I HAVE THE MIC....

Pencil nostalgia

2008-10-08T21:38:00.000-07:00

It was a priced possession. The Reynolds pen that I had got lying around in the house. I had liked the look and feel of the blue glass, coming out of the white body, with those beautiful fonts declaring ‘Reynolds 045’ and on the other side, something I have read a million time ‘Fine Carbure’. I desperately wanted to use it, but I was not supposed to be using it until next year. Hence, for the whole of second standard class in 1987, as I used pencil to write all my notes, and exams, I stored this pen, in the hope of using it one day.

I finally did!!! The leaking refill, the search for a better pen later, and the love of ‘Hero’ pens in high school all form a different story.

But, I have graduated to Pencil again. It was the midterm exams for the first semester of the Business School today. With the recent love for using Pencils all over, I requested the Professor if
I could use pencil in the exam. He agreed.

I wrote two full exams in pencil, after twenty one years!!!

Kinda feelin nostalgic !!!

Leopard at Nagarhole

2008-05-01T09:00:00.000-07:00

It had been a wild weekend.

The Nagarhole and Tholpetty wild life sanctuaries had provided us with more sightings of wild animals than any other safaris in the past. We had taken two safari trips in the Tholpetty Wild Life sanctuary, one on the Saturday evening, one on the Sunday morning, and one in Nagarhole wild life sanctuary on Sunday evening, resulting in the sightings of herds of Indian Gaurs, wild Elephants, huge number of spotted deers, Sambars, and a large number of exotic birds. But the most anticipated cats, Tigers and Leopards had eluded us this time too.

The desperation of a Tiger sighting in the wild for us wildlife photographers was so much that we had been going to Bandipur Wild Life Sanctuary three times in the past four months, with back-to-back safaris. But still, the King of the Indian jungle never made its appearance for us. The passion had almost turned into an obsession. When would we see the tiger? When could we attain the nirvana?

Due to the very frequent visits to the Wild, a joke had grown to exist in our families. If we would go to the jungles one more time, the Tiger, exhausted of hiding from us, would come across, give us an autographed photograph of itself, and pray us not to while away our time in chasing it again. Yeah right!!! We had prayed that at least their wish may come true.

After the Sunday evening safari at Nagarhole, we began to munch on the few crumbs that we had brought along, before launching on our drive back to Bangalore. It was twenty minutes past six in the evening, and the local guards told us to vacate the place as soon as possible. Nagarhole Wild Life sanctuary is a protected forest, and the roads to the place close at 6pm. This is to prevent vehicular traffic on the roads in the jungle, so that wild animals could be left alone in the evening and in the night. Every extra minute that we spend inside the gates after 6pm will have to be accounted for, once we reach the gates that lie at the border of the forest, which is 23 kilometers from the forest office. As we got into Tata Safari, I shut my camera, and put it inside the camera bag. I knew that there could not be any great photograph that can be made after the sunset. Any flash photography in the wild generally looked like desperate shots from a novice. My other friend Shreyas, a passionate wild-lifer, had his camera ready.

As we cruised along the smooth road, we stopped occasionally for wherever there were spotted deer grazing by the side of the roads. I had almost stopped taking the pictures of the spotted deer because these were in abundance in Bandipur, where I had quenched my thirst of taking their photographs in the previous year. Very rarely, there could be some occasions for unusual shots of the spotted deer, but I had become numb with my laziness to take my camera out for these beautiful but commonplace mammals.

"The forest guard was talking about Tiger census next month", mentioned one of my friends. The Tiger census by the Indian government invites a lot of civilians who are interested in wildlife, to count the tigers in the wild. This is a great occasion to move around with forest guards into the dense jungles, where generally trekking is prohibited. We had been told that the food and accommodation would be taken care of, by the department. Plus, there was a promise of rare sightings of exotic species of denizens of the jungle. A tiger sighting cannot be ruled out, one of the forest guards had said. "Let's check it out. May be the tiger sighting for us, is reserved for that occasion," mentioned other friend, who had turned into a fatalist.

It was getting closer to seven in the evening, and dark. The forest around us was turning into an eerie silhouette that encompassed mystery and suspense. There was almost no chance of sightings in this light, I thought. Suddenly, my friend at the wheels, Anand hit the brakes. "Sshhh," said Shreyas, as I could see a wild elephant herd on the highway shoulders ahead, lit by the strong head lights of the vehicle. I was pleasantly surprised by this bonus forest excitement. Slowly, I withdrew my camera from my camera bag, and began to change the lens to shoot a picture of these mammoths. I could feel the nervousness of Anand at the wheel, who carried the responsibility of the whole team in his hands.

"Don't use flash," instructed Shreyas.

"No, I am not planning to," I said, as I emerged out of the window of the vehicle, placed my camera on the top, and set it into a long exposure shot.

I came back onto my seat to see the picture of the elephants in the low light.

Suddenly, one of the elephants turned towards the vehicle, and walked. A chill traveled through my spine. We all knew that we could not beat an elephant if we drove in reverse gear.

But, the elephant went into the huge lantana bush beside the highway, along with the other elephants, and they huddled together, as though plotting for their next move.

Anand hit the accelerator, and the vehicle sped past the giants, as Shreyas struggled in vain to take parting shots of the huddle.

That was an exciting moment, I thought to myself, as I placed my camera inside the bag. Good way to end the trip.

I closed my eyes, and let the cool jungle air brush past my face from the open window. I was enjoying the last moments of our nice trip to the wild.

"I see some movement there...RIGHT THERE!!!" said Shivaram, hurriedly. He was famously known for his weird jokes, and could it have been one of them???

"Where?" said Anand, as he slowed down the vehicle.

Shreyas jumped up to get a glimpse of the road ahead, and something that was moving.

"Go ahead, it is still on the road"

"Yes," said Anand, as he sped ahead at wild pace.

My eyes were frantically searching for the small thing that these guys had already seen. Where was it? Where was it???

I believed that I had already lost it.

"Right there," showed Shivaram, pointing to a huge fair cat that was slowly moving towards us by the side of the highway.

"That's a tiger cub," he said.

I was astounded. This was the moment that we had been waiting for a very long time. I could feel the excitement in every nerve of my body. I could feel the mystery in the ambience, as all those exciting moments of wild cat encounters that I had seen on TV, and had read about in personal experiences by famous hunters came across to me in a single wave, and hit against me. I could feel the electric energy as it traveled from the wild cat a few yards away, and connect to me in a strange way.

"It is a leopard," said Shreyas, as he pulled out his camera, and began shooting pictures, with flash as strong as flood lamps.

The fair cat moved stealthily into a bush by the other side of our vehicle. "I do not see it anymore," said Shreyas, as he peered out of his window. "It is right there, inside the bush" said Shivaram. Shreyas continued the flood of flashlights, with his camera facing the bush, though he was able to see anything in the dark.

Half a minute later, we were certain that there would be no leopard inside the bush, else, it would have lost its sight with all the flash lights Shreyas hurled at it.

"Ma'an, that was exciting," said Shreyas. I was still coming to terms of the fact that we had sighted a leopard. Finally, we had sighted a leopard, in full view, in its own territory!!!

Shreyas showed the images on the preview screen in his camera. It was indeed an adult leopard. As I moved to the next few pictures, I could see that the leopard had been behind the bushes beside our vehicle in the pictures. To my shock, it was there even in the last picture.

I stared out of the window on the other side of the vehicle, a little unnerved. The carnivore would still be there, may be waiting for us to leave so that it can attack the deer on the other side of the road.

As Anand moved the vehicle, all of us were drenched in strange emotions of excitement, and fear. We carried the exciting memories of this brief encounter, all the way to Bangalore city.

Here are some of my pictures of the same trip....

Hope you like them.

Brickbats for Bouquets

2008-04-21T22:23:00.000-07:00

The flowers are the only things that have become a man's friend, despite no utilitarian value, says Eckhart Tolle in his best selling book, A New Earth. Many other great authors have likened the flowers to life, wife (newly married of course ;-) ) and love (before marriage :D ). Jokes apart, flowers have always been regarded as the most beautiful means of communication of love, devotion and respect.

Not one of the Victorian authors, who always had the heroes holding exotic flowers for women, would have imagined the brutal purposes that the same flowers are being used in the current world.

"He is getting married tomorrow afternoon," said a friend of mine, about another friend.

"Oh! This is on a weekday. I don't think I can make it. Maybe I will go for the reception later in the evening," I said.

Reception is the party that is hosted the Indian marriages, where the bride and the groom stand with their best clothes on a stage, as though ready for a battle of political speeches. They would have to do more 'pretending' than the politicians, putting on a fake nice smile, greeting the loads of gaudily dressed relatives, whom they never knew before, who have bouquets in their hands, and dinner on their minds. It does require a strategy, and sheer mental strength by the couple to sustain 3- 4 hours of sweat, itch, and mental diversion techniques to avoid the urge for a quick rush to the rest room.

"The reception is today, not tomorrow," my friend said.

"What? Why? Isn't the reception to be held after the wedding???" I asked.

"That is the logical way. But, economics speak otherwise," he said, as he explained me the reason why Receptions were being held the earlier day. The Wedding houses ( Kalyana Mantapa) in Bangalore are rented out from afternoon till the next afternoon. Hence, if the Receptions are held on the first evening, then one can save on the rent for one day, by vacating by afternoon the next day. Most of the weddings have their Muhurtha (auspicious moment when the wedding has to take place) in the mornings.

Hence, the couple standing on the dais in the Reception is not a couple yet. They are a bachelor, and a spinster.

Hmm....interesting.

"What gift are you planning?"

"Oh! The bugger did not even put 'gifts by your presence only' ??" I asked, not having seen the wedding card.

"Nope. Actually, it is good not to put that," my friend said.

"Why?"

"If that liner is present, then many people would not get gifts. But, some stubborn ones will still get bouquets, which creates a lot of confusion and ill feeling in the others who would be empty handed," he explained.

"True," I was beginning to understand the various nuances of gifting for receptions.

"What do we take?" I asked him.

"Think about it. It should be something that they will 'cherish for life', and should be 'useful for both of them'," he said. I agreed.

That evening, he called up again. "Did you think up any gift?"

"Not yet. I was totally busy today," I said, burning the mental images of the hour-long coffee break that I had taken.

"My friend suggested a silver cup," he said.

"No silver cups please. My cousin received so many silver cups in his wedding that he decided to use the silver in Paris Hilton fashion. One silver cup each day, and never use it again," I said with a chortle. Paris Hilton supposedly never wore a dress the second time. ( I am sure she has some friendship with a Laundry guy ;-) ) .

"Wall clocks?" my friend suggested, reminding me of the Wall clock my cousin had gifted me, but had forgotten to take out the sticker bearing the name of the person who had gifted him that, on his wedding. "Naah, there will be too many clocks, and he will be forced to gift them to others," I said.

"May be a Deo set," he suggested.

That was the best that our non-creative minds could come up with. "Let's get that," I said, preventing the urge to remind him they would not 'cherish for life' the Deo set, or could never use the Deo together.

My friend picked me up the next evening, on the way to wedding. "Which Deo set did you get?" he asked me.

"What? I thought you were supposed to get it," I replied, taken aback.

"Shit! Shit! Shit!!!" he cursed.

"Let's go to Gandhi Bazaar. There are some nice shops, with good Deo sets there," I said.

"That is out of the way, will take a long time," he said. "There is a bouquet shop near the Kalyana Mantapa. Let's get a bouquet," he added.

And thus, a random set of flowers were pulled together, tied up against their wishes, pasted on a conical shaped white cardboard sheet, with some designer plastic cover on the top, that resembled a funeral box of flowers.

As I was on the drive back from the wedding, the uneasy feeling of incompleteness haunted me, as I had not done justice to my friendship by hurrying with a default, for a gift.

UNEASINESS???!!!! YOU ARE CRAZY!!! I HAVE USED FLOWERS ALL OVER MY PLAY 'MIDSUMMER'S NIGHT'S DREAM', Shakespeare would have screamed.

I reply: Oh! Yeah.... Krrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr...... takk (flash back Bollywood style)

The scene after my cousin's wedding Reception, few months back was gruesome. After having loaded all the box packed gifts into various cars, to be taken home, there lay a huge pile of bouquets on the dais of the wedding hall, like the dead bodies of Persians who were killed by the Greek in the battle of Thermopile [remember the movie 300?? ;-)].

Some good looking cousin of the groom realized that she should bring them back to life, and walked over to the pile, and started sorting.

"I want some of those too," said her kid sister, as she ran over to the pile, and picked up some for herself.

Some more ladies realized that the bouquets formed a part of the gifts/wishes, and were to be taken care off, too. They walked up to the pile, and started putting the bouquets in different groups.

The more expensive of the bouquets, that had a wooden basket inside which the flowers were arranged, were in high demand. All of them wanted that, for different reasons. One of them said, "You can take out the flowers, and put fruits inside them, to place it in front of guests," which was still a noble use.

"I can use the basket to keep all the pending utility bills," said another aunty, who had no clue that she was rampaging on the theory that there was a feeling behind the gifts, "And you can use this for our pen stand," she continued handing a bouquet with cylindrical wooden base to her daughter.

"This is long," the kid complained.

"Cut the base into half," architectured her mother.

Though some of the bouquets did end up in the bride's hotel room (this was one of those wedding where Reception was after the wedding), many of them were routed for utilitarian purposes. Ekhart Tolle has never seen an Indian reception yet ;-)

I just prayed that the groom not have any allergy towards flowers, else it would be rougher night for him than planned.

Confused between gifts that the couple may never use, and the bouquets that create a drama at a different level of life, I decided to stick with currency in a decent envelope, whenever I fail to come up with a creative idea for a gift.

Pictures of Goa trip

2008-04-20T18:46:00.001-07:00

junta,

here are some of the pictures of Goa trip earlier this year.

Hope you like them.

Don't Kill The Golden Goose

2008-04-03T02:05:00.000-07:00

The ancient battle of Cauvery water resurfaces, but in a new 'avataar'. The Chief Minister of Tamil Nadu is supposed to have made a jingoistic statement that has awakened the soldiers in Kannadigas. In the recent days, with all the new challenges in terms of pathetic traffic management, stupid International airport issues, ridiculous IT vs Non-IT battles, the Gowda betrayal cries, the Cauvery issue had taken a beating. It seems like a nostalgic Karunanidhi wanted to relive the past, and hence made an immature statement.

What surprises me is the matured way in which the citizens of Bangalore have been handling the issue.
In the previous organization that I was working in 2002, the threat on Tamilians in Bangalore was so very much, that the organization had sent across a grape vine that any Tamilians not turning up for work for three days would not be penalized.
Though there have been a few instances of Tamilian property being damaged this time, a wide scale protest against Tamilians is missing. The Kannada leaders have realized that there is no point in making this a language issue. It is a water issue, and let's stick to that.

Bangalore is cosmopolitan. It has a huge population of non-Kannadigas. To fight that fact is in vain. But, to accept it, and enjoy the variety, using it to our strength is maturity. There is a huge population of Tamilians in Bangalore, and in Karnataka on a larger scale. This population of Tamilians are people of Karnataka.
Yes, they are people of Karnataka.

This population lives here, uses the resources here, pays taxes to Karnataka government, and contributes effectively to the growth of the city and the state. If we do not get good water to drink, this Tamilian population suffers the same plight. Karunanidhi would not send free bottled water to the homes of Tamilians living in Karnataka. Hence, this issue is as important to a Tamilian living in Karnataka, as a Kannadiga living in Karnataka. It is time for the Kannada leaders to move to the next level. It is time for us to pull Tamilians in Karnataka to fight this battle with us.

Bangalore has not only attracted the attention of the world, but has pulled in huge amount of Foreign Direct Investments. It is foolish for the Centre to ignore this fact, and play into DMK's ruse. Bangalore should be given special status with an assurance of uninterrupted power, and water supply, quick implementation of communication networks, and world class commuting facilities. Unlike other big cities, where huge amount of money is due to a large population of workers in labor-intensive jobs, Bangalore's economic development is through optimal population of highly skilled knowledge workers. The IT attracted the ITES, which has now trickled down to legal outsourcing, and many other new job creations spreading out to many other cities in the country. Bangalore is a Golden Goose. It is the duty of the Centre, not to kill it, but nurture it to take the economy of India to the next level.

Trip to Chitradurga

2008-03-18T18:21:00.000-07:00

junta,

here are some of the pictures of my trip to Chitradurga...

Hope you like them.

Nine Queens.... the movie

2008-03-18T18:12:00.000-07:00

'Bluffmaster', the Hindi flick came as a 'relief' Aishwarya, breaking junior Bachchan’s vow to join the Hall of Fame in Bollywood to have given the maximum number of flops humanly possible. I had been very impressed by the style treatment to an excellent story, which had a good dose of humour, and romance. It surely promised a great future for the Mumbai movie industry that was evolving into a new avatar.

Alas!!! I realize now that it has been more than inspired by the Argentinian movie ‘Nine Queens’. Nine Queens forms a quicker, realistic, and a straighter story than ‘Bluffmaster’, and keeps the pace throughout. Despite flaunt of style, the nonchalance of the narration impressed me the most.

The story is simple. A young con joins an experienced con for one day. In this day, they chance upon the opportunity to make the money worth their lives. The excitement is about the various barriers that they come across in their pursuit of the opportunity, in the form of an invaluable set of 9 ancient stamps called the ‘Nine Queens’.

If you like fun movies, and don’t mind the subtitles, this is a great movie for a Sunday afternoon watch.

Have fun.

The Five Levels of Initiatives

2008-02-03T19:20:00.000-08:00

“How to make my team perform?” I asked my coach. I was participating in a leadership program where I had taken up the community project of bringing homeless children under the care of NGOs. My team consisted of a group of my friends, who were working with me on the project.

“Why? What is happening?” my coach asked me.

“My team is wanting to perform. But, they are not. They are coming up with a lot of reasons that stop them from taking actions. I end up trying to solve those problems for them. This leaves me with no time to visualize the future for the team. I become involved in the routine issues of the team.”

“Do you actually realize that you are not helping them by doing their job?” my coach asked me.

“Yes, I realize that. They will not learn anything if I do the job for them. But, when they request, I am forced to help,” I said.

“You are not relating to them as leaders,” my coach made a statement.

“What?” I was puzzled.

“You treat them as weak human beings who need help.”

“No, I treat them with respect,” I protested.

“I get that. But respect has nothing to do with you relating to them as leaders,” my coach added.

This was very confusing. I treated them with utmost respect, and was ready to help them if they needed it. What was wrong with that?

“A very important character of a leader is to create leaders around him. Without such a group of leaders around you, you will never be able to grow on a global scale. So, if you want your team to excel, create leaders around you and ‘relate’ to them as leaders,” my coach said.

“How can I relate to them as leaders? What do you mean by that?” I asked.

“Consider them to be powerful human beings. How would you, as a leader, talk to another leader? Imagine that, and bring forth that in the team,” said my coach.

“There are five levels of initiatives when your team members confront adversities,” my coach continued, “These are

1. Waiting to be told

2. Asking what to do

3. Make a recommendation, and take your feed back to take actions

4. Take actions, and advise you.

5. Complete the job, and report it to you.

If they are in the first two levels, you are not relating to them as leaders. They are coming up with a problem to you, looking out for a solution. As you don’t think that they will be able to carry out your suggestions, you will end up doing the job for them.

You will have to make it clear to the team that you will relate to them as powerful human beings, who can overcome adversities, and expect them to come to you only with the third level of initiative or higher. The first two levels are unacceptable.”

I was getting a sense of what my coach was telling me.

“When they take time to figure out a solution, and make a recommendation, it would make the project more exciting, as their solutions are being implemented. Plus, it would give you a lot of time to spend on creating a vision for the team, rather than micromanagement of daily tasks.”

“This is fantastic,” I said. I realized that by relating to my team members as leaders, and getting them to come up with innovative solutions, I would have to let go of my attachment to my way of solving the issues. But, it would make the project exciting, as the team members would be bringing forth their creativity in overcoming barriers.

“Would you want to share this with your team and get them to be leaders?” my coach asked me.

“Oh! Yes. I will do that right away,” I said in excitement.

“Good. Now, there are some other things to consider while you are working with your team,” my coach said.

I listened intently.

“These are the traps that the team will fall into, if you are not careful. These are,

1.Unimportant

2.Irrelevance

3.Immeasurement

Unimportant

Recognition for a team member plays a significant role in the quality and quantity of the work that gets done from the person. If the team member feels that he is not important for the team, and does not see that his presence or absence makes any difference, he would rather be absent. As a leader, the onus is on you to realize the importance of each member of the team, and share it with him or her. When there has been a significant contribution from any member, it has to be recognized and acknowledged immediately.

Irrelevance

If a team member were not sure about where his work fits in the bigger picture, he would not find his work relevant. The irrelevance of his work would not give him the excitement of accomplishing it. Hence, work without excitement would soon result is minimal and finally no work. You will have to draw out a bigger picture of the accomplishments of the team, and point out the contribution of each member of the team in the accomplishments. This would not only make the contribution relevant, but makes the team member whole-heartedly take the acknowledgement for the team’s accomplishments.

Immeasurement

The job done by the team member will have to be measurable. Not measuring performance is a sure shot way of failing. You can employ any standard to work with the team member and come up with a way to measure the performance of the team member. When the performance is measured, you would have defined a game for the team member to play. At the end of a milestone, the team member can check whether or not he has been successful in accomplishing the results expected. If he has not been able to accomplish the goals, he can observe what is missing in the effort and bring it into the activities, such that the milestone is met effectively,” my coach ended.

“This is awesome. I will take care of these things,” I mentioned, sitting at the edge of my seat, ready to implement these distinctions right away.

“Good luck to you,” my coach smiled.

- Authored by Thejas K R, with inputs from Landmark Education, and Harvard Business Review

Towards a flatter world...the sequel

2007-12-11T18:39:00.000-08:00

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.

Towards a flatter world...

2007-12-10T06:31:00.001-08:00

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......)

As the tide rises....

2007-09-18T22:58:00.000-07:00

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)

Brief moment of almost fame

2007-09-07T03:23:00.000-07:00

"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.

One monsoon visit to Jog Falls

2007-09-04T22:23:00.000-07:00

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

my 2 cents on behavioral observation

2007-07-25T21:54:00.000-07:00

"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

Lakkavalli memoirs...

2007-06-21T22:11:00.000-07:00

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.... :)

FILM APPRECIATION WORKSHOP

2007-06-13T21:16:00.000-07:00

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

Monsoon at my workplace

2007-05-30T18:24:00.000-07:00

"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.....

Joney Bellaaa.....

2007-05-23T21:52:00.000-07:00

"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.

"Swish, click, tick" and the horror at the Hair Saloon - reminiscence....

2007-05-21T11:07:00.000-07:00

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...

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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.

What You Say is What You Get... by Vic Johnson

2007-05-03T00:41:00.000-07:00

hey junta,

here's something that I came across.... insightful :)

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"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.

Helmetting

2007-04-17T21:11:00.000-07:00

...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....

