Sumankumar's yak pad

This blog has moved

2010-03-06T10:15:00.004+05:30

I moved from blogger to wordpress. So, http://sumankumar.com should work. This is the old blog.

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Yak pad will be retired

2010-02-03T16:20:00.004+05:30

Google has announced their plans to stop supporting FTP support for custom domain blogs. And, I have not been blogging lately. So Sumankumar's Yak pad (SKYP) will be retired.

For the one or two readers that feel sad, here's the good news. I will be launching SKYP 2.0 very very soon. A spanking new Wordpress blog with tons of new stories. So don't bust that nut yet, we'll be right back!

Spanish biriyani

2009-11-07T17:05:00.000+05:30

Ha!

Make your own jokes!

2009-11-06T14:21:00.000+05:30

I read it as 'Gloria's jeans now open.'

Jet Airways sends me someone's ticket

2009-10-22T13:39:00.004+05:30

I have no idea why I got this mail from Jet Airways. I looked at the ticket and under 'E-mail' it was someone else. It was not even Gmail. You know the story of the 'dot' in Gmail. So either the customer that booked the ticket gave a secondary mail id and made a mistake. Or, Jet screwed up. I am inclined to believe the latter to be true. Here's a screen grab. I have blurred all private information. WTF is going on? Someone tell me please!

Pug on a bike

2009-10-15T18:32:00.000+05:30

Kids playing in water

2009-10-05T10:10:00.000+05:30

The park next to my apartment. That sprinkler was awesome. even i played for a while.

The fortune teller and his colorful cow

2009-09-25T01:43:00.000+05:30

The tsunami auto

2009-09-20T22:15:00.000+05:30

Vittal mallya road marooned

2009-09-18T14:34:00.000+05:30

Invest with a sense of humour

2009-09-05T12:17:00.000+05:30

Manjeri, Kerala.

Searching for faith

2009-08-19T10:53:00.000+05:30

Man outside a temple.

Recession?

2009-08-05T19:38:00.000+05:30

Banking Humor

2009-07-31T14:58:00.003+05:30

My Citibank Suvidha investment account has this monthly Systematic Investment Plan (SIP); essentially this means instead of paying upfront I have the option of paying in monthly installments and invest in funds. However...

Even God Needs Science

2009-07-30T14:35:00.001+05:30

Saw this mechanized drum at a temple near home. Earlier temples hired drummers to play during daily ceremonies.

:)

2009-07-24T21:17:00.000+05:30

Park. A play.

2009-07-21T20:51:00.000+05:30

Ravindra my friend acted in this play. Staged at kyra, bangalore.

The Price You Gotta Pay

2009-07-20T21:55:00.006+05:30

It was five in the morning. It was a balmy October day and the trees stood still. The town of Chittoor was pregnant with expectation. Chiranjeevi's Raakshasudu was releasing that day. The Chiru fans' association had arranged for a special show. Quite a few people I knew were going for the special show. I wished I knew someone that would get me inside MSR movie hall for that show but I wasn't lucky. But, that didn't dampen my spirit. Srinivas and I were ready with our star: a bamboo and cardboard affair with an assortment of Chiranjeevi's pictures stuck on it. That was the tradition then. If you were a real fan, you installed a star (no matter how small) in the movie hall. On day one of the release.

