Over the years I have met and observed thousands of people and each and every last one of them say they want some improvement in certain areas of their lives. In fact, most of them flat out confessed that they hated certain situations they were in. But after further evaluations, I discovered that they weren't willing to do anything about it. It seemed to be good enough for them to just sit there and wallow in their pain, anguish and misery.
Several years ago, motivational speaker Les Brown and I were chatting after we had both conducted trainings for a Network Marketing Company. We were talking about the number of people who say they want to make changes but don't seem to ever do anything about it. I told him it reminded me of a story I heard him tell an audience over 10 years ago. Here's how the story goes… One day a man was walking down the street on his way to work. As he walked down the street, there were dogs on just about every front porch and they all would bark as the man walked passed them. However, there was one dog that he remembered, because this dog was just sitting there and he was whimpering and whining and moaning, you know the little whimpering sounds dogs make when they are wounded or in some sort of pain. Well, this particular dog was just sitting there on the front porch making those sounds. The man was curious as to why this dog wasn't barking like the other dogs and why he was whimpering. He couldn't figure it out, so he just kept walking to work. The next day he was in the same situation where he was walking down the street and saw the dogs once again and this same dog that was moaning and groaning the other day was doing the same thing today and he just couldn't figure it out. Well, he walked passed for an entire week and everyday the dog would be there moaning and groaning. So, finally, the guy got fed up, he said, "let me find out what's going on." So he went and knocked on the door and a guy came out and said, "Yes, how may I help you?" He said, "Sir, is this your dog?" "Yes, that's my dog." "Well, what's wrong with him?" The owner of the dog said, "What do you mean?" "Well, he's been sitting here moaning and groaning, whimpering and whining for an entire week. The rest of the dogs are barking, your dog should be barking too, why is he moaning and groaning?" The owner said, "Well, he's actually sitting on a nail." And the guy said, "What! Your dog is sitting on a nail. Why doesn't he get off?" "Well, it just doesn't hurt him enough."
Wow! You know most people are like that dog sitting on a nail. I mean, sure, they would like to get off the nail, but what if they got off the nail and they died or something? They never seem to stop to consider that maybe they would be healed, maybe they would be free, maybe they would be able to move about and discover some new and exciting options for their lives. But, noooooo. Instead, they just sit there on that nail because they're not sure what's going to happen if they get off. I mean, there are no guarantees of safety so to speak. Even though, it's not the best feeling in the world, sitting on a nail, I mean, it's not comfortable sitting on a nail, it kind of hurts, but at least they know what to expect. They know that they have $900 per week coming in so they can pay their bills and put food on the table and they can put some clothes on their back and a roof over their heads. You know, that's enough for most people. They may even get upset with you if you question their so called security, I mean, if you hand them a book or tape program or tell them about a seminar that can give them some effective strategies for getting off nails, they may resent you for it. Well, you're different. You are willing to learn some effective nail removing strategies that could set you free because you and I both know that there is no such thing as security. Well, maybe I should take that back. I do know of a place where security exists on this planet. It's called the graveyard. And you know what, most people tip toe through life so that they can arrive at the graveyard safely. Of course this will not be you… Right? That's right… Simply because, instead of Moaning & Groaning, Whimpering & Whining about not getting the results you desire, you are a Developing Charging Rhino… And Rhinos always choose to GET OFF THE NAIL and create the conditions they desire… So Until Next Time, Be Sure to…
GET OFF THE NAIL & Always remember to Go, Go, Go!!!
--------------------------------------------------------
Get Off the Nail! by Jerry Clark
Over the years I have met and observed thousands of people and each and every last one of them say they want some improvement in certain areas of their lives. In fact, most of them flat out confessed that they hated certain situations they were in. But after further evaluations, I discovered that they weren't willing to do anything about it. It seemed to be good enough for them to just sit there and wallow in their pain, anguish and misery.
Several years ago, motivational speaker Les Brown and I were chatting after we had both conducted trainings for a Network Marketing Company. We were talking about the number of people who say they want to make changes but don't seem to ever do anything about it. I told him it reminded me of a story I heard him tell an audience over 10 years ago. Here's how the story goes… One day a man was walking down the street on his way to work. As he walked down the street, there were dogs on just about every front porch and they all would bark as the man walked passed them. However, there was one dog that he remembered, because this dog was just sitting there and he was whimpering and whining and moaning, you know the little whimpering sounds dogs make when they are wounded or in some sort of pain. Well, this particular dog was just sitting there on the front porch making those sounds. The man was curious as to why this dog wasn't barking like the other dogs and why he was whimpering. He couldn't figure it out, so he just kept walking to work. The next day he was in the same situation where he was walking down the street and saw the dogs once again and this same dog that was moaning and groaning the other day was doing the same thing today and he just couldn't figure it out. Well, he walked passed for an entire week and everyday the dog would be there moaning and groaning. So, finally, the guy got fed up, he said, "let me find out what's going on." So he went and knocked on the door and a guy came out and said, "Yes, how may I help you?" He said, "Sir, is this your dog?" "Yes, that's my dog." "Well, what's wrong with him?" The owner of the dog said, "What do you mean?" "Well, he's been sitting here moaning and groaning, whimpering and whining for an entire week. The rest of the dogs are barking, your dog should be barking too, why is he moaning and groaning?" The owner said, "Well, he's actually sitting on a nail." And the guy said, "What! Your dog is sitting on a nail. Why doesn't he get off?" "Well, it just doesn't hurt him enough."