Fellowmen to help

2007-04-12T22:34:00.000-07:00

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?? ;-)

Awarded

2007-04-09T22:23:00.000-07:00

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.

the Hampi Rendezvous

2007-04-04T00:25:00.000-07:00

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.

Achievement Article

2007-03-28T20:55:00.000-07:00

here's something that gives me an insight..... hope it helps you too :)

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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!!!

good news

2007-03-27T22:50:00.000-07:00

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'

2007-02-25T18:14:00.000-08:00

junta,

Here are some of the pictures of a three day adventure camp in the jungles of Dandeli.

Hope you like them.

the Havyaka outing...

2007-02-12T01:16:00.000-08:00

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.

Riot and Shivajinagar Bus Stand

2007-01-21T18:21:00.000-08:00

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.....

Bachchans won't stop Aish from acting

2007-01-17T02:09:00.000-08:00

err.... when did she start?? :D

on day on Hosur Road

2007-01-11T21:10:00.000-08:00

Driving on Hosur Road

yup...everyone has the right of the way but for the decent driver :D

inverted umbys

2007-01-09T17:13:00.000-08:00

one sunny day in Gandhi Bazaar....

WHY ARE THE UMBRELLAS INVERTED???

to avoid the sun from spoiling the goods.... thatz innovation for ya ;-)

Rogue Ad.....

2007-01-07T04:55:00.001-08:00

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 .....

walmarting ;-)

2007-01-05T05:53:00.000-08:00

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 ;-)

Le Couperet - a quick review

2006-12-24T19:24:00.000-08:00

“Did you watch Crime Dairy yesterday?” Bharath asked me over the breakfast, one-day, three years back. It was a TV series about crime in Bangalore city.
“Yup. They covered the case of the murder of that software engineer,” I said.
“Ma’an. How grouse. The girl is the daughter of an eminent lawyer of the Bangalore, and the guy engaged to her was a highly paid software engineer at INTEL. She got him murdered using her boyfriend, who is an unemployed rogue, and looks like a lizard,” Avinash added to the benefit of the rest of the crowd.
“Yes, he was a handsome chap too. Dunno why she opted that rogue over this nice guy,” I uttered in melancholy.
“It is a tragedy that he was killed,” said Bharath, “Dudes, be careful about whom you get engaged with,” he added with a sly smile.
“What about the vacancy that got created in Intel? Can we apply?” Avinash got right down to the business. :D

Well, if you have found this idea a lil crazy, wait till I tell you that a French movie ‘Le Couperet’ is made on this line of thought. A chemist (Garcia) loses his job in a Paper Company, due to outsourcing. He stays on his savings for two years, but finds no job. He has bills and mortgages to pay. He has to find a job, and soon.
He watches on TV, a top executive of a rival company Arcadia, giving a presentation of the company’s economic prosperity. He observes that the top executive’s profile matches with that of his. He strikes upon an idea.
He could kill this executive, to create vacancy for this post!!!
But, then, he realizes that after killing him; he would have a lot of competition for that post. Hence, he devises a plan.
He posts for a similar job in the newspaper, and invites people to apply. Among the huge number of applicants, he notices that there are five resumes that have the capability to beat him to the job. He plots to kill all of them, before he kills the top executive.
Formerly, a highly paid executive in one of the top firms, Garcia has no idea about how to kill a person. He flounders like a naïve, groping at the art of killing, sometimes successful, sometimes getting confused about the turn of events that lead to the murders. The cinematography is good, the performances are excellent. The narration is gripping, and keeps you on the edge of your seat. Also, there is a bit of humor added, which enriches the work of art.

It lacks the huge canvas of the Hollywood movies, but is a treat to watch because of the interesting storyline, and the strange situations where Garcia finds himself. The climax is mind blowing. Watch it, if you can get hold of a DVD of the movie.

This movie was screened in Tribhuvan theatre, as a part of the Bangalore International Film Festival, from 22nd to 28th December 06. The Film Festival consists of a great lot of good international movies with subtitles, being screened at Tribhuvan, Kailash and Movieland theatres. ( Tribhuvan and Kailash have been refurbished, to beat the PVR standards. Yes!!! Believe me, they beat the PVRs in cleanliness, and seating arrangements.) You can get the schedules and ‘about’ information for all the movies at the ticket counters of the theatres.

For those of you who can make it to the festival, see you there.

i wish you a ...

2006-12-23T23:12:00.000-08:00

Arguments for fun…and….

2006-11-27T17:01:00.000-08:00

Arguments run the world. Arguments ruin the world. If Benjamin Franklin had not argued with the mundane, and tried out the iron kite experiment, I would not have been able to pen this blog on a computer that runs on electricity, nor would you have been able to read this on the monitor that runs on it. It was the ‘argument’ that led to this wonderful discovery.
But, weren’t the arguments between powerful nations that led to all those wars???
Are arguments good, or bad?

“This coffee is very sweet. I should have opted for the tea,” my friend, a chronic argument specialist, blurted out at a breakfast table, at the workplace cafeteria.
“How is it going to be different? The tea is going to have the same milk, and hence the same amount of sweetness,” I uttered, casually.
The presence of two sweet looking dames along with us, at our table, called my friend for a show of his incorrigible arguing skills.
“The sugar is put into the decoction. Not the milk,” he said, smiling at me.
“Nope. Sugar is generally put into the milk,” I spoke, recalling the incident when my uncle had requested for a sugarless coffee at a self-service restaurant, the thin bearded ‘coffee-guy’ at the smoke charred corner of the restaurant had scooped up milk and a lot of froth, from a different container.

The smile on the face of my friend withdrew back to a mild frown.
“No, I perfectly know. The sugar is put to the decoction,” he said, now more of an argument. A sweep of my glance at the girls in the table told me that they were getting unnerved as my friend readied himself to another battle.
“I don’t agree. There are two containers in all hotels, one for sweet milk, and one for sugarless. The decoction is placed in a single filter, and it is always sugarless,” I said, firmly this time. I wanted to win this argument. Yes, I had witnesses too, which made the game exciting.
“You don’t know anything about running a hotel. Having sweet and sugarless milk in huge containers is a loss to them. They might as well be maintaining the sweet and sugarless decoctions in small containers,” he argued, now with stronger points, with a try to attack my ego.
“I agree that I don’t know anything about running a hotel, but I know for sure that sweet and sugarless is determined by the milk, and not the decoction,” I refused to budge from my point, not to be towed away by his secondary lines of argument.
He nodded furiously.
It was getting very exciting, and the idea of a perfect kill suddenly erupted in me. “What say we have a bet on this? I will bet you for a hundred bucks on this…..no…no….let us make this a thousand bucks,” I said, trying to trap him, in the presence of the two uncomfortable girls, who had not wanted this, early in the morning.
“Sure,” he blurted out.
And then, he did not drag it further, as would he would have done in normal circumstances, with his regular gyan about general things in life, and many other special things that he knows, that I didn’t knew, etc. He had been cornered. And I had won the argument. And I felt elated.

On a Sunday, at home, “Dad, I need this place free of clutter today,” I told my dad, pointing to a corner in the sitting room, where my father had heaped old newspapers. He was searching for some old articles. “Give me a few days, I will have them sorted out,” he said.
“No, you had already promised a month back that you would free the place from this clutter. Then you went on a tour for a week. The week after that, you were involved in your seminars, and hence I did not tell you to get it done,” I argued. I had the facts with me.
“The tour was very important for me. I had to get stuff done for my photography exhibition next month. I had to go. I met up with a lot of people at the seminars, who are useful to me. Give me one more week, and I promise to have this sorted out,” he said.
“No, I am sure you would come up with some other convincing reason, not to get this thing done,” I said.
“You think that I am giving you reasons?” he was irritated now.
“Yes. They are reasons, and they are convincing enough. But, reasons do not get the work done,” I said. Yes, it was a valid argument.
“Do you think I am lying?” he asked me.
“No. You have very good reasons. But, at the end of the day, reasons do not help me. Action will,” I put in a point, which he was not able to refute.
He just stayed silent.
I had won the argument.
I had been the victor.
He was sad, and angry.
I refused to reconcile, because I was right, and he was wrong. I had just won the argument. How could I be wrong?
But why was the voice in me screaming, that I was wrong?
Why wasn’t I elated after winning the argument?

Now, looking at these two scenarios objectively, in the first instance I was arguing to win, and in the second instance, I was arguing to make my father understand. But, in the second instance, I messed up when I began to argue to win, rather than argue to make him understand.
I had won.
But I had lost.

It is not an isolated case. Isn’t it very general for us to take up arguments because we don’t think that something is right? But, during the argument, we tend to take things personally, get agitated and in result ruin relationships.
Do you remember the last time you had started out in an argument to criticize the Indian cricket team for their performance, and got badgered by the others who supported the team passionately? After a while, the concept of logical discussion disappears, and what are left are the personal insults, victories, and a lot of judgments about each other.

Arguing to win

Drawing a clear distinction between the two types of arguments, I would say that ‘Arguing to win’ to be treated as a game. In a game, some teams win, and some teams lose. But both the teams are better off than where they were prior to playing.
In a game, if you win you feel good. But if you lose….. c’mon… it is after all a game. Don’t forget the learning, though.

When you win, while ‘Arguing to Win’, it also becomes your job to respect the losing side. It is because of the other side that you got a chance to play this game. It is very possible that there could be another chance to sharpen up your skills, if the losing side picks up another argument. This is only possible if the losing side is given due respect after losing the argument. Hence, an ambience for a lot of arguments open up, which fosters clarity of thought process, share of knowledge and quick thinking. More the arguments, merrier are the surroundings.
To exemplify,
“Ram Jethmalani is my idol,” a friend told me sometime back.
“Why?” I was curious.
“Wait, I will forward you the interview that he had with Karan Thapar on CNN-IBN,” he said, and sent me an excerpt of the interview. After going through the interview, I felt that it was a waste of time. Karan and Jethmalani had been loitering more time in personal insults, rather than discussing real issues dealing with the esteemed lawyer representing Manu Sharma. Manu Sharma is the prime accused in Jessica Lal murder case that is rocking the Indian media currently.
“Budd, did you make Ram Jethmalani your idol after going through this interview?” I asked my friend.
“Yes, he is a great lawyer. If he can get Manu Sharma out, he can get anybody out,” he said.
Ah! This was a great opportunity to ‘Argue to win’.
“What is there in the interview that makes him a great personality?” I asked him.
“He was able to answer all of Karan’s answers back in the same way he received it. He almost slapped Karan, the hardest of all TV interviewers,” answered my friend.
“Jethmalani has been a supreme court lawyer for more than 50 years. He has been arguing even before Karan was wearing chaddis. Do you really base your idols on this kind of logic?”
There was no response from my friend for a while.
“Budd,” I continued, “I think that this interview is a big waste of time. There is nothing of importance discussed but a mutual exchange of personal insults. A great TV interviewer against one of the top lawyers of the country…and they come up with this??? I am no smarter after reading this interview.”
The bubble of my friend seemed to have been burst.
After a while of silence, “Let’s discuss this after lunch,” he said.
The topic was never discussed again.
The next day, I sent him a message, “Don’t take our arguments personal, I was just arguing for the sake of arguing.”
After all, he did have the right to make anybody his idol in this world.

In this approach, you can get down and dirty in the arguments, where you can try to manipulate the interpretations of the facts, and present them to support your case. This would more resemble the reality shows on TV, in front of a hidden camera, where the TV crew irritates the general public. Then, when the reality is revealed, the targets end up with a smile.
An open mindset in very essential for this, to accept victory or failure with a smile. Victory or failure should not be taken personal, but just as a part of the game. So what if you lost this time, it is a game. You can always win it the next time.
No, it doesn’t require a different ‘YOU’ to win the argument. Just better preparation. ;-)
Just remember the part about ‘respecting the losing side’. A very essential point, to prevent the relationship from going haywire, after the argument.

Arguing to understand

There are no wins or losses in ‘Arguing to make one understand’. There needs be understanding between the participants of the arguments, irrespective of the result of the argument. This type of argument is more to understand each other, and move towards a better future together. The readiness to accept defeat on being proved wrong logically, for the greater good of the relationship is to be borne in mind. Deliberate misinterpretations of the facts in this scenario, would not only ruin the relationship, but also would prove detrimental in the move towards progress.
The move should be more towards understanding, rather than arguing.

In the context of difference of opinions, it becomes your job to find different methods of making the other person understand what you mean. Also, you will need to address the deep-rooted fears that are driving the individual to come up with his/her opinion.
If you would go on these lines of thoughts, whether you win or lose, you would definitely move towards the better future of each other.

But, does it mean simple surrender of beliefs?

No. A big NO.

How can you convince the other person of your point of view?

I have a personal example. Let’s see if this helps. J

A wall of a well-lit room in my house had to be painted. Each member of the family wanted his/her colours. My mother wanted a light yellow, sister wanted an electric blue.
This was a well-lit room. Actually, it was a glaringly lit room, and I wanted a dark wall to balance the light in the room.
My mother is against any dark walls, as she believes that darker shades lead to depressive moods. Further, she argued that she was the one who would be staying in the house for most of the time, and she did not want to have depressing shades on the walls.
I had seen the blue coloured dark ‘Armada Blue’ in one of the restaurants I had been to. I had loved the colour, and thought that it would be an ideal colour for the wall.
I put across my suggestion, but was shot down.
On arguing, I felt that I was not moving anywhere. As I did an analysis of my type of argument, I realized that I was trying to prove my point, rather than understand the fears that my mother nurtured.
She had not seen the colour, and hence, was skeptical about it.
She had not seen what I had seen. No amount of explaining would make her see what I am seeing.
Suddenly, I struck upon an idea.
I took out my digital camera, shot the picture of the wall in the room, loaded it in my computer, and digitally added that colour to the wall in the picture. I had my sister and my mother have a look at the picture.
Two days later, the wall stood gracefully, attired in dark ‘Armada blue’. ;-)

In here, argument takes a back seat, but the person/ people become more important. Understanding the other person’s point of view is very essential before putting across your argument. For all you know, the other person may have a suggestion that is better than yours. Accepting the other person’s suggestion should not be considered as defeat, but as a mark of progress.

Hence, irrespective of the result of the argument, you have won in the relationship.

Isn’t that more important?? ;-)

Just to summarize, decide beforehand whether you are arguing to win or arguing to understand. If you are arguing to win, try winning at any cost. If you lose, it is a game. If you win, it still is a game. ;-)
But, respect the losing side.

If you are arguing to understand, don’t try to win. Try to move towards betterment than the present.

Hope you have a great time arguing.

Thejas
(ps: only the examples where I have won the argument have been quoted. There are equal number of instances where I have lost, and many times have been treated with respect after losing ;-) )

King of Torts by John Grisham - a good read

2006-11-15T21:36:00.000-08:00

I am one of those law abiding citizens, who has no clue what is the 'law' that I am abiding. I have never appreciated the study of law, considering it to be the job of the 'smoke-coated-lips' old men, sitting behind heaps of stale smelling files, in teak panelled offices. A bloodline of lawyers from my mother's side didn' t make me love the law either, or the study of law by my mother when I was in her womb. Nope, even the 'Abhimanyu' effect didn't happen with me.

But recently, when my friend got into an imbroglio, which may involve legal issues, and no one including himself had thought about consulting a lawyer yet, my overture to take him to the legal counsel surprised me. After the assurances of the attorney, my friend is able to breathe a sigh of relief, knowing completely well that he will win the case if there is a trial.

Thank you John Grisham.

It wasn't a Grisham that I consulted. I just read his novel, 'The King of Torts'.

A typical Grisham literature, a good one at that, 'The King of Torts' talks about a mediocre, limited ambitioned lawyer Clay Karter, working for the Government, suddenly thrust into riches and stardom, due to a tip off by a mysterious man. The mysterious man is a 'fire man’, who helps extinguish financial fires of the corporate companies that land up in disastrous situations.
Together they team up, to settle issues with huge Pharmacy companies, and pull down some others, in the game of mass action lawsuits, where they make millions.
These mass action lawsuits involve the detection of possible victims of bad drugs of some miraculous medicines of huge Pharmacy companies, by the lawyers, enrolling them in a huge group of clients, and threat to sue the companies. The companies that realize that they have screwed up come to the negotiating table, where the lawyers dictate terms, which is more detrimental to the clients than the companies. The lawyers treat the companies only as sources of money, with the main intention to make millions for themselves, rather than get justice to the clients.
The clients end up getting some amount of money, which they would not have expected to begin with. Hence, they are happy. The companies are rid of fear of losing billions in lawsuits, settling for millions, and they are happy. The only people not happy are the lawyers, who, despite getting the best of the deal, pursue their greed of amassing more millions.

This is a revelation to me, who believed that the lawyers battled more in the courts. Clay Karter never goes for a trial at the court, but makes his millions by sheer entrepreneurship, and of course, illegal suggestions by his mysterious friend. The novel details about the tumults that these mass action lawyers (torts) go through, the strategies they employ to bring the companies down on their knees, and they constant battle with their conscience for not getting their clients a fair deal. Also, the novel ventures into the settings of some of these lawyers, suing their own brethren to get justice to the cheated clients.

Clay Karter makes an interesting character, a respectable man in a dicey job, with a drop-dead gorgeous lingerie-model for a girlfriend, but a different woman as the love of his life.

Though the ending lacks the punch that made ‘The Runaway Jury’ by Grisham a runaway hit, ‘King of Torts’ surprises you with the details of a specialized job, that needs different types of skill sets than any other lawyer in his other novels.

It is the story of the rise and fall of the King of them all, the story of the ‘King of Torts’

Have fun reading it.

pictures from Parambikulam, Kerala

2006-11-14T04:44:00.000-08:00

most memorable weekend of my life ...in the moist Parambikulam jungles, Kerala.... on the first weekend of Nov 06....

DON

2006-10-24T18:46:00.000-07:00

Would Akshay Kumar be a better Bond than Brosnan? How would a Jerry McGuire look with Shah Rukh in it? Can Amitabh better Al Pacino if he was Hollywooded?
What would happen if our Bollywood actors were put on the International pedestal? How would they look? What would they wear? How would they move?

These questions always haunted me.
The fantasy almost came true.
In a true Hollywood flick style, the 'Don' by Farhan Akthar is an impressive piece of work. The look and feel of the movie ( including the 'green' tone found in a lot of Hollywood action flicks like 'the Matrix' ) induces an exquisite touch. Living up to the expectations, the action sequences pull you right amidst the fighters, as you zip around the corners with the lashing limbs. You zoom on the Malaysian highways in a convertible, crouch under a huge moving truck at a very high speed, jump around swinging legs at goons.
Exciting???

But, before you build your expectations, there are glitches. Nope, not minor ones. They are pretty huge.

The Roma of the movie, the hot than the hottest girls, Priyanka Chopra, is the worst heroine of the recent times. She is dangerously bad. She has the ability to manage her part of the act, but fails miserably to create the necessary chemistry with the hero. She had repeated the same disaster in Krrish, but went unnoticed by the Roshans. She does it again here, but am sure, will go unnoticed by Farhaan. The acting that she does for 'her self' is dangerous to the movie when she does not show the eagerness in her eyes for her lover.
She draws a lot of passion with the liberal show of her skin, but is dispassionate herself.
With a killer physique, she lives up to the action sequences.

The aging hottie, Isha Koppikar, does her act. Though playing the female companion of the Don, she has only a small part to play. The Khallas girl does her miniscule job well, but will not make the heads turn, as Farhaan is not comfortable in unleashing her. He puts all loose attires on her, because he wants Priyanka to be the hotter. Thats unfair, both to Isha and the movie. But, that is life!!!

Boman Irani is his natural self, and does a great job. Though he is made to look awkward in the latter part of the movie. We expected a better job from Farhaan, than to make the obese Boman fight, moving around in the arena like a kid of the early twenties.

Om Puri is a joke here. The great actor is a high ranking detective, but is made to run chasing the Don in some scenes, which is not credible. The old bones would have done a better job in using his head rather than his sagging muscles.

Arjun Rampal looks excellent due to great camerawork, tries to act, succeeding occasionally. He lives his own story, not very much connected to the main plot, in this new version of the 'Don'.

Kareena has a special appearence. Though the initial TV trailers of the movie had her gyrating to a remade song, where a lot of her was promised, the lot of her is shown in that six minute song. Comparisions have been made between her and Helen, of the original Don. But, whom are we kidding??? You would not prefer a sixty seven year old Helen dancing to seduce the new Don. Would you?

The star of the show, the star who steals the show is the King Khan. He is the ruthless killer, the passionate playboy, the daring gambler, the agile fighter, the streetwise strategist, and a lot more. He is the busiest don ever. He has a lot of people working for him, loyals and moles. He has to battle the unending conspiracies dished out to him, and come out a survivor. He has to be thinking all the while, about his enemies' next move, a slip may prove disaster. He is what is expected of him, and more. Just that, he does not exude the class of Amitabh, but wait!!! Haven't you seen Amitabh already??? Why not enjoy this new Don, in a different avataar.

I am sure that you would know the story, enough to repeat it backwards. I would not be discussing that here. I remember that I had watched the Amitabh's Don, during the days of Sunday Hindi movie screenings on Doordarshan, at home, with a plate of 'Bondas' and tea, prepared by mum. I do not remember any part of the movie though. Hence, I sat back and enjoyed the chase. With detachments during some slow moving scenes in the second half, I was occasionally surprised by the strange twists in the plot. The story, I am told, deviates a lot in the second half, from the original Don.
But, I debate to give a higher rating to the movie than the 2.5 stars that the Times Of India awarded to the movie.

To summarise, you can give it a shot.
Watch it for sure, if you have not watched the Amitabh's flick, or do not remember any of it.

Pictures of the Ooty trip....

2006-10-23T06:11:00.000-07:00

Celebrations.....

2006-10-13T21:26:00.000-07:00

... a picture of the devotees taken at the ISKCON temple, during the Brahmotsav Celebrations, in April 06....

The Dholes

2006-10-13T05:57:00.000-07:00

on a lucky jungle Safari in Bandipur, last weekend.... we spotted the invincible Dholes

This picture was taken at 8:20 am on 7 Oct, 06

My pictures of the Mysore Dasara

2006-10-11T06:35:00.000-07:00

The bustop hopping BMTC

2006-10-03T06:30:00.000-07:00

Short Review of 'Aishwarya' - the Kannada flick

2006-09-26T05:37:00.000-07:00

"One, Two, Three, Four", I remember my physical training teacher count, as we moved our limbs in straight lines in different directions, in my primary school. I never had understood the logic behind doing these exercises in the uncomfortable school uniform. In addition to the fact that the PT period was the last period of the school, the venue was always the dusty school ground.
Weren't we supposed to exercise in a refreshing place, early in the morning???