I have to tell you about movie stars and their fans in Andhra Pradesh. Guys were fanatical about their heroes. In 1984, fans of Superstar Krishna created a record of sorts by erecting the biggest star for the release of Kanchu Kagada, outside Srinivasa movie hall. The imposing star made of bamboo and gray paper stood more than 25 ft tall. I don't think that record was ever broken. If that wasn't crazy enough, they showered rose petals, money, and what not when their beloved star appeared on screen. The movie hall would erupt and explode what with hundreds of fans screaming. I know of people that were injured when a one-rupee coin hit them. Fans would take over the balcony, the high price ticket area, days on end. It was easy to shower flowers and coins from the balcony. If you were one of those budget types that chose to sit in 'First Class,' well, a coin or a coconut just might hit you.
Altercations broke out between fans of different stars quite often. Chiru vs Balayya was the most debated topic. All fans had the numbers on their fingertips. How many centers recorded 100 days? Fuck the 100 days, what were the collections? Oh! Balayya's fans forced the movie hall to run the movie for 100 days! He can't dance! Chiru is dark! Balayya wears high heels to hide his short stature. And so on. I know a guy that broke his nose because he forgot Balayya’s fans outnumbered us and yet, he commented on Balayya. Pow! Came the punch. We kids called it 'Mukku Pachhadi' (Nose Salad) in Chittoor.

Srinivas and I biked it to MSR Movie Land, on his dad's ancient Hercules bicycle. He sat in the 'Carrier' behind the rider's seat, holding to our 'Star'. And I pedaled hard. By the time we reached the movie hall, it was already six. There were a million stars occupying every nook and corner of the movie hall's facade. We ran like our lives depended on it. The special show crowd was already there. The show was about to start.
'We'll get tickets for the evening show. Don't worry.' Srini said. I was disappointed nevertheless. What kind of fans were we! But what can a couple of 12 year olds do? We had trouble finding a nice spot for our tiny star. It appeared tiny now. There were bigger, better stars. Some even had serial electric bulbs that blinked as if mocking us.

Just as we were climbing a wall to reach the massive billboard that faced the road, a security guard screamed 'Get the fuck down you bastards!' And he pointed a stone at us. As I slid down the wall, I slipped, and hurt my leg. The skin on my knee peeled. It was white one moment and in the next, it filled up all crimson. I bit my lip and faced the security guy and said, "Fans...fans association. They asked us to put this star."
"Of course, why don't you convince me you are Chiranjeevi himself? And, what star are you talking about!?" He said and laughed. I hadn't noticed, but Srini had dropped the star and it was crushed beyond recognition. The special show crowd had trampled it. I stared at Srini for a moment that lasted forever. He was devastated. He adjusted his spectacles a million times. And we both broke down. The tears broke free, washed my face. The special show started. It was just the two of us. We were about to leave when we heard the security guy screaming at us.
"Park your cycle. Do you have money?" He said.
We were perplexed.
"Don't just stand there like idiots. Get in. Sit on the floor in front of the front row. All for two bucks! Now!"

We paid the security chap and parked the cycle. We flew through the tiny opening in the Iron grill gate. I almost tripped and fell again. That's when I noticed that the cut on my knee was bleeding profusely. The security guy signaled to the usher guarding the Entry door. And, we walked in and squatted on the ground, right under the huge screen, next to a bunch of gypsies. They were smoking beedies. Some were chewing scented tobacco and spitting all over the place. One gypsy woman was trying to feed her wailing baby. We didn't care. My knee hurt a lot. But as the lights went off, and the screen came alive, I felt no pain. We didn't let our hero down. That's what mattered then.

When we were riding back home, I asked Srini
'Do you think all this trouble was worth it?' I was sitting at the back and he was riding.
He mulled over it for a moment and said,
'There's a price for every experience. And what you get is a priceless memory.'

I honestly don't know what the heck he meant, I mean, not too many 12 year olds spoke like that. But that line stuck with me.

Sapthagiri wines

2009-07-18T21:37:00.000+05:30

Instructional design

2009-07-17T22:06:00.000+05:30

Why-kee-pedia?

2009-07-14T22:37:00.006+05:30

I caught my eleven year old nephew browsing the web and I asked him,
"What are you up to?"
He said, "I am researching on Tamil freedom fighters on 'why-kee-peedia'. For an essay?"