Wow! You know most people are like that dog sitting on a nail. I mean, sure, they would like to get off the nail, but what if they got off the nail and they died or something? They never seem to stop to consider that maybe they would be healed, maybe they would be free, maybe they would be able to move about and discover some new and exciting options for their lives. But, noooooo. Instead, they just sit there on that nail because they're not sure what's going to happen if they get off. I mean, there are no guarantees of safety so to speak. Even though, it's not the best feeling in the world, sitting on a nail, I mean, it's not comfortable sitting on a nail, it kind of hurts, but at least they know what to expect. They know that they have $900 per week coming in so they can pay their bills and put food on the table and they can put some clothes on their back and a roof over their heads. You know, that's enough for most people. They may even get upset with you if you question their so called security, I mean, if you hand them a book or tape program or tell them about a seminar that can give them some effective strategies for getting off nails, they may resent you for it. Well, you're different. You are willing to learn some effective nail removing strategies that could set you free because you and I both know that there is no such thing as security. Well, maybe I should take that back. I do know of a place where security exists on this planet. It's called the graveyard. And you know what, most people tip toe through life so that they can arrive at the graveyard safely. Of course this will not be you… Right? That's right… Simply because, instead of Moaning & Groaning, Whimpering & Whining about not getting the results you desire, you are a Developing Charging Rhino… And Rhinos always choose to GET OFF THE NAIL and create the conditions they desire… So Until Next Time, Be Sure to…
GET OFF THE NAIL & Always remember to Go, Go, Go!!!
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
good news
this picture taken by me in the Dandeli Adventure Trek in Jan 07, has secured the III award in the category 'Holiday Moments' in the annual salon conducted by Sagara Photographic Society.
This picture has also been featured in the popular local magazine 'Sudha'
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Monday, February 12, 2007
the Havyaka outing...
It was like a thousand guns being blasted into my ears. I could see the crystal clear, thick and heavy water jump out from my back onto my legs, hands, and from my head. It was a lil scary too. I turned back, and crawled up the cement/stone combo up the small waterfalls at Balmuri. Just then, I could see Krishna Bhat jumping into the river on the other side, and swim out into the large, silent river on the other side of the waterfalls. He called me too. As I stood at the shore skeptically, he swum to a spot, where he remained stagnant, and called out for me to come. "There is a rock underneath. We can stand here," he screamed. It seemed as though he was floating in mid water. I decided to try it out, and jumped into the river. As I swam towards him, I reached out to the underneath stone with my legs. There it was!!!
It was just magical. How had he discovered it??!!! He just smiled.
"Trip of only Havyakas? How many will come?" I had asked Sumanth Hegde, my cousin. "We estimate a little more than a hundred," he told me. WOW!!! That was a huge number. In all my visits to the various functions at the Havyaka Mahasabha, Bangalore, I had met up with a lot of my Havyaka brethren. But, I had noticed that the youngsters generally avoided these functions. This would be a great occasion to meet up a lot of youngsters in the Havyaka Community, I thought.
And so it happened. Though we started out a little later than planned, as we were sure that the birds at Ranganatittu would not complain if we had not lived up to the appointment, we took a small break for breakfast at a location in Mysore Road. Fresh idlis, juicy vadas, and mouth watering 'Kesari baaths'. God bless the catering incharge!!!
Half hour later, we were singing our way to Balmuri. Yes, the crowd was loud....very very loud. Three buses brimming with energetic crowd, screaming and laughing all the way. The anthyakshari being played in our bus, almost had the curious onlookers in surrounding vehicles wanting to join the fun. :D
OOPS..... a wrong turn, and we landed at the entrance of Ranganatittu. "All the birds would have gone dating now. Let's go to Balmuri, and return back to this place in the evening," someone screamed. A quick decision, and we turned back towards Balmuri falls. Half hour later..... "LETS JUMP INTO THE RIVER"... at Balmuri.
Some dudes jumped into the river right away, swimming, resting below the falls, above the falls, and playing around in the water. Some dames took a raft ride around the river.
It was some rough fun, I haven't had in the recent past.
Yess...the hundreds of digital cameras shot everything at sight.
After the Balmuri falls, we rushed back to Ranganatittu, for some amazing lunch, ladoos included. God bless the catering incharge!!!
Then it was the time for the quaint boat trip into the islands where exotic birds flew all around us. Any attempt to capture them in my digicam failed, and I had to satisfy myself with the pictures of the boatman, and some gorgeous females I was sitting beside. But, well, here are some of the pictures that I took of the beautiful birds in my last trip to Ranganatittu.