It was nostalgic for me to see the same sort of exercises being performed by Deepika Padukone, in the various songs. Rigid limbs accustomed to walking on the ramp were made to pierce air in all directions. She wore the mini skirts in some sequences that had the model's frail legs doing the gawky steps. The 20-year-old damsel wore miniscule tops in some sequences, which established that she had not consumed fatty foods since she was born.
Ok,ok...jokes apart, she was very honest in her approach. She knew for sure that she could not act, and she never attempted to do the same in the whole of the movie. I am sure that Inderjeet (director of the movie) could have substituted her with a cardboard cut out of her picture, and we would never have noticed the difference.

And yes, she is a gorgeous woman.

What happens when the Puneet Issar (Duryodhan of Mahabharath fame) would act the role of Hritik Roshan, in the remake of Kaho Na Pyaar Hain?
Don't try to imagine that. You get to see the same stuff in Uppi's role as Abhishek Hegde in this movie.
He refuses to admit that he cannot carry off a role, which demands soft approach, and rudely, tries to barge into the Sudeep's territory. This character has been manhandled by Uppi (believe me, I still adore his Om, A and Upendra), as he tries in vain to smile like a lover boy. The smile resembles more like that of a serial killer, grinning at his latest victim.
But, I must admit that Inderjeet has been greatly successful in taming the Uppi in Uppi, and forcing him into giving a subdued performance (by Uppi's standards), thankfully not needing the carrying of Amrutanjan to the theatre.
The hulk has a sculpted body, and he tries to show them off even in the formal attires that he wears to the meetings in Europe, in the form of top three shirt buttons undone. I wonder if the Europeans in his board meetings appreciated the liberal show of cleavage by this huge male.

Finally, there is the breather. The refreshing, and good-looking Daisy Bopanna does a marvelous job. Though not a seasoned actress, she is not expected to carry out great performances. She is supposed to act bubbly, energetic, and full of spirits. She does that to a T, and has all the frontbenchers, and the frontbencher hearts of those in the balcony jump up with joy. She is glamorous, and she shows it off. She has a charming smile, and flashes it liberally. She has a great physique, and wears nice clothes....sometimes sweet and sometimes hot. She does not beat Madhuri at the dancing floor, but who cares? Madhuri is anyway an aunty now.
She dominates the first half, and I definitely wished that she would take over the whole of the movie.

The story is simple. Uppi is the manager of a top advertising company, and hates women. This is because his former lover had ditched him when in time of need. Deepika is appointed as the assistant manager of the company, as the company deals with a lot of stuff that is being used by women, on the likes of lip sticks, face creams, etc. (Yes, it does resemble 'What Women Want' starring Mel Gibson). The resemblance becomes more prominent, when Uppi tries to use a lipstick on his face, experimenting.
Deepika works hard, but all her ideas are stolen and presented by Uppi, who uses a 'tehelka.com' microphone, hidden in Deepika's office.
Deepika finds it tough to work in the office, and wants to resign, but the boss of the company, uncle of Uppi, retains her, and makes her the manager. Uppi is demoted to being the Assistant Manager.
Deepika wonders about Uppi's hatred, and is made aware of his rough past experience by his uncle. She becomes nice towards him.
They go to Europe on an assignment, and Uppi falls in love with Deepika. But, when he proposes to her, he realizes the glitch.
She is already engaged.

The dialogues are crisp, with many one-liners, and gags. The script is inundated with PJs, but timing makes them appear as passable ones at least. All the scenes are rich, vibrantly colored, and the characters are attired in gaudy colored dresses.
Fashion does play a big role, in contrast to other Kannada movies.
Europe locales have been shot gracefully, which are pleasant to watch.
The comic characters make the movie hilarious, with all the scenes focused on getting the audience to laugh.

To summarize, the movie resembles the publicity posters. All glamour, and colours. No real stuff, only time pass.

Have fun this weekend.

The weekend outing at Yelagiri Hills

2006-09-15T07:02:00.000-07:00

The quiet lake at the Yelagiri hills
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

an NHS experience

2006-09-08T05:54:00.000-07:00

Circa August 1993.......in the 8th Standard E Section...The National High School, Bangalore.....

"This time, I am going to say firmly to ASM, to give our ball back," said Shreyas, the captain of the class basketball of eighth standard, 'E' section. The issue of the balls had been plaguing the team since its inception. There were few balls with the school sports management (management????...err.... could be termed as more of a mismanagement by the orange haired goblin, who considered himself to be the Salman Khan of the school, holding hands of any female who would come closer than 1 metre radius of him). Even the balls which the school had, carried the pet names Baldy ball ( the ball had no grip), Thooth ball ( the ball had holes at unusual places) and Tuss ball (had a bladder similar to that of a 70 yr old's biceps).
And there were the invincible 8C section team who beat us at every game, also managed to politically steal the good balls. The glamourous 8D section team stole the rest of the balls, leaving none for the docile 8E.
But things were going to change. Our 'Chreyas' (Shreyas renamed by ASM) was going to place our claim on atleast one of the balls.

That afternoon, during the games period, the carrot top (coloured hair) hulk came to the class. Shreyas told him that we need a ball permanently, for practising during the lunch breaks, and even after school. We could not go begging for balls everytime we needed to play.
"Do you have a ball now?" ASM asked.
"We have a ball sir, but C section guys would tell your name and take away the ball from us," complained Shreyas, mentally cursing Pradeep ( C section basketball team captain), who was always jumping around in the unwashed banians (yes, he was famous for that....also, there was rumour that he made it to the Limca book of records for not taking bath for the largest number of days).
"OK. I will tell them. They will not take your ball ever," said ASM. "THAT BALL IS CHREYAS. CHREYAS IS THAT BALL," he declared.
Shreyas is that ball??!!!

So, whenever we played basketball, Shreyas (the ball) was being thrown around.

But the actual impact of this declaration did not show up until the drop dead gorgeous female basketball team captain of our class requested our basketball for a practise session, and there..... Shreyas (the ball) was being thrown around by the soft feminine hands.

"Oh! Man. All girls are touching you," said Pummy (Pramod) "Only, if I were the ball instead of you."

HELP!!

2006-09-02T01:01:00.000-07:00

Would a rendezvous with danger for a beautiful lass, change this man's life in one night? Expect the unexpected...

A light jerk woke him up. His eyes fluttered open, but saw nothing. It was silent. And dark. A thin streak of light from a distant bulb of the aisle spread out weakly all over the aisle.

He could only hear the light whirring of the fan.

He shut his eyes tightly, and concentrated to come out of the muzziness.

Slowly, he reopened his eyes.

As his eyes got adjusted, he could see thin streaks of white light penetrating through the shutters of the window. The train must have stopped in some station, he guessed.

He gulped. The throat was dry.

He wanted water, desperately.

He got up. He fished out his water bottle from his bag, in the dim light. It was empty.

He glanced at the other two passengers sleeping peacefully. It would be a crime to disturb their sleep.

Slowly, he wore his shoes silently, and dragged his feet to the aisle, and moved towards the door.

With a violent yank, he opened the non-greased thick handle of the door. A rough pull gave way to a flood of white fluorescent light, from the station’s tube lights.

His hands came up defensively, to shield his strained eyes from the flood of light.

With his eyes getting adjusted to the flood of light, he hobbled onto the platform.

He stretched out his arms. His back muscles creaked.

His body ached due to the hard surface of his berth he had been sleeping on. He scanned the deserted platform for drinking water. It was strange that he could not see any human figure in the whole of the station.

His eyes zeroed on a sink.

As he walked towards the sink, he noticed that the station was not of an important place. The unkempt, unclean floor was an evidence of this. Some dried leaves, some dead insects scattered here and there. He could even see some things lying at a corner, which in his muzziness could be guessed as dead rats. It could easily be guessed that the station had not witnessed fresh paint for decades now.

Suddenly, he heard some voices at a distance. Some male voices. They were shouting.

He thrust his hand over the tap, and twisted the grip to open the tap. It was stuck and refused to budge. He tried with greater effort.

Suddenly, the voices had come near.

He could guess that the voices were just around the corner.

He saw a girl dashing out of the corner, her denim dress drenched in sweat, clutching a bag. Her hair was wet, unkempt, and her face was enveloped with droplets of sweat, as she breathed heavily, running with all the effort she could muster.

But, he noticed that she was exceptionally beautiful.

Suddenly, her eyes noticed him.

Her pace decreased, as she neared him.

Her eyes screamed of the trouble that was following her.

She was almost near him, now. She almost stopped. Her eyes stared at him for any sign of help.

He was puzzled.

Suddenly, his eyes fell on the hefty men in sleazy clothes who were following her, who had just emerged out of the corner.

With a reflex the girl turned back, a look at the men, and she dashed ahead, having lost all hopes of help from a stranger.

Before the sequence of incidents could enter his comprehension, the train jerked. It would move any second now. He had to dash get into the train.

But, would it be alright to leave a helpless girl behind.

He turned back to the girl.

She was almost at the gates of the station, followed by the four men.

He looked at the train. It had begun to pick up speed. His entire luggages lie there. If he could run fast, he could still make it to the train.

But, what would happen to the girl?!! Raped? Murdered?

Suddenly, he felt something for the girl. It certainly wasn’t love, but yes, he would be lying if he did not accept that he had felt attracted towards the girl. She was gorgeous.

Damsel in distress!!!

He would be a fool not to help her out.

Of what use would his built body be, if not for a good cause like this.

He shot out towards the gates.

As he came to the gates, he could see the four men running, following the damsel, sprinting towards the fields. In the darkness, he could make out the human figures vaguely, in the station’s lights. He turned to the station guard outside, sleeping soundly.

Should he wake him up?

There was no time.

Every second, the damsel was in more danger.

He shot ahead, to take on the four men single handedly. Anyway, they were not carrying any weapons.

In half a minute, he was running behind the hefty guy who was the trailing of the four.

“Catch the bitch!” the man was heard screaming.

Suddenly, the man received a kick on his buttocks, jolting him forward. Waving all over for support, the man crashed to the ground with a scream.

The other three stopped in their tracks, turned back.

The young man had stern eyes boring into the eyes of the rogues.

Before they could realize, the young man lashed out his hand on another man’s face.

A fainted scream was heard, which followed a splash of red from his mouth.

The man collapsed, clutching his mouth.

The other two rushed at him together.

A vicious kick from trained legs, at a rogue’s groin, and a fist at another’s Adam’s apple.

The men reeled backwards, clutching their organs, which had been punished.

Everything was over?!!

The first man was getting up, preparing himself to take on the young man.

But before he could see anything, he saw the young man’s boots rushing at his temple. Next, he saw black. Deep, dark, black.

Everything was definitely over.

The young man looked at the girl. She stood motionless, gaping at the valiant act of the young man. Her breasts heaved heavily due to the deep breaths she was taking.

Unmistakably innocent eyes, wide open in wonder.

“Are you okay?” he enquired.

She looked at him.

“How did you do that?” she uttered, amidst the heavy breaths.

He smiled, chivalrous.

Slowly, he moved towards her.

“Are you okay?” he enquired again.

He noticed that she was drenched in sweat. He fished out his handkerchief, and held it to her.

“Thanks,” she uttered, and took the kerchief. Her lips had begun to smile, when she placed his kerchief over her cheeks, and then her lips.

Though there was no light but the moonlight, she was glowing.

She was a perfect piece of art. The slender, fair fingers emerged out of the fair hands, covered by the sleeves.

His kerchief was so lucky, he thought.

Even if he could not get the girl, he would definitely preserve the kerchief in a safe, he decided.

Suddenly, she stopped.

She looked at his eyes. He could guess that a feeling of gratitude had swept her over.

“You saved my life,” she uttered, as tears swelled up her eyes. “You are a great person,” she said.

Though he felt ecstatic, he just smiled.

“You risked your life….for me….”her head bent down, as her voice weakened. She began to sob silently, the back of her hand held against her eyes.

“No, look. I am no great person, I just felt it was my duty to help you,” he placed his hand over her shoulder.

She looked up to him. Her eyes were drenched in tears. The innocent deer-like eyes required protection. The glistened eyes had a faint sparkle of the distant moon. He wanted to hold her, to embrace her, to comfort her.

He could guess that she had been brought up in a very protective ambience. The experience had left her shaken.

“Now, don’t worry. It is all over,” he gave a comforting smile.

Slowly, she wiped her eyes with her shirt’s cuffs.

“I was coming back from tuitions….” she began.

“Don’t speak now, relax,” he uttered softly.

As he led her through the narrow path, through a farm, her breaths became lighter, and her sobs simmered down.

“Where is your house?” he asked.

“A kilometer from here,” she said.

“Why you are here?” he asked, deciding to know more about this angel, who would become the turning point of his miserable life.

“I am in my final year B.Com,” she said, “I was returning from tuitions, when these guys started following me.”

“A girl of your looks should not be walking alone,” he said.

“No, no. I never walk alone. Today, my friends had failed to come. Today, just today, I was left alone,” she said, slowly moving in the darkness, with only the moonlight to guide them.

Suddenly, she realized that he had complimented her.

“And thanks,” she uttered, with a light laugh.

He smiled to himself.

He knew he had established a good rapport with her, the instant he had floored the goons for her. Now, he was establishing that he would make a good husband.

“I think you missed your train for me,” she said.

“I will find another one,” he uttered.

“But your luggage?” she asked.

This girl was really caring.

“Do not worry about it,” he said.

“You have already said this twice. You are very protective,” she said.

He felt elated.

“Just like my father,” she said.

He felt warm.

“Would you accompany me to my house?” she asked, a trifle skeptical.

“Did you think otherwise?” he asked.

She became silent.

“Thanks,” she uttered meekly.

A few minutes of walking silently, had developed a strange bond between them. The young man felt increasingly drawn towards her innocence. He did not know whether she was feeling the same towards him. But, he was definitely sure that she must have been thinking about him now. It was such a wonderful experience that such a piece of art was thinking about him. He felt excited imagining that he was expecting the girl to think about him for the whole of her life.

Would it be possible?!

Why would not it be possible?

“Are you sure this is the way to your house?” he asked, suddenly realizing that it was getting darker, and darker, as the trees were getting denser.

“Oh!” she uttered, “I will switch on the torch,” she understood his concern, and moved quickly to a brighter place. She zipped opened her bag, and rummaged the insides for her torch. Suddenly, she fished it out.

A glimmer of light reflected from the torch made him guess that the torch was of a non-lustrous metal.

It could not be a torch!!!

It was a gun.

She turned back to him, the muzzle of the gun pointed at him.

Confused and shocked, the young man stared at the girl.

“Okay, smart guy,” she said, “you can give me your wallet,” she held the gun pointed at him. Her voice had suddenly seemed ruthless.

“What the…”

“Shut up, and take it out. No smart moves, else I will blow you off,” she said, her tone was highly professional.

“The guys were following me because I had shot one of them trying to catch me stealing the jewellery of the village’s temple. Don’t let the same thing happen to you,” she said.

He pulled out his wallet.

“And take out your watch. Is it RADO?” she said.

She had guessed it right.

She was a pro. He felt like a fool, being attracted to her non-existent innocence.

He removed his watch.

“Your chain is beautiful. It will fetch a good sum,” she smiled.

He bit his lip.

He stared at her eyes.

No trace of the innocence there.

It was as cold as ice’s.

A murderer? She could have managed, he decided.

She was ruthless. The chain was a very expensive one. It could be worth lakhs.

How could something be so beautiful and yet so cruel?

He removed his chain and held it out to her with his wallet, and the watch.

“Keep it on the ground and back off,” she said, brandishing the muzzle at him.

Did he have a choice? No amounts of stunts were useful in front of the gun.

He bent down, placed the things on the ground, and backed off.

He felt shattered. He felt angry. He felt like a fool.

He had risked his life to beat up a couple of good people. To save this crook!!!

Fate! He never believed it till date. He had to get up at the middle of the night, he had to be thirsty, he had to chase the goons for her, and finally he had to be left in the jungles, with no money, at night, without knowing the way back.

Slowly, he could see her move towards his things.

As she bent down to pick them up, a thought struck him.

‘Why would she be running from the guys, if she had a gun with her?

She was running because the gun was not loaded. It would be empty’.

Suddenly, he pounced on her, reaching out for the gun.

But, he realized that the girl was prepared when he received a vicious kick at his groin. He winced in pain, and held his hands cupping his groin.

Suddenly, he saw a broken branch of a tree fast approaching him, the girl swinging it at him. He felt it hit somewhere near the neck, and before he could remember which part of the body it was, he saw black.

He collapsed like a heap of flesh.

She kicked him again, to make sure he was out cold. She picked up his things and thrust it into her bag. Then, she whisked him for anything worthwhile.

An expensive bracelet was found.

She smiled to herself, as she pulled it free from his hand, and thrust it into her bag.

Slowly, she walked away into the dark wilderness.

A thick cloud of smoke escaped from her lips, as she exhaled. Again, she stuck the cigarette between her lips, and drew the smoke.

It was a cold morning, and she was seated on a kerb, dressed in the same old denims. It had taken her a long walk to the town, to come out of the wilderness she had floored the young man. She had hardly slept the previous night

She exhaled again, eyes shut, concentrating on the ecstatic pleasure the piece of tobacco was imparting.

A glance at her wrist watch, and she realized that the store across the street would open any moment.

She was musing about the incidents of the previous evening. The next time she must be very careful when invading a temple, she thought. It had taken whole month, for her to get friendly with the villagers, then with the temple authorities, later joining as one of the volunteers. Finally, the eventful night had arrived with the chief priest along with few other priests departing to Varanasi to participate in a congregation.

But, few men residing near the temple had observed her, and had chased her. But, the love struck young man had been an unexpected boon to her.

A chortle escaped her lips, recollecting the expression of the young man, when she had pointed her gun at him.

Just then, her eyes fell on the obese man in silky kurta with two boys arrive at the shop across the street. The boys unlocked the shutters, and pulled it up to unveil a jewellery shop. The obese man, obviously the owner, trudged in, to seat himself behind the cash counter.

The girl got up.

‘Time for action’, she told herself.

She threw her cigarette, crushed it with her shoes, and crossed the street at a brisk pace.

There was no time to lose. She had to get rid of the necklace and the bracelet of the young man before he would reach a police station. She required money to travel as far as possible, and then try to dispose off the jewellery of the temple.

“Good morning, sethji,” said the girl.

The owner gave a broad smile, displaying all his yellowed teeth. But, the smile had a charm, an I-like-you feel, which the owner knew would make an impact on the customers.

“Sethji, I am in urgent need of money,” she said, noticing that the expression on his face was changing.

“Here is something I want to mortgage,” she said, pulling out the expensive chain, and the bracelet she had obtained from her admirer the previous night.

The owner took the chain, and the bracelet. He observed it for a while. She could witness his experienced eyes pierce through each and every corners of the jewellery.

“This is very expensive,” he uttered, in a tone of finality, his eyes still fixed on the exotic piece of jewellery.

“How much can you give?” she asked. Anything was a profit for her. She had hardly planned this bonus. She wanted something, and fast.

“My son is good at diamonds. He will be coming here any moment, now,” he said, and called one of the boys.

“Go and get Anil,” the owner ordered the boy.

The girl began looking at all the other jewellery, which she would never be able to wear. If she could seduce the owner, maybe he would part with some of those.

Or, maybe she would seduce the owner’s son.

Few minutes later, a police inspector, along with two constables arrived at the shop. They arrested the girl on charge of stealing a chain. The chain she was trying to sell had been stolen from the same shop, by a guy.

Few days later, the villagers of the nearby village, were very happy to see the jewellery of the temple being restored back by the police.

Line of Control by Tom Clancy

2006-08-30T21:56:00.000-07:00

No. This is not a Bollywood starrer with the Sunny Deol's efforts towards social service i.e population reduction of Paks.
No gun touting underfed junior artists masquerading in Indian army uniforms, mouthing sentimental dialogues, and dying in comic positions. (any resemblence to JP Dutta's movie is purely coincidental ;-) )

This is a simple novel by Tom Clancy.

Briefly,
An explosion in Kashmir, where a Police Station, a Hindu temple, and a bus brimming with pilgrims are blown up makes for a sensational beginning. The Opcentre, one of the numerous government security agencies of the US of A, sends out a team of commandos to help the Indian defence forces to handle the terrorist activities in Kashmir. But, the developments in the duration between the take off and reaching of Indian subcontinent by the team, suggest that there is a deeper conspiracy. India is planning for a full fledged nuclear war against Pakistan.

War or no war, depends on one single Indian female, working as a spy, presently held captive by a team of terrorists in the heart of the Himalayas.

Exciting?

Yup. The excitement mounts, when the team of American commandos jump out of their aircraft in the Himalayas, to rescue the Indian spy, and realise that they are being peppered by the firing from the Indian army at the Line of Control, neutralising most of the team.

Hmm,
As an Indian, you would not be able to digest that a democratic country of the likes of India can carry out such an act of aggression. But , this novel is by an American, and the point of view is mostly American. Except for this discomfort, there is a lot of research that has been done to make this novel. The scenes are very picturesque, the characters are interesting, though not very deeply established due to the length of the novel.

The novel raises a lot of expectations, both by its bombastic beginning, and the build up of the story. But ends very quickly. Almost abruptly.

I would have loved if the length of the novel were doubled.

A pleasant surprise is the absence of the Clancy's technical jargon, which had turned me off in just the first few pages in my first Clancy's novel 'The Hunt of the Red October'.

To summarise,
A good book for a bibliophile while on a three day vacation.

...Over a drink...

2006-08-16T18:57:00.000-07:00

...A short story that I penned sometime back...

An tempestuous evening at a bar, of a failure, with an enticing woman and a jealous colleague....expect the unexpected...

---------------------

Life is unfair. Very, very unfair.

From the beginning, it was unfair for me. Why should I be born as the ugly kid in a handsome family? And the last, neglected one.

It is always an oft repeated complaint among the early-borns. It was the other way in our family. Should I blame my misfortune???

Should I blame my luck for giving me a raw deal while giving away intelligence? Or giving me a bald head before twenty five? A protruding paunch…

The list goes on.

The thoughts went round in a vicious cycle, as the tip of my index finger rolled on the smooth rim of the wine glass. The quaint, circular wooden table of the pub was meant for four. But, who would like to give me company, an uninteresting clerk at a local law firm?! They would only be bored more by my soporific tales, and lackluster jokes. Who would be interested in making their life more miserable in talking to an epitome of vapidity like me?!

Had not I tried to make my life more interesting?!

The vivid pictures have been stamped on my brain, burningly. I had approached the gorgeous stenographer, with a customary red dress, with a deep neck, presenting her bosoms in an offering demeanor. She never gave me a chance. Turned me down, outright.

Well, Mary could have been out of my league.

But, the gaunt courier girl, in a black uniform was very well within my reach. She was not even as beautiful as my wife. She had agreed to have a dinner with me. But, suddenly, Mr Mehta happened. The ever-charming Mr Mehta had seduced her before the most anticipated dinner, and she had stood me up. Mehta, the Casanova of the firm. He had all the women desperate for a single glimpse of him.

What did women find in him?

He was just good looking. And maybe, a little charming. But his jokes were pathetic.