I was impressed. When I was his age, I had to rely on the government library in Greamspet, Chittoor, for research. The wiry, old librarian was a hostile man. He walked about in those cramped corridors between bookshelves, his shoulders hunched over and his eyes roving: we stole half the books within a week of the opening of the library. The modus-operandi was simple. Pick a book of your fancy, check if anyone's watching, if no one was, tuck the book under your shirt. And, walk s..l..o..w..l..y. That rule is the same I guess: for shoplifting, bank robbery, and running away from eateries without paying the bill. You always walked out calm and composed.

As time wore on I realised the importance of a library and how it could help me in my projects. So I stopped stealing books from libraries. Other than research, I chanced upon classics like Alex Hailey's Roots, Melville's Moby-Dick. The catch was that they were all Telugu translations. I didn't regret it though. I spent hours reading in the library. Now, I am not one of those 'well read' 'I-can-quote-Kafka' kind of a 'well read' guy. I read for fun. I read action, adventure, and stuff. And I read like a maniac.

My mom used to send me to the market to buy provisions or coffee. Those days they never used plastic covers: You walked into Anji Shetty's store and asked for say, half a kilo of moong dal. He packed it in a paper from a magazine or sometimes when you're lucky, a sheet from a Telugu novel. The cone shaped parcel was bound by Twine. Remember those huge twine globes hanging in old stores? They tugged the loose end and deftly wrapped your parcel, and snapped the Twine in one clean move? I used take that parcel home and wait for mom to unpack the parcel ("Don't tear the paper! Just undo the Twine!!") and grabbed that paper, sat down in the hall read it as if my life depended on it. I put together a collection of Telugu short stories that way, thanks to Anji Shetty's store.

I tore myself away from my reverie and noticed that my nephew was making notes. I didn't want to disturb him but I had a couple of questions.
"So you are interested in reading and writing about stuff like this?"

He said "Hmmmm? Interes.... I don't know?" and continued making notes. I could sense it. He wanted to say 'Why don't you buzz off?' I decided to push it. What the heck, as a kid, I had to bear with quite a few nosy morons. 'It is payback time buddy.' I thought. Also, I wanted to know what kind of reading my nephew did. Mark Twain? Crusoe? Nancy Friday?

"You don't read books? I mean you could go to the library and read about the freedom fighters... they have a lot of books..."

He stared at me and I could almost read his thoughts again. He said "But why!? I get that information on why-kee-pedia!" And, the first prize is only a 1000 Rupees! Who wants to walk to the library for 1000 Rupees!"

Touche.

RIP Michael Jackson

2009-06-26T11:55:00.003+05:30

It was raining and we were scurrying for cover in VGP Golden Beach. It was 1989. I refused to budge. They were playing Thriller. That was the first time I heard MJ. I was transfixed. "What music is this?" I asked someone and they laughed at me. "That's Michael Jackson, stupid!" Now, I was a small town boy and we didn't get any 'western music' records. When I walked into the music store on Church street in Chittoor, the next week, and asked for Thriller the store guy clucked his tongue and said 'No. I have to order it from Madras. Double charge. Will take 10 days. Shall I?"

I hadn't heard his music before. I heard of this guy MJ all right but for a 16 year old back in 1989, 200 bucks were a lot of money. To this day I don't know why I said "Yes!" to that store guy. I am glad I did.

I played Thriller endlessly on our Dyanora-National '2-in-1' Cassette player. Before long I had Bad too in the collection. My neighbours, who thought I was this nice kid that knew his manners, were in for a shock. They enquired about those strange, loud noises that exploded from my room. It was me practicing the MJ hiccup. Or the squeal. My mom proudly proclaimed to her friends "Vaadu Ingleesh paatalu paaduthunnadandi!" (He is singing English songs). The next thing I did shocked the shit out of everyone. I put some FEM facial bleach on my side locks and hey presto! I had light brown side locks. I cut my hair and ensured that one strand of it fell on my forehead. The strand became brown but refused to curl up despite hours of trying it.

I know that all kids go through this. But to do something like that in Chittoor back then was true rebellion. There was no real TV. There were no top 20 countdowns on the radio. There was no Internet. Heck, if you had a phone, you were considered a rich man!