But for the failure to take amazing pictures, I did enjoy the boat trip, with the intermittent sound of the oars wading through the water, the occasional chirp of a bird, and the sudden flight of a painted stork gliding smoothly over still waters.
This world was so very different than the mundane life in Bangalore. This was a life that was gifted to us by the almighty. In the quest for success, money, and the illusion of satisfaction, we had created a world that was so much predictable, so much pale, and devoid of freshness. Life was so simple and beautiful here. Why did we make is so complex, at home, a hundred kilometers away?
My thoughts were broken by "Please come out of the boat carefully," said by the boatman, as he pulled the boat to the shore. Ah! yes. Shucks!!!
But, before we boarded the bus, we did manage to take a huge group photograph.
The bus journey back home was filled with the noisy Anthyakshari again, to camouflage the "Tomorrow office again!!!" blues. The memoirs of this beautiful trip would definitely linger for a long time to come.
Kudos to all the organisers to have made this happen.
Here are some of the pictures of this exciting trip.
It was just magical. How had he discovered it??!!! He just smiled.
"Trip of only Havyakas? How many will come?" I had asked Sumanth Hegde, my cousin. "We estimate a little more than a hundred," he told me. WOW!!! That was a huge number. In all my visits to the various functions at the Havyaka Mahasabha, Bangalore, I had met up with a lot of my Havyaka brethren. But, I had noticed that the youngsters generally avoided these functions. This would be a great occasion to meet up a lot of youngsters in the Havyaka Community, I thought.
And so it happened. Though we started out a little later than planned, as we were sure that the birds at Ranganatittu would not complain if we had not lived up to the appointment, we took a small break for breakfast at a location in Mysore Road. Fresh idlis, juicy vadas, and mouth watering 'Kesari baaths'. God bless the catering incharge!!!
Half hour later, we were singing our way to Balmuri. Yes, the crowd was loud....very very loud. Three buses brimming with energetic crowd, screaming and laughing all the way. The anthyakshari being played in our bus, almost had the curious onlookers in surrounding vehicles wanting to join the fun. :D
OOPS..... a wrong turn, and we landed at the entrance of Ranganatittu. "All the birds would have gone dating now. Let's go to Balmuri, and return back to this place in the evening," someone screamed. A quick decision, and we turned back towards Balmuri falls. Half hour later..... "LETS JUMP INTO THE RIVER"... at Balmuri.
Some dudes jumped into the river right away, swimming, resting below the falls, above the falls, and playing around in the water. Some dames took a raft ride around the river.
It was some rough fun, I haven't had in the recent past.
Yess...the hundreds of digital cameras shot everything at sight.
After the Balmuri falls, we rushed back to Ranganatittu, for some amazing lunch, ladoos included. God bless the catering incharge!!!
Then it was the time for the quaint boat trip into the islands where exotic birds flew all around us. Any attempt to capture them in my digicam failed, and I had to satisfy myself with the pictures of the boatman, and some gorgeous females I was sitting beside. But, well, here are some of the pictures that I took of the beautiful birds in my last trip to Ranganatittu.
But for the failure to take amazing pictures, I did enjoy the boat trip, with the intermittent sound of the oars wading through the water, the occasional chirp of a bird, and the sudden flight of a painted stork gliding smoothly over still waters.
This world was so very different than the mundane life in Bangalore. This was a life that was gifted to us by the almighty. In the quest for success, money, and the illusion of satisfaction, we had created a world that was so much predictable, so much pale, and devoid of freshness. Life was so simple and beautiful here. Why did we make is so complex, at home, a hundred kilometers away?
My thoughts were broken by "Please come out of the boat carefully," said by the boatman, as he pulled the boat to the shore. Ah! yes. Shucks!!!
But, before we boarded the bus, we did manage to take a huge group photograph.
The bus journey back home was filled with the noisy Anthyakshari again, to camouflage the "Tomorrow office again!!!" blues. The memoirs of this beautiful trip would definitely linger for a long time to come.
Kudos to all the organisers to have made this happen.
Here are some of the pictures of this exciting trip.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Riot and Shivajinagar Bus Stand
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The usually bustling bus station of Shivajinagar, almost empty but for a few people already stuck.... amidst rumours of burning police stations and vehicles....
I was one of them.... but, had the comfort of running back to a hotel nearby, where I was attending a workshop.....
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
inverted umbys
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one sunny day in Gandhi Bazaar....
WHY ARE THE UMBRELLAS INVERTED???
to avoid the sun from spoiling the goods.... thatz innovation for ya ;-)
Sunday, January 07, 2007
Rogue Ad.....
Kajol looks very pretty, I agree. But why is Devgun so excited???
Looks like he is talking to the 'other woman' on the Tata Indicom phone....
KANK IN PROGRESS, eh?
Indian women should protest against this ad .....
Friday, January 05, 2007
walmarting ;-)
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nope...this ain't the walmart india .... a local greenery shop in bangalore.....following the design of the giant.......
rotten tomatoes amidst good ones, pale greens amidst fresh ones.... and a kid with a sprouting moustache smiling at the billing counter.... walmarting ...desi style ;-)
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