Maybe, it was his money. Though he, himself had a meager income, his wife was a rich lady. She was much more than ugly. Thin bloodless lips, amidst the pockmarked cheeks, hovering above a long, corded neck, emerging out of weak shoulders.

Yes, it was her money.

I did not envy him. I did not just envy him.

I hated him, to the extent that I could kill him.

He had had the dare enough to ditch Mary after sleeping with her.

Now, there he was, trying to run his hands on the young lady’s haunches he had met just minutes back, on the dancing floor.

The dull music added to the pleasurably depressing mood of the ambience, illuminated faintly by somber lights. I picked up the wine glass, and placed it on my lips, the viscous fluid slowly entering through my wet lips. Mehta, had come along with me, to give me company. But, on suddenly, watching the beautiful young girl over the dancing floor, he had made a dash for it.

As the fluid entered my throat, I felt a trifle relaxed. Now, I could see that Mehta’s palm had firmly rested on the young lass’ buttocks.

I could not bear to look at it anymore.

I turned away towards the entrance. Not many people coming in.

My gaze wandered to the patterned roof, the lozenge paned windows, and suddenly something caught my sight.

A fairly beautiful woman looking at me.

I turned away.

She might be just gazing through.

I looked back.

She was staring at me!

She was alone at the table, at a corner. Clad in a dead black, deep necked dress, she looked ravishing.

Might be in her early thirties, I guessed.

The pub always had interesting denizens. Could she have come alone?

I turned away, unable to gaze at her eyes anymore. I turned to the dancing floor. Mehta was doing his job there.

Suddenly, it struck me. I have to make my move now. Else, Mehta would not lose this opportunity. I turned back to her.

My lips broke into a smile.

She was surprised. Her hand picking up her wine glass stopped. She glared more into my eyes. She was not expecting a response.

Had I committed a mistake? I was sure this lady was very good looking. Why was she interested in me?

Her sight lingered on mine for sometime. I was unabashedly staring into her eyes. Now, I was getting aroused. Though she was seated at a distance, I became oblivious of all the people between us. I began to appreciate her well shaped eyebrows, the meticulously laid mascara, the fastidiously done make up…

Suddenly, breaking me out of my abstraction, she smiled.

A chill traveled down my spine.

I felt nervous, and had uneasiness in my stomach.

Would I end up tonight with this lady? Not that I would mind, but she was unnervingly enticing. Would I be able to satiate her?

I smiled at my thoughts.

I flashed a teasing smile. I knew she was expecting me to make the first move. But, I was too nervous, and lacked enough confidence to walk up to her.

Slowly, I could see her stand up.

Suddenly, I had a lump in my throat. The light from a nearby bulb reflected hazily off her lustrous long, black skirt, wrapped tightly around her shapely legs, with an elongated split at the side.

Languidly, she moved towards me, across the numerous tables. With her every step, my exultation escalated.

I stood up, slowly, when she had come near to my table. She halted, and stared at me.

She was taller to me!!!

Anyway, I liked taller women.

She wanted me to make the first move.

First move?? She had already made a lot of moves.

I felt ashamed of myself. She had done my work, and I still expected her to make the move to talk.

“Good evening…..er,” I flashed a glorious smile.

“Amelia D’Souza…Good evening,” she said. It was almost a whisper. I moved around the table, and pulled her a chair.

She sat down gracefully.

Suddenly, confidence was rushing back to me. I remembered that my wife, who was also a beautiful lady once upon a time, had commented that she had liked my friendly face, and gestures. Women felt comfortable with me.

They never felt nervous, like they would have with an Adonis of likes of Mehta.

“What would you fancy, Miss D’Souza?” I asked when I had seated myself in front of her.

I noticed that there could have been some marks on her facial skin, but she had made them up carefully. She still looked impressive.

“Something to while away time,” she bit her upper lip. The voice was just more than a whisper. I realized that she was apprehensive too.

I smiled.

I was gaining grounds.

“Something strong, perhaps?” I asked.

“Light,” she uttered, and bit her upper lip back, her eyes never ceasing to stare at mine. My eyes searched for the waiter, but he was very far away. I gesticulated to him, and he nodded in acknowledgement.

I turned back to her.

“Have we met before?” I asked her, my eyes rolling all over her neck, and suddenly back to her eyes.

“I don’t know. I had a kind of feeling that,” a slight pause, and instantaneously I returned my gaze from the cleavage of her breasts back to her eyes, “I have seen you somewhere,” she continued.

“I am Rahul Saxena,” I said with a smile, “I work in a law firm,” I begged that she would not go into the details of my worthless job.

“Hmm,” she let out a light exclamation, “Interesting job. So you are a lawyer.”

“No, not exactly, I work as a clerk in a law-firm,” I said, feeling strongly to kick myself the next moment. Why was I ruining my chances?

But her expression did not change. I thanked god, relieved.

“You have come here alone?” she asked.

I nodded, morosely.

She let out a heavy breath.

Suddenly, I realized that she was alone too. I guessed that she was one of those damsels who kept on rejecting all the men, always in search of better, but never found the perfect one, finally settling for anyone.

But, I was not anyone. Was I?

Why was I denigrating myself? I lacked self confidence, and trust in myself.

I must come out of it. This was my final opportunity.

“It is difficult being alone, isn’t it?” I asked, treading a safe path.

She nodded, wearily.

So, she was definitely alone.

“What do you do for a living?” I asked, not sure whether that was a good question.

“I have property left by my late husband,” she said, “I am able to pull along.”

So, she was a widow. Though disappointed a trifle that she was not a spinster, I felt courageous that I was not dealing with an amateur.

I glanced around for the waiter. He was still attending the other customer, looked at me, and nodded apologetically.

Suddenly, I felt cold. I felt something at my feet. Was she playing in footsie?

Slowly, I stretched back casually, and glanced at my shoe.

It was just touching the centre leg of the table. I breathed a sigh of relief. It would have been real fast.

The next moment my eyes fell on her black pointed shoe near the leg of the table, the shapely fair leg emerging out of it, and felt disappointed that she had not started footsie.

With a reflex, I returned back my gaze to her eyes, and she was looking at my wine glass wistfully. “He passed away an year back,” she said in nostalgic tone.

Now was the time to be supportive. I thought of placing my hand on her hand, on the table. I bit my lower lip. I gulped. My right hand refused to come up.

A bead of sweat began to form on my forehead.

Desperately, I wanted to place my hand over her’s. But I felt my right hand go into coma.

“I am sorry,” I barely whispered, dejected. I felt like a coward.

‘Would you like to dance with me?’ I wanted to ask. But my voice refused to co-operate. I took a heavy breath. It was now, or never. I had to ask her. She had given me all the liberty; it would be absurd not to take the opportunity.

“Hello, Saxena, won’t you introduce me to your charming friend of yours?” I heard a voice, and turned with a reflex to see Mehta standing behind me, with a captivating smile.

God! I had dreaded this moment for all the time.

Why? Why is my misfortune always accompanying me?

“Well…er,…this is Miss D’Souza,” I showed him the bewitching lady, “and this is Mr Mehta,” I showed Mehta in despair.

“How do you Mr Mehta?!” the lady’s voice was enchanting, extending her hand.

“Charmed, I am sure,” Mehta took her hand, and placed an elegant light kiss on her fingers. As he ensconced himself over a chair, he flashed a brilliant smile at her.

“Would you fancy a drink?” I heard him ask.

She nodded in positive.

Mehta turned back at the waiter, who was free by now. The waiter rushed at us, and took Mehta’s orders.

I watched the occurrence in wonder.

All the time I had been calling the waiter, he was busy.

My luck had given me away, again.

“That is my favorite drink,” I heard her exclaim, “How do you know that?”

“I had observed you when you ordered your first drink at your table,” Mehta said, in an endearing voice. “I am a very sensitive person.”

She nodded slowly.

“That has become my problem,” he said, joyless.

“How?” she seemed surprised.

“Well, I lost the love of my wife for being sensitive. I became a very possessive husband. She felt I was invading her freedom. She wanted to have a very free marriage, and I did not agree to that. She punished me,” he uttered in melancholy.

I was feeling weak.

I knew I had lost the battle. I was nowhere in the picture. The two did not require me. The sheer speed with which Mehta made way to her heart shocked me.

She was already feeling sympathetic towards him.

It would not take him long to transform that to love.

“But, let me not bore you with my stories,” he said as though realizing his mistake. It was all planned. He would have done these innumerable times.

Slowly, he took her hand on the table, “Would you give me the honour of dancing with you, now?” he held her hand with tender roughness, affectionate but firm.

Her lips broke into a glorious smile.

“Sure,” she said, as she got up along with him.

“Be back in a minute,” Mehta said, turning to me.

I knew that the minute would never come.

It was beyond my threshold of tolerance. I stood up slowly, called for the bill, threw some bills on the table, and strode out of the pub, crestfallen.

It had taken a lot of effort from me to maintain my equanimity during the drive back home. I got out of the car, strode to the house, barged in, paced straight to the bedroom. I wanted to end the day as soon as possible. I changed into pajamas, and came out to see my wife laying the dinner. Perfunctorily, I served myself, and started gobbling down the meal.

“I wanted to speak to you,” my wife spoke.

I was in no mood to discuss anything. I wanted to end this wretched day, and start afresh the next day.

“Not now, let it wait till morning,” I said, hurriedly.

“Mary was here three days back,” she uttered.

I felt a jolt!

Suddenly, I recovered, and it took me a lot of effort to prevent myself from getting excited.

“And?” I asked, nonchalantly, not looking at her.

I prepared myself to encounter the worst possible allegation that would follow the next moment.

“She had complained about your behavior towards her, in the office,” she said.

I let out a silent breath of relief. She had put it in the mildest of terms.

“What?” I still did not show much excitement.

“It seems that you were sexually harassing her,” she said.

“She’s mad,” I said, carelessly, “Does nothing in the office, but flaunting off skin. I am not moved by her charms, and hence she is trying out all these tricks,” I uttered with studied composure.

“I know,” she said.

What did she know?

“It seems that she had gone to Mrs Mehta’s house also,” she added.

“And?” it was becoming increasingly difficult for me to control myself.

“She accused Mr Mehta of taking advantage of her,” she said.

I knew that Mary had accompanied Mehta, on her own self. Now, that he had dumped her, she was complaining.

I was waiting for more, though I did not display my inquisitiveness.

“I am sorry,” she said, as her tears swelled up in her eyes, “I distrusted you for a moment, and went to a detective agency along with Mrs Mehta.”

I was caught off guard. I glared at her. I was not sure whether I was angry, or scared.

“They said they would employ a lady to allure you, and Mehta,” she said, as the whole tempestuous evening ran before my eyes, and my head started reeling. “They told me that you had behaved very elegantly with the lady,” she said, and suddenly stood up and rushed at me, and hugged me. “I am sorry,” she began sobbing, her head resting against my chest.

I was still in a trance.

The whole evening had been a trap.

Suddenly, it dawned upon me about the peril I had been so very close to.

Slowly, as I regained my composure, I ran my hands over her hair, comforting her.

“What happened with Mehta?”

“Mrs Mehta had called. She was crying,” I could hear her say, “Mehta not only flirted with the girl he was allotted, but also took away your girl, it seems.”

My lips broke into a smile.

“She is filing for a divorce tomorrow,” I heard my wife’s muffled voice speak.

My luck was changing. Wasn’t it?

-------------------------------------------------------

- Authored by Thejas K R

H1 Hunks... the sequel

2006-07-27T04:36:00.000-07:00

...a slice of my experience with the dudes on the other part of the planet...

Click here for the first part of the two part series

"So, where do you work?" a married H1 hunk, originally from Vijayawada started the conversation, on the way back from a car rental company. He had hired a car for the weekend too, like us (my roommate and myself), and was getting dropped at the same venue as us, after returning the rental car.
I mentioned the place.
"Oh! That is a nice place. When did you come to the US?"
"Four months back," I said, "What about you?"
"Five years back," he said, and asked, "Which place in India are you from?"
"Bangalore."
"Oh! Bangalore??!!! Then you must be very intelligent."
Yahoooooooo!!! At least one person on this planet recognizes my worth ;-)
I was pretty much happy because he said that, but was puzzled about the criterion. What had Bangalore to do with my intelligence?
"Why do you say that?"
"You know... I tried for a lot of companies in Bangalore. I couldn't get a job anywhere. Hence, I had to come here," he said.
Heh heh..... my roomy and myself uttered a few embarrassing laughs.
"Bangalore has all intelligent professionals. Especially, now, I have heard that all top companies go to Bangalore. It is soaring to great heights. It has a very bright future," he said nostalgically.
As an afterthought, he added, "I want to go there after a while, but don't know .....depends on whether I get a job or not," he gave a toothy smile.
Ma'an. This guy was steeped in inferiority complex.
"Don't worry, the market has expanded greatly now. Everybody is getting recruited nowadays," said my roomy, to placate him. ;-)

Now, now. We all know that America is a rich country, with everyone moving around in swanky cars, and wearing leather jackets. The H1 hunks are ogled by all in the eastern part of the world to be carrying around a truckload of money.
But it takes sheer hard work to collect that truckload.
It takes a lot of will to turn down the Subway bread at restaurants, to save few dollars, when you are accustomed to hogging at ' The Forum' when back home.
It takes a lot of will to turn down the weekend night at the nightclub, to save a few dollars, when you are accustomed to partying in Purple Haze when back home.
It does take a lot of will to sustain the unwashed clothes for weeks, to save a few dollars at the Laundromat, when you are accustomed to the 'bai' washing your clothes everyday when back home.
Also, there have been some popular stories about the dudes wielding the scissors, and the comb to help each other with the haircuts, to abstain from those expensive visits to the hair saloons.

Hence, remember. That truckload of money is through sheer hard work, and not a result of hour long commuting to work, to write few lines of code, waiting for the 5 pm bell to ring as in 'back home'. :D

"Car, car, car, car, elnodi car" echoed the haunting voice over the screens in Bangalore sometime back.
Food, shelter, and clothing are very essential for humans, so is the car for the humans in the land of Uncle Sam.
Desi dudes who ventured into the land of opportunities without a four-wheelers' drivers license would feel devoid of all opportunities. Yes, they always had their friend's bike to borrow to that late night movie, or the pillion seat of an Activa for a weekend afternoon lunch with buddies. But here, there are no buses, no auto rickshaws.
No car. No life.
Hence, the rush to get an American Drivers' License.
I had to get one for myself too.

"Sir, you may want to come again," said the bearded examiner after he took my driver's license test.
Whaaaat???!!! Did that mean that I had failed the test???!!!
I guessed I had.
"Ok," I said.
FAILED!FAILED!FAILED! .... thoughts echoed in my mind. Despite an experience of having driven 40,000 kilometers back home??!!!
Unfortunately, the examiner did not care about my historically proven road skills, especially in the toughest conditions in the world.
Nope...not on the Himalayas.... but on Hosur road.
He had a systematic checklist of things, to be performed on the roads inside the compound of the drivers' license office. If one doesn't pass the minimum number of instructions, one fails!!!
I have to learn the rules properly next time, I made a mental note.
But there are dudes who prepare damn well for the test. After having learnt the rules, they use the Google Maps to get the layout of the roads, signals, parallel parking place, etc in the drivers' license office compound.
And that, my friends, is true dedication!!!
(By the way, he failed the first time too :D )
In my second driving test, the more patient of the examiners sat through my immaculate performance, and at the end spoke, "Where are you from?"
"Bangalore, India."
"Oh! I get a couple of people from Bangalore. If you have driven there, you can drive anywhere in the world I guess," he smiled.

Just as important as the car, is a phone. The small device is a lifeline for the dudes to maintain their sanity amidst the pressures of the alien world.
Nope... I don't mean the phone-dating network. Those dudes will lose their sanity anyway, when they meet up with their date.
I am speaking about the endless voice chats that begin... on dot at 9pm in the evening.
The reason for this strange phenomenon is that T Mobile and few other GSM service providers give out free minutes of airtime from 9 pm till 9am.
Hence, phones begin to ring all over the US, in all H1 dudes' phones at 9pm, almost simultaneously as though heralding the birth of Harry Potter.
The dudes update themselves with their friends' lives, from their rotten bosses to their latest vacations.
And the dudes who are busy for long distance calls, are busy calling up longer distances on the Reliance and other undersea cables.
The calls vary from few minutes of India update to hours of remote sorting out complex family issues.
But yes, most of the conversations definitely would carry 'Alli eiga time estu?' [ 'What time is it there?' ]
'Nine thirty,' says the dude.
'It is 11 here......alli nightaa [ is it night there] ?'
The dude smiles, with a 'yes'.

"Ond KG akki, moor KG sakkare, ardha KG bele (one kilogram rice, three kilograms of sugar, half kilograms of daal)," I remember in my childhood, mother giving her orders on the phone to the local grocery vendor, who would send across the items on the rear carrier of the Atlas cycle of his assistant boy. "Nikon digital camera, Sony handycam, 1 gb flash drive," I could hear the crackling voice on the speaker phone of my friend, his friends from India giving him a list of e-grocery to be bought, at his place when he announced that he would be going to India for vacation. The list went on for the next few minutes, as the talk proceeded from a few hundred dollars to a few thousands.

Also, there was a new niece, recently wed couples, and excited cousins, who all had to be satiated by a shower of special presents.

The 'India shopping' for the H1 dude is one of the most special occasions, and also a very tiring one. After booking deals in the various web sites, it is the time for the shopping at the 'Premium Outlets'. The brotherhood accompanies the dude to the plush factory outlets, where they shop till they drop. They shop like there is no tomorrow. They shop till their cars can muster up the last bit of space inside it.
They become the dream boys for all the shop owners, and also for the custom officers back home.

"Take a flight with port of entry as Bangalore, dude. Don't take Mumbai, you will be screwed," the advices pour in from the brotherhood.

The dude does that, but later mentions on phone that he still had to pay up 3000 rupees as bribe to the customs.
"Didn't you say that Bangalore was safe?" I asked the other H1 dude who had come up with this advice.
"You don't know the amount of stuff he carried back. If it leaks out that he escaped for just three thousand bucks, Dawood would hire him next," laughed the other dude aloud

From the excitement of watching trivial bollywood comedies on the local screens, and local potluck parties at friends' places to the anxieties of tumultuous news on rediff.com and burgeoning real estate prices back home, the H1 hunks celebrate India in their everyday lives on the other part of the lonely planet. The Toshibas, the IPODs, or the SONYs do provide temporary escape from the mundane of the lonely life, but nothing compares to an occasionally visit to India, which is looked upon by envy by all in the H1 brotherhood.
Yet, the H1 hunks perform with excellence in the large halls of the American corporate, with a dream to be able to do the same in India, sometime later.
Often misunderstood, sometimes looked at with wonder, and sometimes with skepticism, the H1 hunks take all of these in their stride.
With a warm smile, that says ' I get you budd, but we gotta hurry home. I have got a meal to cook'.

H1 hunks

2006-07-25T06:10:00.000-07:00

...a slice of my experience with the dudes on the other part of the planet...

"Actually, a bit of asafoetida after it starts to splatter would be great."
"But don't you think you should let it splatter for a while in oil, before putting asafoetida? I guess it will taste better then. Especially, if you have used dry chilli."
"Try my way. You will surely like it."
"Hmm, what about onions? Early or later?"
"Early would spoil the taste. Put it a bit later."
The conversation was excerpt from a Udaya TV serial, between two grannies??!!
No. NO!!!
The conversation was between two mid twenties dudes in the Patel's Groceries in Chicago, United States.
WHAT THE....
Yezz. The dudes were discussing cuisines.
Nope, not the hunks you see on Star Plus serials who visit Italian restaurants for a casual evening, stretch their legs on the Hawaiian beaches on weekends. These were real desi dudes, with real food problems, in an alien country, discussing about how to make their next meal better.
But don't you get everything in America?
Yes!!! You get everything in America. Drenched in cheese, with a few crumbs of what was moving around on four legs, sometime back.
But relax!!! You need not know cooking for going to the US. It is going to be like the first time you went to profess your love to that high school hottie.
"Hehehe," she laughed then? You forgot to put water below the steel container in the cooker here.
She turned and ran away then? Your curry appears like the one you see in the dilip kumar movies about jails.
But, surely you are lucky than the SLAP!!! The safety valve of the cooker shoots up like a missile!!!
Nooo!!! Class teacher called home then!!! You have a bonfire on the pan, and there is a fire alarm now!!! All those gorgeous females from the apartment gym had to run out of the building because of you??? Congratulations, your social life has just been reduced to less than zero.

But, fret not. There is a band of brothers to help you out. The H1 brotherhood never gives up on you. Away from home, they are your home. They are there for your parties, they are there for your fire alarms. They are there to rejoice when you finish the long distance, to announce that your niece is born. They are also there for support during those frustrating, home sick times.

"So, are you a veggie or a non veggie?" a friend once asked me, at a Mexican restaurant, with a group of buddies. He had been in the US for more than five years now, and still had been able to maintain his veggie status.
"I am a veggie by choice," I announced.
"Eh? By choice? Then what do you think about me? There is a fatwa on me to be a vegetarian??"
I let out a few guffaws. "No, I had been a non veggie for sometime. Didn't like it. Hence, switched back to veggie status," I smiled.
Complex answer for a simple question ?!!
He turned to another friend. "Veggie or Non veggie? I will have to give the orders now. Don't give a complex answer," he said. There was no need to explicitly quote my name, in the accusation.
"I am a vegetarian non-veggie," the other friend said.
"What?"
"I eat non-veg stuff, which usually would have had only vegetarian food," he smiled.
Talk about complex answers!!!

After having given all the orders, he fished out his sleek 'Discover' card to be elegantly swiped by the fat, short Mexican woman at the cash counter.
The credit card!!!
A matter of pride for the young professionals, fresh entrants to the US!!!
Yes, I know that a software professional in Bangalore would have half of his incoming calls from the attractive voices of sales girls of various credit cards. But in here, you need to possess a 'Credit History' to get a credit card.
The credit history is a record of all the credit transactions that you would have had since the day you entered the States. Based on the transactions, you would have a 'Credit Score', which represents your consistency in paying off your credits.
It is linked to your Social Security Number, a reference number.
The system seems very matured and sensible. Oh! Yeah??? Hear this out. One's credit score will not be built unless you borrow good amount of money, and pay it in time. Hence, for being a reliable person for the banks to lend, you need to borrow money heavily, and pay it back in turn. Go tell this to your grandma who had embedded in your middleclass gene, to stay away from loans.