I am sure most of the people thought I was a clown. They were right. I wanted suspenders, I think because I saw an MJ's picture in which he wore suspenders. Now, forget suspenders, Chittoor was getting used to trousers only then. I was way ahead of time. So I decided to make my own suspenders. I bought two thick strips of elastic and had my tailor stitch it to my new chocolate brown baggy trousers. Believe me when I say this: I wore those custom made suspenders and tried hitting on girls. In retrospect, it explains why I never got any.

I felt sad when I watched Chiranjeevi (I am a big fan!) dance for 'Kashmora kaugilisthey...' in Dhonga. It was a poor imitation of the legendary Thriller. When I whispered to my friend sitting next to me in the movie hall "That's a copy of..." He interjected "Impossible. Chiru doesn't tolerate copying." I mumbled "Right!" and realised that I was seeing, listening to, and understanding things that the average lower middle class Chittoor kid would never imagine existed. That's when I decided "I need to get out of this town." And I did. No no, not that I don't love that town... just that I knew that I had to get out and see other places. Bigger places.

MJ has provided 'inspiration' to quite a few movie music composers in India. I know composers that made a career out of Dangerous alone. One of the reviews of Dangerous said "...bound to provide content for the Indian movie music for years to come." And, you know that is the truth. Before long MJ was a house hold name. I can't think of any 'western' musician that achieved the same distinction. Of course, when Prabhudeva was given the dubious title 'MJ of India' I laughed.

I think MJ is the only western musician my grand ma tolerated. I think she actually liked his music though she doesn't understand a word of what he sings. I am quite sure my granny is sad today. So am I. I know I'll forget this day and move on to grapple with vicissitudes of life. But I want to pause and pay a little to tribute to dear MJ. Thank you for the music MJ. Rest in peace.

Yahoo Domains: Insufferable and Dirty

2009-06-24T17:04:00.004+05:30

I booked a domain name last year using Yahoo Domains. This year they increased their renewal prices without a notification to my principal mail id (which is Gmail).
They bill my credit card without asking me if I want to renew a domain for 34.95 USD Yes. 34.95 for a domain name.

Fine, probably I didn't read some fine print. I am a moron but shouldn't there be a way I can get in touch with them? I mean I fucking paid money and bought something from them... No. There is a convoluted wizard where you choose your problem and click continue... see http://smallbusiness.yahoo.com/contactus/. After I clicked Continue, a cute little note said:

So I tried setting up a "call back" with Yahoo. You make an online request and they'll call you. But no. Because my yahoo account did not have my phone number, they wanted me to updated my account with my phone and then request a Call Back. I tried that too but it said "Sorry the system accepts only 10-digit numbers..." And by that time I was like "Can't you count bitch!"

Anyway. I want you to do me a favor. I want Yahoo to answer me just one question.
"How the fuck can you hike your prices and bill my card with the new price without asking me if I am okay with it?" And, the only way I see it happening is by you and me making a lot of noise. So please post a link to this post on Twitter, Facebook, Orkut, Myspace and what not. Will you do that for me? Please?

Music Yogi: "It is okay if you don't buy our CDs"

2009-06-16T12:16:00.003+05:30

A colleague of mine recommended a CD of Karnatriix. I fell in love with their music. And Karnatriix sells their CDs on Music Yogi. I wrote about their "IE only website earlier... If you thought that was bad, check this out.
I called Music Yogi. They provided a number on their website. Some guy picks the phone

Me: Is this Music Yogi?

Guy1: Who is this?

Me: I got your number from the website?!?

Then the guy yells out to some other guy.

Guy2: Hello?

Me: Is this Music Yogi?

Guy2: Yes?

Me: I have some feedback on your websi...

Guy2: Yeah, we are having problems... which CD do you want?

Me: Album called Namaste by Karnatriix?

Guy2: You can send a DD if you want...