But this is a vicious circle. You don't get a card till you have a credit history. You don't get a history till you have a card.
Wait. There's relief. :-)
The alternative is the 'Secured Credit Card'. You deposit an amount in the bank, based on which you get this credit card. Your credit limit would be equivalent to the amount you deposit. This is a work around to build your credit history.
After a decent score is built, suddenly you are showered with 'preapproved' credit cards from anybody who can print a plastic card. Everyday, you will find in your mailbox, the 'most attractive scheme in the world' from the 'most trusted bank in the US'. The same guys who avoided you like a leper before, would be ready to worship the ground you walked on. ;-)

"Enakkoru girlfriend venumada," screamed the speakers, with Rahman's drums hitting out at us from the Yamaha speakers that my friend had bought from a Chinese for a good deal. We were at our usual hangout at the Infy H1 boys' apartment.
The sitting room consisted of two 'super comfortable' couches, in which one could just sink in. The bachelor boys had purchased it at a throw away price of less than 20$ - 30$ each. Generally, the moving population in the apartments would go in for a 'moving sale'. One can get some real good deals in the sale. Sometimes, the moving population just gives things away, when they are not able to sell.
As the country lives on surpluses, anything that is a little old loses its resale value, irrespective of its quality.
A TV, and a DVD player adorned the corner of the room. Generally, the kitchens are furnished with an electric stove, an oven, and a dishwasher. And that is where the action happens. :D
The sitting room was taken over with the aroma of the exotic sambar prepared by one of my friends, a chef par excellence. All the other guys had their laptops on, connected to the high-speed cable Internet. One of them was just checking out his emails. The other was chatting with his friend in India over GTalk. Another was busy checking out news on deals2buy.com.
And suddenly, there was a thumping sound on the walls.
Wow!!! Screw the BOSE systems. These cheap Yamaha speakers were making the walls shake!!!
"Oh! Shit," blurted out the 'deals' guy and pounced on the speakers to bring down their volume.
"What happened?" I asked, not sure if the walls might actually come down, as they used to show on old BPL commercials during the Doordarshan times.
"The white guy on the other side is thumping on the wall, to reduce the volume," he said.
As the walls are made of wood, they are not entirely soundproof. Hence, these guys had to coexist with the subtler crowd living on the other side of the wall. "We will have to find another apartment soon. This guy is getting on our nerves," announced the chap. Err... I had thought that it was the other way.

After the dinner, we got down to watch a movie on one of the laptops. This was a Telugu movie downloaded from the Internet. The audience consisted of Kannada boys, Tamil dude, Mallus and Northies. How is that for National Integration???!!!

The world of Bachelors is divided into two. Those who have girlfriends, and those who don't. There is the third special category, an intersection set, who letch at others' girlfriends, but that is a complex scenario, which is beyond the scope of our conversation. :D
( Was never good at Set Theory..heh heh)
The H1 hunks without girlfriends, are pretty much predictable. They spend their life in cubicles all the time, or watching downloaded movies, or drowning their sorrows by traveling throughout the country.
The curiosity always lies with the H1 hunks with girlfriends. Or friends who are girls.
For those Indian dudes who haven't got the American visa stamped on their passports, nightlife of H1 dudes are seems like a dream. Easy alcohol, skimpily clad blond dudettes, in skintight blouses, and tighter mini skirts, nightclubs, blaring rock music, etc etc.
Yeah rite!!!
How about that dude who went onto date that frail H1 female, with spectacles, whose most exciting moment was when her debugger blurted out that her code had passed without errors, on the first go???
Well, he did have an option. Her friend was better looking, but was bigger than his two eyes could handle, due to all the melted cheese of the McDonald's that had melted down her throat. She was well built, but in wrong places.
And there are the ones who have their statuses as 'Committed' on Orkut, spending more than the Ambanis' investment on 'Reliance India Call' to call their beloveds back home. But yes, they do join us for the nightclubs on Sat nites :D
"Dude, I have a date with an ABCD [slang for American Born Indians]," said an excited friend one day.
"Green card fever, hunh?" I smiled.
"No da. Just checking her out," he winked.
"Where did you meet her?"
"Have not met her yet. There is this mutual friend, and he said he would want to me to meet up with her," the buddy, who never had the dare to talk to a girl more than a 'excuse me' back in India, was scaling mountains here. He was going on a blind date!!!
"And when she opens her mouth, talking like an American, you can hide under the table," I guffawed.
He did want to hide under the table when this mid twenties dude met up with the girl, who was in her mid thirties.
Blondes in tight skirts, eh??

Join me at this space on the morrow for some lines about jobs, sleek phones... and ofcourse... classy cars.

For the sequel for this write up, click here

Cyanide....a commendable effort in Kannada cinema

2006-07-24T07:41:00.001-07:00

"Sivarasan may use any of these aliases, Raghuvaran, Raghuppa, Raja..." the lady in the Kannada Doordarshan news was blurting out the twenty aliases of Sivarasan on the TV, in the summer of 1991. The country had been shaken violently, by the gruesome assassination of the ex-Premier of India. The Deccan Herald of those days didn't carry any other news but the police news about the massive manhunt for the elusive team of LTTE, which had consummated the horror. The country was in gloom, the citizens were in a state of shock, and the police stood ridiculed.
And when the man hunt ended after those days of turmoil, the assassins were dead. But the details flashed in the dailies, on the militant group, the assassins, and the movement gave me a different picture than the initial one of a group of fanatics out to conquer the world.

But, how could the Karnataka police, never known for its efficiency or valor, capture one of the most intelligent assassins the world has ever seen?

This question lingered in my mind.

The 'Cyanide' movie cleared it.

The slick camera work, the very good clarity of the film used (believe me, this matters a lot), the near perfect performances by the artistes (they are supposedly theatre artists), taut script, and good work at the editing table, all make this effort a treat to watch.

There is not much of a story, but for what already has been published in news papers, and many other books that followed the assassination. But, the skill of the director lies exactly in this. He has not ventured into the history of the LTTE movement, or the background of the assassination team members. An occasional mention of the background is included to make the conversation flow natural. The director has not glamorized any characters, or their principles.
They have their point of view. That point of view does not hold good in this country. Hence, no matter whether they are right or wrong universally, they are wrong in this country, and hence will be punished in this country.
Cutting the crap, the narration sticks to the core.

The dialogues are impressively natural.
"How did you come to Bangalore?" Ranganath , a Bangalore local forced to help the team, asks Shubha, a team member.
She doesn't respond. She is busy nibbling on a fruit.
"How did you come to Bangalore?" he asks again.
"On a chemical tanker. Generally, the police don't venture to look at its content, as it is very smelly," she answers
"How did you sit inside it?"
"Cleaned it for three days. We put some holes in the wall of the tank, for breathing. Me and Master (Shivarasan) sat inside and played chess," she says.
"How will you play chess in the tanker? Won't the pawns fall off?" asks Ranganath.
"It is magnetic," she answers.

The performances by the ace artistes are impeccable. There is not a scene where the audience is embarrassed due to over acting. The professionals do not disappoint, and deliver without a flaw.

Technical limitations only occur in the form of the shoot out scenes between LTTE and the Srilankan army. The action scenes could have been more polished, and could be made more realistic than the usage of diwali crackers for bullet hits.

The narration style is journalistic in nature. It does not take parties, or state point of views. It just states the facts, and gets out.

For the audience who is fed up with bland love stories amidst terrorist back drop (Dil Se), and confusing point of views (Fiza) this is a refreshing change, where you are given what you came for....
'What actually happened.'

Short movie, tight movie.

A treat to watch.

late review of Digital Fortress by Dan Brown

2006-07-18T02:13:00.000-07:00

Oh! The old man broke his spectacles in the city bus when he was pushed by that obese woman. Why did the woman push the old man? Because her slipper broke, and she slipped. Why did the slipper break? Because the cobbler hadn't fixed it correctly, the last time. Why didn't the cobbler fix it well? Because he was not in a good mood, after having a lousy meal. Why did he have a lousy meal? The rice that his wife had prepared, was bad.
Why was the rice bad?
The fertilizer used by the farmer was of a bad quality.
Why was the fertilizer of a bad quality?
The fertilizer factory had a defective machine...

and on...and on... and on....

This is the similar way in which Dan Brown's novel Digital Fortress goes about cracking the complex codes in the NSA, a premier Government security organization of the United States.
Believe me, this is how the climax passes you by, getting on your nerves.
The build up to the climax is equally painful.

A university language professor with no experience is sent on a mission to Spain, by the NSA boss.
His nubile girlfriend is the top cryptologist in the NSA, who is called by the same boss on the same day, a weekend, on an important mission.
And there's a 'Translator', a super computer in the NSA with 3 million silicon chips working in parallel to break complex codes of encrypted messages floating all over the internet. There is no code that the 'Translator' could not break within a few hours atmost. But, this time, it had met its match. It has been working on a code for 15 hours, and still had not been able to break it. And it needs to be broken at any cost.
This encrypted software is called the Digital Fortress, something that cannot be broken through.

To break the code, one needs a pass key, consisting of a series of alpha numeric. And this is engraved on a ring, worn by dying Japanese scientist in Spain, who gives it away to a German tourist before dying.

As Becker, the university professor, hunts for the ring, he is being hunted by an assassin.
To add, there is chaos in the NSA with 'Translator' in deep trouble by the unbreakable code, cryptologists losing their cool and fighting against each other, and of course a traitor.

The few pages of history of cryptology, and various incidents related to it, in the beginning of the novel, though mere 'Wikipedia knowledge', are interesting to surf through.
Some of the scenes of the hunt for the ring by the university professor are charming. Dan Brown takes you right there to Spain, moving along with the professor, trying to make sense out of the puzzle that he is in. Narration zips around interesting people, and strange locations.

But the alternative scenes in the NSA make you atone for the bit of pleasure that you would have grabbed in the earlier scenes, with flat conversations, and predictable tumults, moving at a snail's pace, without any particular direction.
The characters are etched terribly, though there is a feeble attempt to build them.

If the 'Da Vinci' code stunned you with revelations, the 'Deception Point' with it great locations and heart catching experiences, the 'Angels and Demons' with its pace, you would be let down by this novel, as this has nothing to offer but for a peek into the NSA, and cryptology.
Pages and pages of banal display of technological blabber. It is not exciting for the junta drenched in software as they are reading the book looking out for a break from that. It is not exiting for the non-software junta, who are not able to make out whatz the big deal about???

To top it all, there is a climax, dragged totally out of proportion. It seems as though Dan Brown was inspired by the Bollywood flicks, and a bad one at that.

Pick up this book if you have curiosity about where Brown can go wrong (if you have not, already). But, I beg of you, please toss it aside after the first hundred pages.

with warm regards,
Thejas
(ps: Whew!!! It is a relief to spit out all the venom. Presently reading 'LOC' by Tom Clancy.... hope it turns out to be better ;-) )

Pictures of weekend visit to Lalbagh

2006-07-17T05:47:00.000-07:00

the morning dew
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

and about Krrish...

2006-07-10T06:24:00.000-07:00

The droplet of my sweat is sliding the side locks onto the one day old beard, getting lost amidst the stubble, not strong enough to continue its way down to the cliff of the jaw, and dive down. The heat of the Bangalore's afternoon, the blaring 'tari kere' Kannada song over the fm, and a bored driver of my office cab, waiting for the next pick up to arrive.....

What did I do on the weekend???

Other than Krrish.....

Ah! Krrish. The rediff gave it a good review.
Junta had mixed reviews about it. Some hailed it as the incredible movie ever. Some mentioned that 'it definitely was not boring at any point'. Some termed it 'you can sit
thro it'.

The movie is definitely not boring, but a disappointment. Despite Hritik vociferously putting it across in all his interviews, that the movie is not a superhero movie but a foundation for one, the trailers flashed before an excited crowd before screenings of 'Rangde Basanti', six months back, had stamped on my memory of a black attired masked, a 'bat-man' look-alike.
How could one imagine that this movie is more a love story with some great locations, and choreography than the superhero antics???

Story,

Mr Muscleman is brought up in a village, by his granny Rekha. He runs faster than his horse, and climbs faster than your ancestors.
Miss 'Do I look hot' comes to the village on an 'adventure' camp, wearing designers most of the times.
She has one helluva 'adventure' with the mountain of muscles.
She goes back to Singapore.
He follows her.
Oops, I forgot to mention that the gullible granny made the 'to-be-superhero' to promise that he won't display his talents in Singapore (like all those gullible parents of 'onsite'
dudes' who would have made their offspring promise ' no drinking, no cigarettes, no stripclubs' ).
Krishna (err...that is his name, incase not mentioned earlier) is always found in formal wear.
But, an opportunity occurs in the guise of a martial arts chap, performing on the streets for collecting money for his sister's operation, hurting himself during street performance. (Yes, the same pathetic 'sister operation' pretext but with a new highrise background of Singapore). Mr 'martial-arts-trained-for-40-days' jumps at the chance, and twists, turns, weilds the lance with such finesse, that Bruce Lee smiles like god Ishwara of Kannada movies, from heavens above. (No, the Bruce Lee part is my imagination...heh heh).
There are few more occasions where he saves kids from a burning circus, and other good stuff.

Suddenly, he realizes that his father (Rohit, of 'Koi Mil Gaya' fame) is not dead, as he was told by his granny. He is held captive by a crazy villain Naseeruddin Shah.

A predictable set of fights and ups-and-downs-in-love later, Krrish ends.

Thatz it.

What didja expect???

Musing later,
The movie is worth a watch, even for the miniscule portion of the superhero stuff dished out. Hritik Roshan is AWESOME as a superhero. He is the best superhero I have seen. He looks perfect, acts perfect, and performs perfect as a superhero.
The chap has loads of talent, and has perfected them with more tons of practice.
His hard work shows. The ripping muscles (the well defined chest is the latest addition), the flexi moves, and the grace is very impressive. His martial art moves are more credible and graceful than the champs in the Chinese movies.
The superhero scenes match international standards. Almost flawless, they are big on the canvas, and glamorous. They are worth every penny you pay for the ticket (ofcourse, if you haven't bought the tickets in black...heh heh).

But the movie is slows down in some of the scenes. The dialogues are flat, and there is literally no story.
The characters are not credible. Well, actually, the characters are not given any time to establish themselves.
All the screen time is hounded by the predictable, bland love story between the dude and the dudette.

The music is good, and the picturisation of the song sequences are excellent (though I believe that computer graphics has a lot to do with the creation of the excellent locales of India, too).

Overall, there are a lot of things to bitch about, for a critic. But, the movie is good. A landmark achievement by an Indian film maker.

Worth watching once, out of curiosity.

And then...... don't discuss it... unless....... you are stuck in traffic on a hot afternoon, with the droplet of your sweat sliding the side locks onto the one day old beard..... :D

Weekend pictures

2006-07-03T23:41:00.000-07:00

Gotit!!!
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

...had been to Hebbal Lake (Bangalore) on Saturday morning.... here are some of the pictures... :-)

Review of 'The Girl Next Door'

2006-07-02T21:50:00.000-07:00

Ah! It is the time again, for that all time fantasy of every teenage dude. A stunning beautiful lass (Elisha Cuthbert) walks into the next door, as the new neighbor. The geek dude (Emile Hirsch) letches at her unclothed contours while she is changing (I really am not able to guess, why these damsels change their clothes with open windows, and bright lights. No such luck for me, ever.)
The girl sees the dude watching her. She walks into his house, talks to his parents.
But, not about the geek dude watching her unclothed. She says that she just wanna talk to him.
She takes him out for a drive. Asks him to strip on the road, as she wants to watch him.
She leaves him in the cold, naked, on the road, and drives back.

Yeah, predictably, this is the beginning of their long-standing relationship. The girl is too good to be true. She is smart, she is funny, and she is drop dead gorgeous. She drives a swanky car, and is at his college to pick him up from the classes.
And when they kiss, they can melt concrete.
Also, the dude is working to win a scholarship to the Georgetown University, the gateway to realizing all his dreams.

Everything seems perfect.

Well, here's the glitch. The stunning dame is a porn star. And she has a toughie as an agent, who is ready to turn the geek dude into a punching bag, if need be.
There are other super contenders for the scholarship to Georgetown University, and it is a tough one for the geek dude to sell himself to the board for the scholarship.
And the fund that he had raised to get a foreign exchange student, from Cambodia to the US, is stolen. And he is being blamed for that.

Running from the police, running from the thugs, and running more to get the love of his life, the geek dude will do anything to prevent her from being driven out of his life. That includes starring in a porn movie himself.

The story is sketchy. The script is wayward. The jokes are flat.
But this comedy makes up for everything by having the stunning damsel as the heroine, who is more 'cute' than 'hot'. Though you would always wonder about how such a ‘cute’ girl could end up as a porn star, you would definitely appreciate the director’s efforts in showing her as the confused girl in the wrong industry, who giggles innocently, and holds hands with dreams in her eyes. Though not a commendable effort from Elisha to play the complex role of a girl in dilemma, she is a charm to watch because of her innocent appearance.
The director successfully makes a romantic comedy out of a story which could have been made on the lines of the darker 'Striptease'.

Yes, there are a lot of questions, and there always are.

But, wanna have an afternoon of simple fun??? Rent a DVD of this movie.

caught on the road....

2006-06-29T00:57:00.000-07:00

caught on the road....
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

...an evening sun showers a kind of warmth, which may put one at sleep on the road... the truckkers beating the sleep with beedis i guess :D

Contrasting...

2006-06-28T01:28:00.000-07:00

Contrasting...
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

...a rainy day in Bangalore....

Foot ball fever in Bangalore....

2006-06-26T22:08:00.000-07:00

Foot ball fever in Bangalore....
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

...the large football hoisted over a building on Brigade road, Bangalore, fell down on a Cielo parked in front of the shop....

ale ale ale!!! :D

weekend at Jungle Lodges, K Gudi...

2006-06-25T21:05:00.000-07:00

That was the call of a barking deer!!! There was no mistake that it was an alarm call, with a clear message that there was danger around.
Our Maruti Gypsy speeding on the rough jeep tracks in the K Gudi reserve forest, screeched to a halt.
The loud barking of the deer was heard again. Yes, that was the call of the barking deer again.
We were in the forest department's safari vehicle, surrounded by the pouncing green of the K Gudi reserve forest. But for the jeep's roar, which had been killed now, there was silence. A slight chirp of a bird here. A rustle of some leaves there.
And some other jungle sounds, only audible to an interested ear.
The barking deer is a category among the deer, named so because their barks resemble that of the dogs. But a little more on the shrill side.
Again, there was a call from an unseen barking deer.
The deer could be hiding anywhere in the thick undergrowth of the forest. It had just rained the whole of the last week, and due to that, the usually thick undergrowth was thicker and could house any wild being. By the sheer tone of the bark, it was evident that this was a warning call for its mates to flee from the vicinity, as a predator had been spotted.
Half an hour earlier, we had met up with a crowd on another jeep of the safari. The crowd had seen a tiger near a water hole. This water hole was a two minutes walk from our present location. The feeling that a tiger could be anywhere around us, was exciting.
Was it scary?
It was not scary enough, because we were sure that there were no man-eaters in this forest. Also, I trusted the jeep drivers a lot, as they had been doing this for years. (Later I came to know that even the non - man-eaters could attack us, if they are scared of us. Also, the jeep driver was actually a storekeeper, who was doing the driving as a temporary arrangement. He had just spotted tigers six times in his career of ten years).
There was a flock of spotted deer moving away slowly ahead of our vehicle. Hadn't they noticed the call of the barking deer? Why would not they run?
(We told later that they would not run because they would not know the direction from where the carnivore could be expected, and hence they were moving carefully.)
The barking continued at equal intervals.
Soon, the calls were joined by another type of call. We were told that this was the call of the spotted deer.
It was getting more exciting by each passing moment. The frequency of the barking deer had increased.
We had our cameras ready, intensely waiting for any movement. My friend had switched on his mobile phone to record the ambient sounds, along with the call of the barking deer.
Would there be a tiger sighting today? Would we see an innocent deer have its neck broken between the cruel canines of a tiger?
Would the tiger notice the five people in the jeep?
For some more time, the call continued. Then, the frequency of the alarm call began to decrease. And suddenly, ceased.
The bored driver gunned the engine, and hit on the gas pedal.
After sighting a few more elephants and deer, we were driven back to the K Gudi Jungle Lodges.
That was one great experience in the safari.

K Gudi (Kyata Devarayana Gudi) is a small village in the middle of the reserve forest. This is approximately sixteen kilometers away from the more popular B R Hills, in Chamarajanagar district, of Karnataka, India. The Jungle Lodges , run by Government of Karnataka, maintain their resort in the middle of the reserve forest. For getting an accommodation, one has to book in advance from Jungle Lodges office in Bangalore. K Gudi charges Rs 1750/- per night, which involves a lunch, snacks, a wild life safari, campfire, dinner, and stay in tent-like cabins. Also, another safari (either on jeep or on elephant back) on the second day morning, followed by breakfast is assured.
One has to report to the place on the first day, early afternoon.
The travel to and from the place has to be taken care off by oneself.

"Let us go for a short walk till the lake, for some great night photography," said my friend Shre, brandishing his Nikon SLR camera. It was still half past nine in the night, and one more hour before the generators for the resort would be switched off. Then, the lights would go off, and the whole of the jungle resort would be blanketed by darkness.
"Alright, but we will have to come quickly, before lights are out" I said, picking up my camera, and the tripod.
There was a quaint little lake, a short walk from the resort. This night was a full moon night, and we hoped to get beautiful images of the reflection of the moon. As we sneaked away from the resort, with only two torches, out of which one had its batteries breathing their last breaths, I was feeling a little tensed up due to all the darkness around. We had been told that wild boars, elephants, and sometimes leopards would come very close to the resort. They are supposed to be pretty much harmless, unless they sense danger.
I would agree that the wild animals would not find me dangerous, as I was not bad looking, with a clean-shaven face and all. But, it was dark everywhere, and it would be scary to anybody who would look at my silhouette, a six feet three inches hulk with a strange looking gadget in one hand and a tripod resembling a gun in the other.
As we moved towards the lake, my friend with the good torch scanned the way ahead.
I stopped in my tracks!!!
We could see the shimmering eyes of what we guessed to be wild boars. Some of them were lying down, and some of them moving around, their evil teeth showing off from their strange shaped mouths. If not for the timely scan by my friend, we would actually be walking into them.
Suddenly, my priorities in life straightened, and I could see that a good life back home could not be gambled for a trivial photograph of the lake, reflection, and all. We stopped right there, to take some pictures of the moon, with a silhouette of a tree beside us. Two of our friends went in a different direction, to have a look at an elephant, somewhere ahead.
After some pictures of the moon, and the tree, which seemed like a badly made poster of Ram Gopal Verma's next horror flick, we returned to our cabins.

The safari on the first day had not been as exciting as the second day, where we had been caught in the middle of the ball park, as described above. The safari on the evening of the first day had begun on a promising note, with a fairly good-looking lady boarding the jeep in which we were seated. A security guard who held her infant joined her.
As the jeep slowly made its way on the rough, rocky jeep tracks into the forest, I began to feel the body and the frame of the jeep hit against my body, occasionally, due to the violent rocking. By this time the security guard was playing around with the child, and I began to wonder about how liberal the lady was.
After a few deer sightings, there was one hour of boring drive in the forest. By this time, I had lost all hopes of any sightings of wild animals, and had changed the lens of my camera to shoot some cute pictures of the child who was staring back at us from the front seats.
The security guard was now cozying up on the woman.
This was quite incredible, and I began to suspect that the security guard could be the beautiful woman’s husband. Ma’an, he had had a good catch!!!
The kid was as equally puzzled as us about the purpose of the safari. All we were seeing were the greenery, greenery and more greenery. No wild animals anywhere.
But, just in the last half hour of the safari, we sighted barking deer, the mouse deer, the wild elephants, the gaurs, and some strange kind of birds. Just goes to prove, how unpredictable jungle safaris can get.
I was disappointed as most of the animals were sighted after the sunset, and I had not been able to get good pictures.

But, despite lack of lot of exciting moments, that we had expected, the trip was a memorable for its own calm, and some enchanting moments. A sighting of the tiger would have crowned our efforts, but then, I guess it is scheduled for us to experience in the next few visits to the jungle. :-)

Here are the pics of the trip...

Thank you for being a part of our experience in the jungles.

Have a great week ahead.

With warm regards,
Teju
(ps: About the mysterious security guard, we realized that he was an MBA, and was in marketing Jungle Lodges in Bangalore. He was not a security guard, though he appeared like one. He also owned the huge Toyota Innova, and that explains the beautiful spouse :D )

The vibrant evening....

2006-06-22T22:15:00.000-07:00

The vibrant evening....
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

...taken on june, 22, 2006, from the terrace of my house in Girinagar...

Hosur Road Bangalore

2006-06-20T23:54:00.000-07:00

Hosur Road Bangalore
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

....due to the traffic jam till road shoulders ahead, I was slowing down in the service roads to Hosur Road.. when I spotted this unique 'handsfree' :D

about the Da Vinci movie....

2006-06-11T20:53:00.000-07:00

"Here's the PJ..." said my cousin, "What do they call the movie Da Vinci Code in Punjab?"
What the hell? One does not rename a movie just for the sake of one state.
"Whatz it?" I blurted out. It was a boring Saturday evening, and my mind goes into a coma after Friday 5pm. It almost takes the effort of reincarnation, to get back to normal on Monday morning.
Due to all these grave reasons, I refused to let any blood flow amidst the grey matter inside my skull.
"Vinci Da Code," he said aloud, followed by a set of guffaws.
"Heh heh," I smirked.

One Saturday evening found me and my two cousins at the Symphony theatre for the movie 'Da Vinci Code'. And that is where the tragedy began. Devoid of all the hot women that one can find at these cinema halls, the crowd resembled nothing less than a gay club, with chest thumping men in tights and lean men, seemingly unfed as from Nigeria.
"Where are all the babes, ma'an?" I asked my cousin, who had been one of the patrons of the theatre.
"They are all at the PVRs," he shrugged.
"##@$%&*@###@$%&&," I said. (Beeped out due to censorship).
"Then what are we doing here?" I added, more politely, by the previous standard.
"We have come to watch the movie," the other cousin added. "Yeah rite!!! Letz stick to watching the movie then", I uttered sarcastically.
.
The movie began with an old man in a dark suit running for life in a dark building, in France. He ran, ran and ran. He ran like one of those stinking rich, pot bellied men on the tread mill, who suddenly get a call from their gorgeous cousins on the day of the murder. (True!!! I have been watching a lot of murder mysteries). He runs through all those dark halls, dark corridors and darker rooms.
What the hell was happening???? I thought it was only Bangalore that had power cuts all the time.
Suddenly, like a comedian, Silas appears out of nowhere, and shoots the fat man down.
Thankfully!!!
Robert Langdon (Tom Hanks), an academic in the US, (where there is plenty of electricity, so much so that all the scenes are well lit! and so Tom Hanks is visible) is invited to France as a part of inquiry by the French police. And there again, he enters the dark zone, and for the next half hour, you hear a lot of dialogues which remain unchanged from the book (believe me, the dialogues resemble the book, WORD TO WORD!!!). You can as well take the book to the theatre, and play the game of checking the same. In the book, a lot of reader's imagination is involved.
Well, it is the same with the movie. You will have to use a lot of your imagination, as what is visible is almost next to nothing, due to all the darkness.
Finally, there is some relief when 'Robert Langdon enters the bank' scene, after an hour.
The scenes are well lit and one can start concentrating on the proceedings rather than scream at the projector controller to increase the brightness, as he bangs his head on the walls unable to do it more than the limit.
And then there is the most awaited part of the movie.
THE INTERVAL!!!

"What has Da Vinci got to do in this movie?" my cousin, who has not read the book, asked. Ask the director ma'an. That moron was supposed to explain the stuff to you.
Well, if you have not read the book, please invest the ticket money in the stock market. It is in a pretty bad shape now, and someday when it picks up, you will thank me for the tip. :D
I had to explain the first half the story in the available five minutes.

The second half went according to the novel, the director not attempting to show anything different from what you would have got from reading the novel. By the time the movie climaxes, you are tired of the term Holy Grail. You are tired of watching the Robert Langdon getting tensed about everything in life. You are tired of watching a bad looking heroine, who partly resembles Bugs Bunny (no surprise that Langdon doesn't smile anywhere in the movie).

If you have read the novel, better stick to your imagination, which certainly is better than Ron Howard's.
If you have not read the novel, and want to watch it out of vengeance, to later say 'Oh! Da Vinci Code.... I know about that!!!’ forget about it. You will have to run to a Da Vinci Code literate to decipher the movie, a bigger mystery than the murder in the movie.

Yeah. The 'Vinci Da Code' joke was better.

A drive on water!!

2006-06-07T21:48:00.000-07:00

...an account of a casual drive on the lake... with a twist

The icy cold winds brushed against my face, trying to rip out the skin. They were getting partial success in the process, drying up my skin, leaving it susceptible to easy tear. But, the greater damage by the cold (-10 degree centigrade) winds was the numbing of the senses of my facial muscles, which were quickly dying out like the last few desperate wriggles of a fish out of water. I had to do this fast, else would need a lot of time to recover later, from the ruthless torture of the dangerously cold breeze.
I held my camera steady, and composed the picture of the whiteness of the frozen North Wood Lake spreading out as a backdrop to the dark brown, wooden board leading to it.
The state of Minnesota in the US is known as the 'Land of ten thousand lakes'. Though I am not sure about the exact count of the lakes in the state, I did find a lot of lakes there. The sizes of these lakes vary from just as big as a swimming pool, to the as big as that equivalent to an entire state. Some lakes were as big or bigger than a state!!!
We were at the 'Lake of the Woods' town, in the northern most part of Minnesota, on the border of US. It was a seven hours drive from Minneapolis, the place of my stay in the US.

Just then, I noticed a car entering the frame of the picture that I was about to click. IT WAS OUR CAR!!!
A Ford Taurus, which had been driven onto the frozen lake by my roommate.
Was he CRAZY???
The lake was frozen all right. But, could it take the weight of the car? How could one know what would be the thickness of the ice of the lake? How much thickness was required to support the weight of the car?
"Come fast, ma'an. Let's go for a small drive on the lake," he screamed.
I was shocked. Drive on the lake??!!! What sort of madness was this?
Any weak crack in the ice could lead to a suicidal plunge into the evil cold waters of the lake. There was no escape if something went wrong. Our fate would be sealed.
The lakeshore was absolutely deserted, but for a distant restaurant. The whiteness of the snow on the lake spread out, concealing any weakness that may be in the ice. I had recently watched the Titanic on the TV, and did not want this Taurus to become our Titanic. And there wasn't even a good-looking Ms Winslet to die for.

Just then, my eyes fell on a Ford 150, a truck making its way towards the lakeshore from the center of the lake. As my eyes rapidly searched, they found many other huge vehicles far away in the lake.
Whew!!! So, that lake was safe after all.

I clicked the picture, and then made a dash to the car. As I jumped into the car, and pulled the door shut, the sudden change in the temperatures gave a temporary relief to my facial skin, but the sensation of burning was felt as blood began to gush into the muscles. It was like painting one's face with headache balm all over.

As my friend slowly accelerated, the car began to trudge ahead, first slowly, and then a little fast with shackled efforts, as though something was holding it back. This was due to the large deposits of fresh snow over the icy surface of the lake. That made the car move like the vehicles in desert.
If not careful, one could get stuck in snow.

I realized that we were repeating mythology (not history :D ). Remember all those fables about ancient Indian sages able to walk over water??? Well, we had gone a step further, and were driving over water.

Just then we came across a small blue board nailed to the ice on the surface of the lake actually. 'Stay on the trail' the board warned.

The trail consisted of makeshift way markers of thin pieces of wood, arranged in a row, leading farther out towards the horizon where the whiteness of the lake and the depressive blue of the sky met. For the next five minutes, we drove in silence, admiring the sheer expanse of the large, plain landscape of the frozen lake, covered with snow. The white snow spread out luxuriously, till our eyes could see. At the other end, we could make out that the trail was leading into a cluster of pine trees (the only trees which are green even in winter) at a great distance. I could make out that quite a few vehicles had passes by the trail recently, due to the rough marks of the tracks. But, the marks appeared to be a little different than the expected tire tracks.
A glimpse towards my right side, had me looking towards the center of the lake, which only had whiteness till the horizon. A few dark dots were visible, which I guessed to be some trucks that had ventured towards thinner ice, for ice fishing.
It appeared as a scene out of Antarctica.

Suddenly, my friend at the driving wheel started struggling to hold the vehicle in control. The next moment we came to an abrupt halt.

Blood started to drain from my face as I had realized what had happened. "I think we are stuck, ma'an," my friend gave out a nervous laughter. The car was stuck in the snow, over the frozen lake.
But we had stayed on the trail!!!

As he tried to accelerate the vehicle, we could feel the front wheels whirl around. But the car did not budge. He put it in reverse gear, and accelerated. The powerful car struggled like a horse in captivity. But did not budge, even an inch. We got out to inspect the scene. I noticed that the wheel had burrowed into the snow, and had reached the depth where it was in contact with smooth ice. Any amount of acceleration would only make the wheels to slide on the smooth, wet ice.
I was never in such a situation before, and was nervous. I knew we had to run for help, but would the car hold long enough on the ice till we returned?

Why the hell did we ever come out onto the lake?!!
We should have taken the picture of the lake, and the sky, and should have returned.
Why did we get into all these unpleasant adventures??!!!
Should we just leave the car and run ?

How did things go wrong?
We had stayed on the trail!!!

Alright. Now was not the time for ifs, buts, and whys. We had a challenge, not a problem.
We had to overcome the challenge.

We could see that the snow buildup at the front and rear of the front tires was preventing the car from moving back. More acceleration would lead to more burrowing. Could we clear out some snow from the rear of the wheels, and try to accelerate it in backward direction?
We had nothing to shovel out the snow. Hurriedly, we searched for tools at the trunk of the car. We could only find a snowbrush. This brush is used to clear the snow deposited on the cars, when parked outdoors. The brush had a bent shovel like attachment to its handle, to remove any ice formations on the windshield and the headlights while on long drives. This attachment appeared strong enough.

I used it to pull out some snow from the rear of the front tires. The attachment was in no way a replacement of a shovel. It was just scraping off some snow here and there. The negative temperature of the surroundings, the warming up of the body due to this hard labor were inducing some strange sensations of chill and warmth. Though I had my thick coat, the chill was getting to me. The effort seemed endless.
We ditched that idea.
Next, I tried lifting the car at the front, as my friend tried to accelerate backwards. The car was too heavy. It was in no way comparable to the frail Maruti 800, which I had lifted similarly, some years back, in India. This car was a heavy mammoth.

It was half past four in the evening. During the winters, the days are very short in the US. Minnesota had sunsets at half past four in winters.
I decided to run to the shores for help, as it would get very dark, very soon.

As I walked back towards the shore, the cold winds were cutting against my face, the only exposed part of the body, as even the hands were gloved. I pulled out the muffler from my pocket, and held it against my face, leaving only the eyes. For the next five minutes, it was a very difficult walk towards the lakeshore, with an occasional cracking sound below. The cracking sound was more towards the shores, as the grass from narrow lakebed would have induced weaknesses in the ice.
Every step was making me nervous. I was not walking back on the trail, as the trail took a longer route to the shore. Hence, the route I was taking to the shore was untested yet.
Also, the amount of snow over the ice was decreasing towards the shore. This made the ice more slippery. I had to watch my every step, as a fall on the ice may be nasty. It would be more hurting than falling on the muddy ground. But, that was the least of my worries. I was more concerned about falling on thin ice, which might break the winter diet of any sharks below the layer of snow....heh heh.
Just kidding.
There are no sharks in these lakes, but the water was cold enough to paralyze the body within minutes.

I turned back for a glance at what my friend was doing. Now, it was getting very dark, and I could hardly see the car. But, he had switched on the 'hazard lights'. This was an intelligent move. Maybe some passing truck might notice, and would tug the car out of the pit.
I turned and moved towards the small restaurant on the lakeshore. As I moved carefully, avoiding the slippery ice formations on the roads of the lakeshore, I noticed that almost all the vehicles had gone now. My hopes of getting help were disappearing by the minute.

Now, I began cursing myself. I should have brought out my digital camera, and some other stuff lying in the rear of the car. If the car went down, all our other stuff would go down with it.

As I entered the restaurant on the lakeshore, I came up to the some of the old waitresses, relaxing with drinks, just before closing. I stated my case to them.
"So you mean, you are stuck on the lake???" the waitresses seemed shocked beyond belief.
I stated that we had just followed the trail.
"Trail? What trail? That is no trail for a car. It is the trail for the snowmobiles," uttered the old, blond waitress. The snowmobiles are vehicles designed to be rode over the snow.
So, the strikingly rough tracks on the trail were from snowmobiles!!!
I felt like hiding under the table around which they were sitting.
I asked her if she knew of contact numbers of any towing vehicles. "I doubt if the ice can hold the weight of the towing vehicles, but I will try to get you numbers anyway," said one of the waitresses, as she took me over to the telephone directory. She showed me to some phone numbers. All the three numbers failed to respond.

"Hmm," she said, "I have a shovel in my car trunk. It is a little broken, but might help you shovel out some snow," she said as she led me out to her car, and got me an aluminum shovel.
Though I was not sure about whether shoveling could help us get the car out, I thought that it was better than nothing. I was praying that some of the trucks at the center of the lake would come driving down towards the shore, and help us pull the car out of the pit. I did not know if the shovel could be of any help at all.

I thanked her, and started on my trudge back to the lake, scaling my path carefully, a little nervous due to the occasional cracking sounds from beneath, with the shovel on my shoulders. When I reached the car, there was the Ford truck moving away from the car. I was wondering if he would help us out. I noticed that he turned back towards the car and came upto us.
My friend told me later that they had tried to tow the car already, by the truck, but the car had failed to move. He was returning as he had not been able to help, but now seeing me with a shovel, he guessed that it might work this time.
I tried to shovel out the snow from the front and rear of the front tires. Just then, a huge man on a snowmobile stopped over. He appeared to be a pin up man for the WWE fans. The unbelievably huge shoulders, the singular design of his beard gave away that he would have been a Harley Davidson biker in summer.
He took the shovel from me and hit out at the snow with great vigor. I was left marveling about the man's strength, despite appearing well over his early forties.
After shoveling out the snow, the trucker tied a rope to the cars' rear, accelerating his truck.
The car wriggled like a scared snake, when the truck pulled it out of the pit, and then came to a halt.
It was a sight of great relief for me, who had already been planning to book lodge rooms at this place.

The huge man who had helped me shovel, suggested that only my friend be in the car, as he drove it to the lake shore, to have the minimum weight in the car. He offered me a ride to the lakeshore on his sleek snowmobile.
"That was one big adventure for you guys," the biker blurted out on the top of the roar of the snowmobile engines. "Yeah," I said, " Hope we don't do it again."
"You need to get a truck ma'an," the biker said, "Give the car to your girl."
"Hahaha," I let out a guffaw, "You are right." What did he know?!! I had seen more women on the truck, than cars, in Minnesota and Wisconsin.

In the restaurant, all the old waitresses were very happy, and congratulated us for the effort. They also warned me to be careful the next time when we are driving, on frozen water.
Thanking the trucker, and the snowmobiler for their help, and the waitress for her shovel, we started our long drive back home into the darkness.

a short story of 1115 days

2006-05-31T02:38:00.000-07:00

About a month and a half back, "Buddy, come out, we need to talk," he said with grave shades to his voice, as though he was planning to sell me the cocaine. I followed him out of the office building. What the hell in this world could make him this serious?
This wasn't the Vatsa I had seen for the last few weeks.
Did his dentist tell him that he had forgotten where he had put the screws to fit the mesh?
Did his owner finally not agree to bear the stench of unwashed clothes any longer?
Did his nubile neighbour jump onto his terrace to propose to him?

"I made it through, maga," he announced, "Got selected at XLRI."
"WOW!!!".
Two years!!! Two years of apprehension, competiton, grit, efforts and sweat had paid off.
Two years of the distant dream, suddenly a reality.
Two years of 'bullet idli' at Prasiddi hotel had made the difference.
"Congratulations budd," I was overcome with emotions. It was a great moment. A moment of joy?
Not entirely. It did have a blend of sadness, as he would be moving out of our lives in a short while.
But, for the greater good.
Yes, this was indeed a moment of joy.

I would not lie that I still remember the first day we had met. No. I don't. I was too scared, and waiting nervously for the interviewer to call me into the slaughter room, at CTS. Vatsa claims he remembers me. Maybe because I had lent him my pen..... or vice versa. I have no recollection of the same, as I believe that my split personality had taken over to combat the interview. :D

I did see him at the induction sessions at CGI. We did crib a lot with each other while signing all those autographs below the big lot of yada yadas.

The first and the most interesting trek that we have been to, would undoubtedly be the screwed up Sakleshpur railway track blunder. "One small step for Vatsa, one giant leap for CGI" he announced in his nonchalant style, when we began our trek at Donigal.
But the small steps never seemed to end.
The most vocal of the sufferers, Bharath, asked after some hours of trek, "Vatsa, est kilometru bandhidhivo?" ('Vatsa, how many kilometres have we covered?')
"Allond erdu, mathond mooru...total eidhu," ('Two before, and a three, total five') screamed back Vatsa to the Bharath's disappointment, who had calculated it to be ten.
After three more hours of dragging our aching feet over the stone laid railway track, Bharath asked, "Vatsa, ivaga estappa?" (How many now?)
"Allond erdu, mathond naalku...total aaru," (Two before, and a four , total six) screamed back Vatsa.
"Le Vatsa, vadhe thinthiya," said a frustrated Bharath.
"Ena....bargain maadthiya?" the evil guffaws erupted out of Vatsa.
The trek did turn out to be an adventurous one, with a lot of Sandy's valour and Vatsa's humour to add.

We slogged for the most dicey CAT together, two years back. It would definitely be one of the most memorable six months of my life. We worked together, separately, and sometimes argued endlessly over trivial topics which we presumed would help us in Group Discussions. The sadists on the other end of the exam saw to it that we never reached the GD stage.

He was definitely the favorite of the Shastry sir. Not only he said 'maga' the maximum number of times (which Shastry sir had forbidden from using while on the trek), he also had sprinkled holy waters from his foot on ration that we had taken for the sailing trip. (Now, you know why I started on the 'upavasa' right in the middle of the trip :D )
Yeah right. He was the loudest in singing 'Trekking main aaanaa hain, re....' which had the wilds in the forest running for cover.

He was always the webmaster. Next only to Raghu, he has the honour of making the company get its money's worth of internet use. He has friends in most of the online MBA portals, and has friends in the most singular of places. ( Even the rickety old business school on the outskirts of the capital of Ukraine :D ).
He does make it a point to make his presence felt, and sometimes seduces great looking female ....... names to appear beside his, on these MBA portals. :D
(for more info on how to do this....catch him before he leaves today :D )

A great TT player... who has been busy in the past few days scheduling (fixing up) the tournaments, he is leaving behind a legacy, pretty difficult for others to live up to.

We will miss you man.

We will miss you bigtime.

Something not to be missed are his rare bursts of inspirations, resulting in short vignettes. The lazy ass never pens consistently, but when he does, the God takes a break to read his mail, and smirk silently. Here is one such stuff below that I could conjure up, about a one day trip to Shivagange.....

We will miss you budd. Wish you a wonderful future ahead.

with warm regards,
Teju

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The Shivagange Trip....

“You sure THIS is the ‘small’ hill you had mentioned??” With the sly affirmation from my friend, the climb began….

February 19th was a bright sunny Saturday. Not that I like waking up early in the morning at 9:30 to appreciate the beautiful cosmic creation, but couldn’t help when my mobile buzzed the umpteenth time. After a few obscenities and curses, I finally asked my friend, why he had called. And he uttered- ‘Shivagange ?’ He went on to explain the purpose of his call in a fuller detail now… ‘It’s a small hill… 8 of us… back by night…be ready by 10:30…Bye’. Armed with this encyclopedic knowledge, I took a quick shave, shower, breakfast, and a steaming cup of coffee- I sincerely don’t remember the order.

And I have to mention, my friends are punctual… to the second. So, wasn’t surprised at all when the junta arrived at 10:50 in 2 cars… I jumped in to settle in the old but luxurious Tata Indica, screaming my hi’s to the lazy bums in the other automobile… a brand new, but cramped Santro Xing. We stopped at the Food World en-route to load our cars with a few oranges, a couple of coke bottles, a handful of milky bar chocolates, and a few strips of wrigley’s mints. With one more stop somewhere on the west of chord road to pick up the final moron, we, the ‘adventurous 8’, headed for the Tumkur road. For once I felt good for all the tax that I had coughed up in the last fiscal- The highway was… just perfect… With broad 2 way double road lanes, zero pot-holes, sparse traffic (not many are insane enough to go on a trek on a lazy Saturday ! ), and Formula One freaks behind our wheels, we sped on at 110+ kmph with the Yuva beats blaring through the Sony rear speakers. Only when we stopped for a minute at the toll gates to pay the Rs 18 fees for using the really good highway, did I ask my friends about the destination... and it was only then that I realized that they knew almost only as much as I knew… except that they also knew that we had to slow down some where near a Big flyover some 18 kms before Tumkur, to ask about the route. Great.

It was 12:50 when we reached that Big flyover. We stopped at the beeda shop near the underpass to ask the route. We were told that we needed to take a left, and that Shivgange was around 6 kilometers. I don’t know if all the Choyees are soft spoken and kind hearted, or the dehydrated look of my beefy friend rekindled the spirit of humanity in him, for he warned us it was too early in the afternoon to venture on the climb uphill, and that we could come back after lunch so that, in his own words, “The sun won’t be on your heads, Saar”. So be it. We got back to the Tumkur road hoping to find a dhaba nearby. And there it was- ‘Kamat Upachaar’ standing majestically to the right side of the highway. We settled for South-Indian-North-Karnatic-Full-Meals-With Leamonade. With the bills settled as dutch, and our tummies satiated, we were back to the short drive to the Big flyover, and through the underpass, we took a right to get to the ‘left’ road, and smiled our ‘thanks’ to the omniscient choyye.

If the highway was a tease on the speed skills, the 6 km in-road was a test of maneuverability… which the adept drivers passed with grunts and curses. And across to the right, there stood a couple of mighty hills marking the dry landscape. With a couple of complains about the zooming capabilities of our cheap digital cameras, we reached the temple town of Shivagange. After parking the vehicles at the compound opposite the temple, we took out our bounty of foods, and titled our heads to look at our destination. And then it struck. HUGE would be an understatement to describe the hill. I asked- “You sure THIS is the ‘small’ hill you had mentioned??” With the sly affirmation from my friend, the climb began… When someone screamed that it was already 2:30, we made a few discrete inquiries regarding the climb up-hill with the local vendors on the temple steps, and were relieved to know that we could be back by 6.

The first 100 metres or so was just like any other temple… wide steps with railings and a couple of deities worshipped along the halls on either side… But after that, the steps started getting narrower… after about 200 metres, they were no more than marks chiseled along the rocky terrain of the hill. Following these, we reached a small resting ground where a couple of local youths were having a heated argument on the pending budget and its implications… Knowing better not to interfere, we just asked them which of the two routes that deviated from that place would be better to reach the top… and this time it was ‘right’. So we treaded along the right route, the steps being a convenience of the past, now were replaced by huge irregular boulders scattered randomly by the weathering forces. After about 10 mins of this ‘bowdlerized’ stretch, we took a break to see far we’d reached…. On one side, the foothill looked very distant…. Our cars could be identified as small colourful bricks… On the other side, the hilltop too looked very distant… We had a lot more to climb. And just when we were about to start moving again, we had company… our ancestors-monkeys- had found us curiously interesting… so they ‘gurrred’ at us… scared the hell out of my beefy friend… who dropped his water bottle in carnal fright (but to this day, he maintains it just slipped out of his hands), and we minus the water bottle, left the place rather hurriedly, throwing fleeting glances at the private joke the monkeys were sharing over the water bottle. After another half an hour and one thousand three hundred thirty two more digital snaps, we reached one more resting ground. This time, there were no welcome parties, and we were left alone to gaze at the deceptively near hill top, and the certainly far-off foothill. We still had some more climbing to do, but we were certainly close to the top… as we could clearly make out the outline of a huge Nandi statue sitting at the topmost point. Ahh… So near yet so far…

The last 200 mts were straight out of Cliffhanger settings… There were narrow passages, boulders, chiseled steps, and what not, all arranged in steep angles of 60-90 degrees (whoever thought 90 degrees is ‘right’ angle!! It certainly isn’t!!!)…. With only one rusty railing bar weaved across the route to hang on to. And before we knew it (this is the only lie in this whole write-up !!!), we were there on the top. Standing next to the Nandi statue, the panaromic view of the miniature ground all across was breathtaking (literally!!). We moved on towards the temple there… said a few prayers to care of us and only us! And then moved on to Shantala Drop- a suicide spot at the other end of the hill… after making sure that it certainly was a suicide spot, we relaxed for sometime in the late afternoon sun, munching away the bounty we’d carried. After one final circuit of the hill top, and a thousand more snaps, we started on our way back. As they say, the higher you climb, the harder you fall… The climb down was certainly more difficult as it was more precarious, and our hefty thighs were trembling to keep our bodies upright. We reached the resting place after about half an hour, helped ourselves with the refreshing butter milk from an old vendor (wonder how he carries the pots everyday this high…)… reached the second resting place, had ‘chai’ from another Choyee, and took the other route down hill. We found a cave there full of water, but due to our respect for the sanctity of the temple and our fear of being beaten up by the locals, we didn’t venture into the cave. We finally reached the foothill at 6:00 pm. We had one last gaze at the hill top and bid adieu to the place.

Back on the highway unscathed, we sped back towards Bangalore at a speed that cannot be mentioned for record. The warm evening breeze carried away our sweat with it. Before, and After this particular point of time, a lot many things happened that cannot be published without the censors objecting. So anyone who wants to venture on this one day adventure can settle all their doubts with me in person!! And yeah, if you want to know the historical significance of the place, the height of the top most point, the story behind Shantala’s suicide spot, and the number of mosquitoes in that water logged cave, please google them out after office hours.

Happy Hilling!!!!

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Awarded in ISKCON Photography Contest

2006-05-28T23:54:00.000-07:00

junta,

am pleased to tell you that I got the first prize in Creative Digital Print category of the photography contest organised by ISKCON, Bangalore, held last month.
Also, secured the second award in the Ceremonies and Festivals category of the same contest held by the temple.
I must admit that I did get some assistance in selecting the successful pictures from an elusive female.

Here are the links for the same.

Creative Digital Print

Ceremonies and Festivals

This contest was held under the name 'Capture Krishna'.

About the contest,

The 'Capture Krishna Photography Contest' was held from 13th Apr, 06 till 26th Apr, 06. Generally, this contest is held during the Brahmostav festival of ISKCON. The Brahmotsav festival is held during the month of April, every year (the photography contest is not held every year), to mark the anniversaries of the temple.
The unique blend of modern and ancient architecture of the temple is a temptation to any shutterbug, at any time of the day/year. But during the ten days of Brahmotsav festival, the temple lights up in the most glorious of colours, beyond words. The various activities of worship, the cultural activities of international quality, the great work being done by the temple in terms of 'Akshaya Patra' (quality mid day meals for more than 3 lakh school children, everyday!!!) and other religious activities provide ample opportunities for some of the heartcatching pictures.

The temple does not allow photography at any other time. The invited photographers would be given special badges, which would enable them unrestricted entry with the cameras. (Ofcourse, there are some rules about some things which should not be photographed). The selected pictures would be copyrighted by the temple, and cannot be used by the photographers for any other occasions, without the permission from the temple authorities.

The photography contest was held the last time in April 03.

With warm regards,
Teju

Into the world of angels - 2

2006-05-22T22:44:00.000-07:00

Account of a interesting one day trip to Ranganatittu...part two

Team: Sandy, Anand, Shre, and myself

"During our days, peacocks used to come out into our backyards," the old grandma of my cousin had said when on a visit to her remote village, near my native place, ten years back. “Kaala ketthogidhe," (Kannada equivalent of 'The world is not a good place anymore') she said, and added that nowhere do you get to witness such wonders anymore.
The old grandma was definitely virtuous, but alas! She was wrong. There was indeed such a place. And it was not more than a few hours drive from Bangalore.
This is the surprisingly simple village of Kokkrebellur. The place swarming with exotic birds, in people's backyards!!!

Returning from an enchanting trip to Ranganatittu, we drove to and fro on the Bangalore - Mysore highway, in search of that elusive deviation to Kokkrebellur. Occasionally, we stopped the car to ask for directions. Something that surprised me was the enthusiasm in the localites to jump to our help. As soon as we stopped at a road side petty shop and lowered the dark window glasses, the group picketing there turned to stare at us, like the deer on witnessing the tiger, as seen on National Geographic. But, as soon as we shot the question 'Where's Kokkrebellur?' the scene changed as deer pounced on us to drive into our brains, the exact route to the place.
After some misdirection, we finally got the correct direction from a road side 'Coconut milk' vendor. It is interesting to see such coconut milk vendors, at brief intervals on the highway, in their own makeshift shop, consisting of only a shelter made out of palm tree branches, placed over a skeleton of thick wooden sticks.
The route to Kokkrebellur is announced by a flaking board, on the left of the Bangalore - Mysore highway.

The route is supposedly eight kilometers. The route begins with the sudden change from the ultra smooth highway to the unkempt village road. But, as we proceed further, we begin to notice that the road begins to resemble Mallika Sherawat's clothes, almost hardly visible. Soon, the road loses its battle with the potholes, and gives way to a long stretch of muddy village road.
"How can such a popular tourist place be in such tatters?" I mused aloud, but we were actually happy that the village was not very well connected. If it were, then we would definitely have met up with a few Santro cars loaded with bored software engineers, on the way, carrying crates of beer bottles, which would eventually land up in the neighboring fields.
As we came across bisection in the road (?), we stopped to enquire about Kokkrebellur
"This is Kokkrebellur," uttered the villager, a thick bearded man in sleazy shirt.
"Where can we see the birds, the cranes," I asked him, not sure if this layman would know the location of the sanctuary.
"You can see them everywhere," he said, to our bewilderment, "Just go ahead in this road."
Everywhere???
We drove ahead, curious to know what he meant by everywhere. Wouldn't there be a sanctuary, like Ranganatittu? A lake perhaps. Or some sort of an enclosure where we would be directed, after a nominal ticket charge?
And a parking fee?

Suddenly, we heard the loud quacking, and the chirping of the birds from 'everywhere'. We stopped the car, and peeped out of the window to witness one of the most surprising spectacles that I have ever seen. There were some pelicans atop a tree, totally unguarded, in the backyard of a hut. This was, indeed beyond our beliefs, but definitely true. The pelicans, the painted storks, and many other exotic birds were on the top of these trees, which lay on the unprotected backyards of the village huts!!!

We parked our car, and came out gunning our cameras at whatever we could see. Very different from the ambience in Ranganatittu, Kokkrebellur gave us good shots of the birds, due to the close proximity. As I walked along the dusty, village road, I saw a painted stork on a tree, suddenly bursting into a series of quacks. It reminded me of some priests of Trichi temples, who would suddenly blurt out mantras as soon as they see some devotees approaching the deities, and this forced puja would cost you nothing less a hundred bucks :D

As I got my camera ready, the bird became silent. I held my camera steady, and with focused lens, stood motionless, waiting for the grand bird to break into quacking the mantra. And it did. And I shot.

You can see it here

There was one more interesting shot, where another painted stork gave an ecstatic expression, as it stretched its neck, in an angle beyond belief.

You can see it here

As we wandered around the village, we met up with a lot of friendly villagers. The interesting people were going about doing their routines, some working on silk worm cultivation, some working in the fields, some women carrying water, where as some younger women were busy in cleaning their front yards.

Click!Click!Click!!!

The village kids were captured on the frame, playing around a bullock cart. It was a great experience to show the kids, the pictures taken, in the LCD preview screen (of the digital camera). The excitement amongst the kids, on looking at their images, in this magical 'TV' had an infectious effect as the young women around joined the kids in their requests for the pictures to be taken.

Ladies and Gentlemen!!! For the next half hour, I was the Shah Rukh Khan, who was being sought after by everyone around. :D

Soon, it was dusk, and time for us to leave. But, some of the kids who had accompanied us, and had their pictures taken, started asking for money. This was anti climax!!! All the time I was priding myself for being admired for. And now, it was payback time :(.
I wasn't the Shah Rukh now, but surely, they were the Khans for the day. :(
I gave some money to one of the boys, and told all others to take their shares from him.

A bit disillusioned, but with the satisfaction of having been able to witness the birds in their magnanimous forms, and been able to take a set of good pictures, we drove back the dusty road towards the highway.

As the Sun descended behind the hills, we moved towards the glittering lights of the big city. It was indeed, one day into the world of angels.

Thank you for being a part of my experience for this trip to Ranganatittu and Kokkrebellur.

Hope you have a great week ahead.

With warm regards,
Teju

Into the world of angels - 1

2006-05-17T02:31:00.000-07:00

Account of a interesting one day trip to Ranganatittu...

Team: Sandy, Anand, Shre, and myself

"What the ...the birds are so very quick ma'an. I see their image in the camera, and then click. In the small delay between clicking and the image being taken, the birds vanish from the frame," said a frustrated Anand, holding his Nikon digicam.
We were sitting on the small boat on the silent lake of Ranganatittu, a little more than two hours drive from Bangalore, on the Bangalore - Mysore highway. Ranganatittu is famous for the migratory birds, from all over the world. ('America, Europe, Australia, Africa, Antartica' says the dark guide cum boatman, in khakis. Antartica???!!! Looks like the Cheif Minister's ventures to attract tourism has been successful )
"Try estimating where the birds might come, in that short delay, before they come, and then click," I gave a useless suggestion.
"Correct," he turned back towards the birds.
The next time he clicked, he was able to capture that bird, in great details.
Well, the useless suggestion worked. :D

Soon Sandy, Anand, and myself, armed with digital cameras had taken hundreds of pictures of birds in various activities. Birds feeding their young ones, birds flying, birds fighting, birds looking out for mates, birds sneezing, birds caughing, birds shitting (we would have recieved some of them down below, but for timely dodging). The leader of the pack, Shre, was more careful in taking pictures with his huge SLR camera. He was very selective. He would only shoot if the birds would send in a special request for their picture to be taken by him.
At the end of the forty minute ride in the boat, I announced my score, which had passed a hundred. Sandy and Anand had beaten me by a huge margin. Shre announced his score like disappointed Sehwag, 'Thirty'. But he was smirking to himself like Tendulkar, about the naive trio who had taken hundreds of pictures, not enjoying nature like he did, and take only selective pictures.

Ranganatittu had been a dream for many years now. A boring boat ride in the wrong season, while in highschool, had created confusing ideas about the place from me. All I did see then were few casual birds resembling crows and sparrows, and some lazy crocs who refused to respond to the most hilarious sardar jokes which my classmate was blurting out on the boat, non stop. Was this the place adored by all the photo enthusiasts who had been taking heartcatching pictures of exotic birds?

This time, few friends who had been there just two weeks back, had assured us that we could expect the world, out of a visit to the paradise. The March - April were the nesting season for the migratory birds. As usual we planned to start from Bangalore, by six in the morning, and lived up to the plan by leaving Bangalore at seven. The usual reasons of early morning hot water issue, the missing socks issue, the non starting bike issue were there, including the issue of the pet dog losing sanity. Err..... sorry..... the other issues were a repetition of the last time, but the dog issue was skipped this time.
(And none of us even have pet dogs :D ).
The shockingly good road towards Mysore gave few problems to the ace man at the wheel, Sandy. A quick breakfast at the quaint restaurant 'Kamat Lokaruchi' and we were zooming away towards the chicks....oops.... birds.

The ruthless Sun was on his way to compete with Kariena to become the hottest star, when we reached Ranganatittu. An unnoticable road to the right of the Bangalore - Mysore highway, 6 kms before Mysore, led us to the place. The turn was so much unnoticable that it seemed like the tourism ministry had taken extra care to chip off the paint from the weak board announcing Ranganatittu. For photo enthusiasts, here is a small bit of info. There is a manned railway junction immediately after the turn, and vendors who make a living out of selling munchables while waiting for the train to pass ( 5 minutes approx). One can get some interesting shots here.
On reaching the place, one can go in the regular boat tours, getting a ticket for Rs 20. This is the boring boat tour that I spoke about earlier, and you can go for this, if you want to write a similar blog later in your life. Or, you could opt for a private boat tour, which charges you Rs 200 per boat tour (not per head).
"Camera sir?" the guard asked for the tickets for our cameras dangling from our necks.
"Yes," I replied.
Not sure if the digicams Sandy and Anand were carrying were still cameras or video,"Video camera?" asked the guard,
"No, Audio Camera," came out instinctively from Shre. The guard took our money with a forgiving look of one who has seen lots of excited young men with first time SLR cameras ;-).
Each still camera costs Rs 20 each, for the tickets.

The private boat started with only four of us. Before a minute had passed, we were moving past the tiny island in the lake, swarming with exotic birds, with orange beaks, reddish brown necks, and pink plumes for tails. "They are painted storks from America," the boatman/guide declared.
Oh! God. These birds had flown down all the way from the other part of the world???
No visa required. No wasting time for flight tickets deals on Orbitz.com.
As the boat moved up the lake, more of the birds were revealed.
There were the herons, the egrets, and the asian bills.
The boat moved through a narrow path surrounded by chirping, and quacking birds. The ambience was angelic, as we suddenly found ourselves amidst the nature, the wild flurried with acitivity. The boat sailed by the side of rocks where smaller birds dipped their beaks to gulp water from the lake, and the bigger storks magestically spread their wet wings for drying.
Click! Click! Click!!!
The boat, began to move towards a small gap in between the swarm of bent trees.
One of the two herons on a curvy branch of a short tree gave us a hurried glance, and took to flight. The other heron was destined to be a star. It sat there, as our cameras clicked away to glory.
The boatman pushed the rough roots of the trees protruding out into the lake, to guide the boat into the swamp.
As the boat moved through the swamp, scraping against the roots, we were surrounded by the mysteriously shaped trees, and bird nests. The chirping and the quacking of the birds reached a new high. It seemed right out of the sets of Jurassic Park - III.
Slowly, the boat emerged out from the swamp to the clear lake, and I could get a clear shot of a Painted Stork perched on the topmost branch of a tall tree. It stood there, like a lonely guard on a secluded light house, looking out into the horizon. Its house back home would have been ravaged by the cold winters of the sub zeros, and the devilishly white snow.
Slowly, the boat began its sail towards the shores, as we tried to capture last few pictures of the beautiful creatures.
A small token of appreciation of a hundred bucks to the boatman and we were done with the boat ride.

So, is that it? Does it end here?

Nope, not for the ones with the little adventure in blood. You could take a small time risk(against the authorities) by moving to the watch tower on the other extreme side, opposite to the entrance. There is a small broken bridge (purposely broken to prevent visitors from going to the watch tower) on the way to the watch tower. But, on observation, one can notice that the depth of the lake below the bridge is not more than a few inches, and one can wade across it, barefoot.
The view of the birds on the giant cluster of trees from the watch tower is worth the risk :D

A short walk back to the parking lot, and we threw ourselves into the black Santro Xing, which now resembled the steaming idli ovens of the darshini fast foods. 'Put on the AC, Sandy' I screamed. Sandy, the owner of the black idli oven ran his fingers over some of the controls of the AC. But, that did not make much of a difference, and our car soon resembled the hot and sweaty compartment of 'Titanic' fame. Minus the palm print on the glass.

The car sped off from Ranganatittu onto the Bangalore - Mysore highway.

The heat, the sweat, the sunburns, and the slow boat ride were not something that we endured to get those rare glimpses of the exotic birds. They only added to the exciting experience amidst the angels.

Hope you had a good time living with me, my brief experience.

Read the rest of the interesting story at Kokkrebellur on your next visits to this space.

with warm regards,
Teju

Pictures of Ranganatittu and Kokkrebellur

2006-05-15T23:23:00.000-07:00

One leg wonder
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

...coming soon...

2006-04-20T21:39:00.000-07:00

...apologise for having been absconding from the blogosphere for a while now.....

....promise to come up with an account of an interesting flight from Minneapolis to Bangalore.... yes...especially due to some of the interesting characters that one meets when they are travelling via Amsterdam.. any guesses?? ;-)

..there are some others on the anvil ....

...right now, am a lil bzy shooting pictures for a photography contest arranged by ISKCON bangalore, during their Bhramotsava celebrations....

watch this space for more :)

Focus on the crux, the rest solve themselves

2006-04-02T10:23:00.000-07:00

Focus on the crux, the rest solve themselves
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

...inspired by the tangled twigs, at Taylor Falls, Minnesota

Rain at Chicago

2006-03-26T21:14:00.000-08:00

Rain at Chicago
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

..a view of the Chicago downtown caught in the rains... from the Signature Lounge of the John Hancock building in Chicago...

the first few snap shots of winter in Minnesota

2006-03-21T18:44:00.000-08:00

Driving on the frozen lake
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

...click on picture to go to the picture album...

Lake Harriet

2006-03-14T19:37:00.000-08:00

Lake Harriet
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

...the Lake Harriet is partly frozen, forming a smooth layer of thin ice on which a thin layer of water gives the lustrous surface..... and the creation of beautiful reflections of the orchestra house on the other side...

About beggars and begging...

2006-03-05T20:51:00.000-08:00

The traffic light displayed a red-lit hand, which meant 'Don't cross the street’. This was for the pedestrians like me, trying to cross the street of the Minneapolis downtown.
The cold winds of sub zero temperatures blew lightly, slithering amidst the skyscrapers of the downtown, brushing against my face, leaving an unpleasant cold feeling.
My hands were getting colder by each passing moment, in the below freezing surroundings. 'Do I just run across the road? Anyway there was no car approaching this way,' I thought, but did not dare to do that, because the speeding American cars appearing at a distance, were moving at high speeds.
"Excuse me, sir," I heard a gruff voice at my back.
I turned to see a huge man, unkempt white beard, a bashed nose emerging out of a pockmarked dusky face, leaning on a pair of crutches. He wore huge, heavy jackets, and had one leg in a wrapped around bandage.
He murmured something at me.
Eh? Was he asking me money????
"Whatzat?" I shot out the question at him.
"Can you spare a dollar?" he raised his voice. This time, it was very clear.
WHAT THE...??? He was begging.
‘Boss!!! This is the US. Don't you know??? This is the richest country in the world. ‘
Nope, I did not say any of those words.
I turned back towards the merciless traffic light. It had not yet permitted me to cross that empty street.
Suddenly, a girl attired in long, black coat whizzed past me, onto the street, crossing it at quick steps.
I had been standing here all the while, respecting the traffic light, and this girl just does not care???
And I always thought that girls are more docile.
"SAY YES OR NO," the gruff voice of the man was raised this time, behind my back.
I was surprised by his egoistical cry for help. I turned back to him, and threw a 'no'.
As I got down from the pavement, to cross the street even at the 'red hand' of the traffic light, I began thinking 'Where was his car?'

'Where was his car? Where was his car? Where was his car?' A random question was circling amidst the network of gray matter in my brain. Why should I care about where his car was? He was a beggar. He would not even have a car. He was using crutches to support himself. Would he have a car?
WHY SHOULD I CARE? WHY IS THIS QUESTION HITTING MY HEAD?
Well, before I confuse you more with these lines inspired by Ludlum's 'The Bourne Identity', let's go a bit to the past.

Twenty years deep down the memory lane.....

The gang was seated in a circle. Owner Dwarka (because his father was the owner of our rented houses), kalla Loki (he was popular for stealing), gonne Smitha (you guessed it!!! she had a flowing nose), jagalganti Sandhya ( we fought tooth and nail), and Vidya (the good looking good girl, so what if she was an year senior to me ;-) ), and the new kid on the block, me, all under 10 years of age, were seated in a circle discussing current events.
The event was the fat desi doctor, who had come to take his mother back to Canada. The mother was a nice old lady, who had been our neighbor, for the whole of my life.....err...which was six years.
"Where's Canada?" I asked owner Dwarka.
"America kano," uttered Loki.
"Oh!" I said, not to appear ignorant. Who the hell knew what America was? Atleast Canada sounded familiar, as it rhymed with my native language Kannada.
"What is special about America?" Sandhya asked, displaying her ignorance. I looked at her with a 'don't you even know that' stare.
"Lots of cars," said Loki. "Everyone has a car, even the poor," he said.
Ah! This was interesting. "What about beggars???" I put in a question, just to appear inquisitive, and intelligent.
"Even beggars have cars," Loki uttered with a tone of finality.
Oh!Gawd!!! This had to be an awesome. America!!! Even the beggars had cars!!! This is one place I had to visit, I decided then. I could already picture myself, wearing yellow shirt, dark sunglasses, in a green Premiere Padmini, going around begging with a dented aluminum bowl.

That summer, on an evening, I found myself in the Premiere Padmini. But no, I was not dressed in any of the handsome attires I mentioned before. I sat in the passenger seat of my grandpa's car, along with my cousin, as he drove around the unkempt roads of the beautiful, little town of Sagar, in Karnataka.
Due to the popular festival celebrated there, the 'Maari Jaathre', a lot of people were scampering around in the ocean of humans on one of the narrow, but busiest road of the town.
My grandpa, who was declared by the local junta to be an ace on the wheels, the first person to have bought a 'Ford' car in the Shimoga district of the past, was deftly handling the old car, honking occasionally (most of these legends about him were secrets, only known to few in the family..heh heh ). And suddenly, a light thud was felt.
A lean, dark man in plain clothes was getting up, bathed in the bright lights of the car's headlamps. Had the car just hit him?
"Get out, get out," screamed another man, who appeared from nowhere, amidst the crowd, and started thumping on the front of the car.
Grandpa asked my cousin and me, to remain calm in the car, and got down to talk.
"Horn maadbekuri ('You should have sounded the horn')" the vociferous man screamed, as the one who was supposedly hurt stood watching blankly, as though he was the third umpire.
"I was honking throughout," my grandpa said, politely.
"Look, look, how badly he is hurt," the rude man pulled up the leg of the other (hurt?) man, caught off guard.
"Where?" my grandpa asked.
In the diffused light, reflected by the light clothes of the dark people, who had gathered in front of the headlights of the car, everyone was examining the exquisite foot of the victim.
Nope. The crowd decided that his foot could not match the beauty of Sridevi's. (She was the hot favorite then).
Then, the million pairs of eyes turned towards us, the caged duo that had been scared to the bones.
"I am not very much hurt, sir," we could hear the man saying. "Just a little hurt here."
"What is there? Nothing," declared my grandpa.
"He needs to go the doctor, give him hundred rupees," the loud man screamed.
"Why? Doctor charges ten rupees," my grandpa argued.
"What if he has to go to another doctor, if first doctor is not good?" the man argued.
"Let him go to the second doctor first," my grandpa raised his voice.
The rough man banged on the car in frustration, and disappeared into the crowd.
Now, the he-damsel in distress had no one to help. The male-damsel with the hurt foot turned to my grandpa. "I can adjust with ten rupees," he said.
"I will give you nothing," grandpa declared, as he got into the car.
"Sir, please," the man appeared at the window, "give me ten rupees. I will go to only one doctor."
"I said, I won't give you anything," my grandpa said.
"Ok, give me at least two rupees for a coffee," he begged.
Grandpa started the car, and honked his way out of the crowd.

Small town fool!!! He would never have had the chicanery to beg in style. May be, one day, he would visit the 'onsite' of beggars, the place of the 'gold rush' of all the beggars of South India, Bangalore. I did read it somewhere in the recent past that, Bangalore's tolerance towards beggars has attracted vagabonds from all the neighboring states.
But, none can match this one guy, with a weird had, coat, and a shabby suit in Lalbagh, ten years later.
I always expected to meet some beautiful people on my early morning jogging sessions at Lalbagh, but always ended up meeting late Dr 'H Narasimhaiah', the then President of the board of my high school, in my teens. But, my persistence paid off, on this sunny Sunday of Bangalore's typical winter, when a beautiful lass in tracksuit was catching her breath, seated on one of the benches beside the lake.
Suddenly, I calculated her distance from me, and incrementally decreased the pace so that it appears natural that I look exhausted by the time I reach the bench.
As I sat on the bench, I observed that she was smiling at her Nokia, reading some message.
Now, that was an old model of Nokia, or my question would have been, "Nice phone. Is that the new model?"
"One rupee please," I heard the melodious voice on my other side. With a sudden jerk, I turned, to see a man in a shabby suit, and other descriptions above, holding his hat, asking for money.
He even had a friendly smile pasted on his lips.
This man, however shabby, was wearing a SUIT!!! Dear god!!! I never had a suit in my life.
And as a matter of fact, at that moment, I DIDN'T HAVE ONE RUPEE IN MY POCKET !!!
Suddenly, I saw a hunk appear in blue tracksuit. He threw himself beside the girl, who looked at him with such an extreme smile, that it could not be sisterly love which the optimist in me was hoping for.
The beggar in the shabby suit immediately turned towards the hunk, and held out his hat, with the same 'One rupee please' and a smile.
Even the beggar had dumped me!!!
'The one with the beautiful girl by his side, grabs all the attention' the thought for the day.

Many more years later, it was yet another day, when such a group of beautiful girls of my high school class team were playing basketball. The ball went out of the court, but was caught by one of the hoodlums of the neighboring college, ogling at the girls. After verbally harassing the girls, the ball was given back to them.
This angered the gladiator in me. But, I kept my calm.
The girls exit the court, and stood at the side, as we boys began to practice.
Once again, the ball went to one of the hoodlums. The lanky guy holding the ball, wanted to show off his masculinity in front of the girls team.
I marched ahead and grabbed the ball.
SLAP!!! Suddenly, I felt my head whirl, as I realized that it was due to a swing by the lad at my face.
I swung my hand with a reflex at his face, which caught the lad off guard.
The next moment, I realized what had happened, and I regretted. He had a gang behind him!!!
The lad took sometime to recover from the shock, and then came out to flog me. But my team held him back, and pacified him for the day.
A few days of alertness, not going alone and other 'careful actions' followed. But, one day he caught me alone.
Nope, he did not hit me.
He fished out a battered watch. "This is original branded watch. It costs 250 rupees in America. Please take this, and give me 250 rupees." Was he asking me money?
"I do not need the watch. I have my Indian watch," I said, showing my cheap Chinese imitation from the sweaty shops of Hong Kong bazaar.
Then he fished out worn out photocopies of some receipts. "My mother is admitted to a hospital. Can you please buy this watch for me?" he begged.
It was a privilege to be begged by the KCBR (Kalaspalya Certified Bangalore Rogue).
Suddenly, an idea out of an old Kannada movie struck me. "No. I will not buy the watch. But, you can have 50 rupees, as loan. You can repay me when your mother is out of the hospital," I said.
He was full of gratitude for my loan. The risk was just fifty bucks.
In the next few days, I realized that the lad had no plans to return the money. But, one of the girls in the team, who had adored my valor, helped me out by letting me into the network of local hoodlums, through her boy friend. The leader of the gang (college dropouts) wanted to help me out, as he did not believe in harassing innocent students.
He said that he could not order the lad to return the money, because they were on the same side. But, he let me on the info that the lad had taken up employment in a neighboring cloth store, and also enlightened me about the lad's glorious past with previous employers.
I used the information of 'historical significance' to blackmail the hoodlum lad to give me back my money.
Also, I got a free coffee along with the return of my money.

It was yet another day in the life of a software engineer, on a dusty evening, when I got down from my company vehicle, at the hundred feet road. As the vehicle moved away, I planned to cross the busy road (yessir, in Bangalore, you need good plans to cross the roads). Just then, a bearded man in sleazy clothes appeared beside me.
He gestured that he was hungry and needed something to eat.
His face was weathered, with thick eyebrows and a beard, which was beginning to gray.
This man could not have been more than in his early forties. He would have the strength to earn his bread, wouldn't he? Was it so very difficult to earn two square meals in Bangalore, while the Prime Minister was eating up the microphone with his long speeches about Bangalore spearheading the economic boom in India?
Ok, lemme not boast about my knowledge towards economy and finance, as I knew that if all my credit card companies wanted to settle my accounts on the spot, I will have to join this noble man as an assistant.
"Come," I said, "I will get you something to eat," as I led him towards a nearby bakery. I bought half a pound of bread, and turned to him.
"Oota," he mustered to say, gesturing as before. Oh! He did not want 'something' to eat. He wanted a full meal.
I was getting a little suspicious.
I led him to a hotel beside the bakery. "What will you have?" I asked him standing at the cashier, with my wallet ready.
"Give me money. I will buy something," he said.
"No," I said, "I will not give you money. I can get you something to eat here," I said firmly.
"Money," he changed his gestured.
"No, I can get you something to eat if you want," I said.
Sulking, he turned the other way, and walked away.
Though there could be a hundred possibilities, which could be attributed to his behavior, I felt that I had saved a few rupees from going into the liquor store, incidentally, just beside the hotel.

I do not hate beggars.
In a country, which has been told to dream of becoming a 'developed' nation in a few years, since more than a few decades now, where development in economy is sheer numbers and not the development of the quality of life of its citizens, where the money has been flowing in, only to increase the disparity between the different social sectors of the society, I cannot hate beggars.
As I cannot expect them to borrow, and am not comfortable to support stealing, I am in agreement with their begging. As I have been lucky enough to get a better life, and a few rupees more than I need for my basic existence, I can afford to lend a bit in my own way. But just take in a few precautions not to be cheated.

Often, I have been told that I am not helping anybody by encouraging begging.
Yes, I am a fool. I am no revolutionist. And I have no illusions that I had ruined the chances of the beggars, building a 'Reliance' or a 'Tata' out of vengeance, if I had not helped them. Life goes on for them, whether I help them or not. The difference is, for me. The acts of kindness are for my satisfaction.

I never had felt better, than when I was able to help out an old couple that had approached me during a hectic event that I was attending. I took them over to a nearby bakery, and bought them a pound of freshly baked bread. The smile of gratitude from the couple had made my day.

I am just a normal person, as selfish as anybody, but do not hesitate to lend a rupee to the poor lady at the traffic light, carrying her kid, if it would help her lead a decent life rather than getting into the indecent world.

Let me know what you think.

Have a great day.

With warm regards,
Teju

driving down the golden lane

2006-02-20T19:53:00.000-08:00

driving down the golden lane
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

...at the Minneapolis downtown.... as the snowflakes pour down....

picture puzzle in Vijaya Karnataka

2006-02-18T07:36:00.000-08:00

picture puzzle in Vijaya Karnataka
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

who is the person number '2' in the picture puzzle???

for answers,

vijaykarnatakaepaper.com/login.php

press on 'click here for FREE access to e-paper'

select Feb 12, 2006 as the date on the top right corner

go to page 27 - the youth supplement... ;-)

heh heh

The Angry Young Woman

2006-02-16T20:37:00.000-08:00

The Angry Young Woman
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

..seemingly upset with the driver... the beautiful lady walks towards the bus shelter... at Chicago

Desis in Patel Brothers Grocery, Chicago

2006-02-15T18:39:00.000-08:00

Desis in Patel Brothers Grocery, Chicago
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

...the desis doing their weekly grocery shopping at Patel Brothers Grocery, Devon Avenue, Chicago....
...The savories costing hundreds of rupees in India, are filled up in huge matkas (containers made of clay) with steel/plastic lids, and available at dirt cheap prices for the dollar salaried...

The Undecided Droplet

2006-02-14T19:04:00.000-08:00

The Undecided Droplet
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

...the ice stick formed on the side mirrors of our truck... the water droplet on the verge of falling down....

Dusk In Winter

2006-02-10T19:54:00.000-08:00

Dusk In Winter
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

..a dusk at lake Harriet in Minneapolis... the still water near the shores is partly frozen, giving an immaculately smooth surface, which appears as a mirror...

an evening at Old Chicago pub...

2006-02-09T14:59:00.000-08:00

an evening at Old Chicago pub...
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

path way to paradise

2006-02-07T20:04:00.000-08:00

path way to paradise
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

...on a sunday evening.... by the side of a frozen Harriet Lake....just a 10 minutes drive from Minneapolis downtown....

Cool splash

2006-01-27T07:31:00.000-08:00

Cool splash
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

...this photograph taken by me, appeared in the Spectrum page of Deccan Herald.. an English daily of India...
This photograph was taken on a water sports trip to Honnemardu, a beautiful place in Karnataka, India

The original version of this picture is uploaded in webshots. It appears in the 'Pictures of Globe Trekker' on the extreme right side of the screen, under the link 'Honnemardu River Sports' ;-)

Taste of victory

2006-01-20T17:35:00.000-08:00

Taste of victory
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

After a lot of falling, (including some real nasty ones)... finally managed to ski successfully in the most difficult hill of the Hyland Lake Ski Resort

Lords of the Rings

2006-01-11T06:43:00.000-08:00

‘A curious outsider’s experience with the most energetic industry of India, the ITES’

"Welcome to People PC Online. This is Dan. How may I help you today?" croaked the American male voice over my telephone.
It was an internet service in US, available in the city I dwell, Minneapolis.
"I have registered for a service, on your website. But, the software that is given to start the dial up isn't working," I briefed my issue.
"No problem, sir. I will transfer you over to our technical support. They would be glad to help you out," said the man, and he put me on hold for a minute.
"Welcome to People PC Online. This is Andy, from the technical support. How may I help you today, sir?" came out the well-rehearsed voice, speaking impeccable English. But for the ears accustomed to identify the desi English from the American, there was no doubt that this was indeed a desi. ;-)
For a fellow desi, who has been in the US only for the last few months, desi voices are always pleasant.
After I stated my problem, he guided me for the next few minutes about the installation of the software.
Then, unable to hold it any longer I asked, "Andy, are you an Indian?"
"Yes, sir."
"I am an Indian too," I said.
"I guessed that, sir."
"Cool! Are you in India now?" I asked
"Yes, sir. Would you know Bangalore?" he replied.
Would I know Bangalore? I have seen the place grow from a laid back city with unkempt roads, occasional Ambassador cars, and a few scooters crawling around, while standing on the front of my father's lambretta in the early eighties to the modern day technology hub, with some of the best roads of the country, still not able to catch up to the burgeoning traffic of expensive cars, bumper to bumper with large buses carrying the drowsy IT guys with deep pockets.
"Yes, I am from Bangalore," I put it in a simpler sentence.
"I am working in Bangalore," he answered back.
"Where in Bangalore?" I asked him.
"Banaswadi," he answered, this time very confident that I would know the place. Well, it surely sounded like the more popular Basavanagudi, but I knew that this was a far off place where the girlfriend of my friend had her house, due to which he had to think twice before volunteering to pick her up from her place, for a date. ;-)
"What is your real name?" I asked Andy.
"I am Venkat," he said, putting a smile on my face.
For the next few minutes, we chat informally about Bangalore, the recent rains, and he enquired a little more than being professionally courteous about Minneapolis weather, before hanging up. I was surprised that even he knew the legend of the coldest weather conditions, here.

It has always been a love-envy-hate relationship with our friends on the other part of the IT scenario in India, the ITES sector. It all had begun with the large-scale recruitment by Dell, which was taken up by many of my friends, with engineering degrees, as a stopgap career option till they got a software job. Of course, this was during the economic recession in the US, three years back. (Recently, it has been the time for that famous Infy joke 'Tresspassers will be recruited', for engineers ;-) )
"But, how can one work throughout the night?" I mused, and preferred the other option.
STAYED AT HOME, UNEMPLOYED.
The trend took a drastic boost with my non-engineer friends getting quick jobs, with fat pay packets at various Call Centres, and BPOs. While the world seemed to run towards the ITPL in Bangalore, I was still trying to make sense out of the whole scene.
I was still one of those guys, who believed the Engineers ran the world, and deserved the highest pays that the employer can muster. But, the cool chaps from the ITES sector not only earned plentiful, but spent it with vigor, and seemed more jovial than my friends who had managed to creep into the trickling jobs from the IT companies.
"Workplace is like an extension of college, maga," uttered one of my friends.
I really envied the guy, when I actually joined an IT company.
For us from the IT side, the ITES had great work culture, hep crowd, and cool money to sponsor that life. What the hell were we doing, sitting in cubbyholes, coding bugs for people we had never met in life?

"You have reached the Billing and Accounts section, of America Online. You may want to check with our technical support team for your issue to be resolved," the American voice spoke out. "Sure," I said. I had called up the toll free number to get the same kind of assistance from America Online, another ISP in the US, a little while after the 'People PC Online' story.
After series of beeps, and weird rings later, "This is the technical support section of America Online. This is Nick. How may I help you today?"
DESI!!! ;-)

Yet another day, "Guru (pal), I am going to CRV Consultants today, to apply for Dell Call Centre," said a friend of mine, during the initial days of unemployment, just after graduation, in Bangalore.
"You sure you would be able to work in the night?" I asked him.
"Who wants to work for Dell??!! I am going there because the girl taking the applications is hot, and she had given me some 'major hints' the last time I had been with friend," he said.
Ahem. Didn't I say something about each person's perception of life?
"So, when are you going? Can I join you?" I asked. Well, my perception was getting a new view point ;-)

Well, that is a love story that never even began. But, yes, there is a love story, which did go on for sometime.

An 'onsite' friend of mine had a problem with his Dell wireless router. He called up the Dell helpline, and lo!!! He was routed to Bangalore, India. The 'Tina' on the other end did cater to his questions with such care and dedication that he took the liberty to go ahead and asked her whether she was really 'Tina'.
She wasn't a 'Tina', but mentioned her desi name. She was from Bangalore.
After the issue with the router was resolved, she parted with her email id, to get back in case if he had 'further queries'.
The first mail was very carefully crafted by the guy in the west, about thanking her for her help, and enquiring about the Bangalore weather. The reply went ahead than just giving him information about Bangalore weather.
The two got talking over the emails in the next few days.
A week later he found in his mail box, to his shock, 'Hi Dear, How was the weekend?'.

A year ago, I was discussing about this wonderful phenomenon called the ITES with my cousin who was in the industry. "The people who join my company come from vibrant backgrounds. They could be graduates, postgraduates in various fields. They could be from a commerce background, pure sciences background, or engineering background. We even have CAs and MBAs from one of the finest colleges in India," he said. This was interesting, as the perception about ITES was changing from that of a stop-gap career option to a matured job market which not only required quantity, but also quality, of workmanship.
"But, don't you think that it affects people biologically that they have to work at night? Well, humans are 'supposed' to work in the daytime, and 'supposed' to rest at night, " I argued.
"Oh! It is not always in the night that people have to work. There are different shifts. People could prefer to work in the day time too," he added.
This was news to me. But it was definitely true.
"But, I chose to work in the night shift," he added later, "That is where the action is," with a smile.
Night is the time that one could have maximum communication with the clients in the west, and hence, it would add to the pace of the career growth in the ITES industry, he explained.

I have met some very interesting people who are from the ITES. A person who handles western customer calls at night, but who conducts trekking camps for the youth for passion. Another person who handles calls at night, and is passionate about social service. Another person is a model. Another person is waiting for his movie to hit the screens. I also know a group of dare devil enthusiasts, who would not ignore any opportunity for rock climbing. And many other interesting friends of mine, who are currently reading this ;-)

At a recent Christmas party in my apartments in Minneapolis, I met this two American young men at a table. I knew one of these guys, who always tried to beat me to the gym early in the morning.
As they got talking, I realized that they were working for a Call Centre for the Union Reserve Bank, just beside my apartments. Now, why would a Union Reserve Bank want a call center???
"Hello, may I help you?"
"Yes. It would be great if you could fish out few bundles of hundred dollar bills, and post it to me" ;-))
Heh heh.... nope. The Union Reserve Bank did more than just print dollar bills. They handled the bonds, and other complicated economical stuffs (he did mention what the 'stuffs' were, but they were beyond my limited vocab ;-) ). The customers who wanted to trade these bonds, and other related enquiries, could use the Union Reserve Bank call center.
"We literally sit on a pile of money," one of the guys was saying. "There are four floors below the ground level, where all the cash is kept in huge metallic shelves, resembling Walmart ( like 'Metro', in India). Nobody is allowed inside there. If you would want cash, you need to enter it in a computer, and there are robots which would fetch the cash to you," he explained the process to the others at the table.

"Which place are you from?" the guy asked me later.
"India," I mentioned, pretty confident that I need not explain him about the location. There were lots of Indians in Minneapolis.
"Oh! Do you know 'Kannada' ?" he asked me!!!
NOT HINDI, NOT TELUGU, NOT TAMIL!!! He asked me, if I knew Kannada???!!!
I knew for sure that there was a huge Telugu population, Tamil population, and North Indian population, here. Despite all these, he was asking me 'Kannada'???
"That is my language. But, how do you know about it?" I asked, suppressing excitement.
"I had a few friends from Bangalore who spoke Kannada," he said, pronouncing Kannada immaculately.
Well, in the new half hour I enlightened the people at the table with Kannada, Hindi, and other languages spoken in India.
"Sixteen official languages? Doesn't that create a lot of confusions?" he asked me, with a smile.
"Four time zones, and foot, pound, mile measurements instead of the metric system. Doesn't that create a lot of confusions?" I smiled back at him.

I have had a lot of friends from the ITES sector, who actually made me realize later, that all that glitters is not Call Centre job. Some of the girls' parents felt uneasy letting their 'brought-up-with-love' children to work in the night. Some of them had issues with colleagues misbehaving as a result of the 'college' ambience. Some guys complained that they had lost out girls to other guys working for the day jobs. Some other guys felt frustrated, as they had taken up ITES jobs for stopgap arrangement to finance their higher studies, but felt uneasy in leaving the high paying jobs.
Well, they were the like usual comments of many of my friends, from the other IT and non-IT fields.
Life, after all, is the way we perceive it. And generally, most of us don't refrain from perceiving it to be a huge and loaded, Ashok Leyland truck, with a flat tyre, on a deserted highway of Rajastan, under the scorching Sun, waiting to be pushed ;-)

There have been the highs, in the form of ecstatic cries of friends who got their jobs at Dell, 24/7, AOLs, followed by the trendy clothes, partying, and sleek mobile phones. There have been the lows with stories about frustrating bosses, slogs, and gloom over rumors of jobs shifting over to Philippines. But the slick ITES industry did change the way the metropolitans’ look and feel. It is changing the way business is done in India. It definitely is changing the way the media looked at the youth.

Away from the big statements about what it did to the youth, or what it did to the economy of the country, it simply reassures me that, at the end of the day, when something goes wrong, there is some person waiting to solve my problem, with a 'May I help you?' in the kindest of tones, at the ringing of my call.
And that person is my friend, my counselor, and my guide. And that person is the lord of my (telephone) rings.

Teju

Headfirst

2005-12-28T16:37:00.000-08:00

Headfirst
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

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

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

A road trip to the Rocky Mountains, Colorado

2005-12-19T19:16:00.000-08:00

Ain't that MAGNIFICIENT?
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

junta,

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

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

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

Minneapolis Downtown Skyline

2005-12-15T21:03:00.000-08:00

Minneapolis Downtown Skyline
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

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

SHOWER OF GOLD!!!

2005-12-13T17:51:00.000-08:00

Shower of Gold
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

Christmas lights drape the insides of downtown buildings and malls.

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

An evening at the Ice Skating Rink

2005-12-05T21:56:00.001-08:00

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

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

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

NO, YOU CANNOT.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Depot Ice Skating Rink

2005-12-05T21:54:00.000-08:00

Depot Ice Skating Rink
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

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

On the anvil.....

2005-12-02T15:11:00.000-08:00

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