Me: Dude! I thought this was 2009??

Guy2: Dude! That's what I told you! The site is not working. I am giving you options.

Me:Listen, I don't think you should get cocky. I mean you're trying to sell something to me and your system is broken! I don't think I have time to go cut a DD... so I...

Guy2: I will give you options, if you don't buy, that's cool too.
Me: !!!! okay! What other options do I have?

Guy2: I'll give you a user id. Use that to log in. Punch in your card details. And we'll send the CD. Or you could transfer the money to an account number and let us know...

Me: Erm, No, I'll pass.

Click!

Whoa! And I thought they were serious about their business. Imagine. He is asking me to use some login credentials that is not mine. And, he has the audacity to ask me to feed my card details. Good luck Music Yogi! And like I said, this is 2009 and it is a sin to be clueless on how to run a simple e-commerce site to sell CDs.

And when you publish a phone number on your fucking website, you don't greet callers with "Who is this?" I am sure you are a cool cat. Been there done that and all that crap, but as a customer I expect a little bit of courtesy.

2009-05-30T13:24:00.001+05:30

Testing ping.fm ignore.

99 Movie Review

2009-05-25T22:45:00.004+05:30

A low-profile movie (by Bollywood standards) that has no real star power releases. It doesn't get too much media attention (by Bollywood standards again). But slowly but surely it creates a buzz. A friend mentions it on the phone. Colleagues talk about it. No, they are not gushing about it or anything. It is a calm acknowledgment of a good movie. It has grossed 7.24 Crores under two weeks. To me that's an indication that people enjoyed the movie. It is solid testimony to the fact that if you stuck to fundamentals and create a rewarding, engaging experience for the viewer, you will succeed. Star or no star. Media hype or no hype.

99 is a laugh-out-loud funny movie that tells the story of two young men that want to make it big (hit a century, if you will). Centered around the match-fixing, betting controversy, this tightly scripted tale is a laugh riot. Mahesh Manjrekar who plays the bookie called AGM will be long remembered for his role. Except for Soha Ali Khan who plays Pooja, each character in the movie pulls it weight and helps in making 99 a cohesive, endearing, and thrilling movie experience. Cyrus Broacha is a revelation on the big screen!

Directors DK and Raj painstakingly recreate the mad mad years gone by... when the mobile phone was still a fad. When polyphonic ringtones were not mainstream yet. The attention to detail was fantastic.

The humor is not the typical filmy slapstick but is more like funny situations and one-liners that we come across in our day-to-day life. You will relate to it. Also the irreverent, Guy Ritchie-meets-Tarantino style kind of worked out.

However, the first half slightly drags but in retrospect I understood that it is that way because the directors were setting it all up for a racy, thrilling second half. Save the best for the last I guess.

Watch out for DK and Raj. Their best is yet to come. I am guessing their second or third Bollywood venture will make history. Good luck boys!

My Friend Sancho - Review

2009-05-25T08:34:00.003+05:30

Amit Varma's debut novel My Friend Sancho is a welcome change. I say this not because of its literary merit. It is a welcome change because a) It is pop-fiction b) It does not try tricks like that IIT-MBA fellow whatever his name is (blending bollywood and cricket, well fuck you!) and most importantly c) It is almost-honest writing. No holier-than-thou shit.

It is a funny book. For people with average sense of humor that is. That's like 99.999999% of people. So I enjoyed it. For example, that MF line. And the oft-repeated imaginary dialogue. Note to Amit: Stop saying 'So there.' so often. So there.

Amit Varma uses his book to promote his blog. That's quite smart. I am sure Amit, on his birthday every year, sends a 'Congrats' card to his parents.

But does Sancho provide a great experience? Well not quite. I know Amit is capable of much, much more. The book hurries you. I was expecting an Andhra meal and I got a vada pav. For instance, Muneeza's character was till growing on me when the book ended. Is she a modern, muslim girl? A middle class chic restrained until now but waiting to fly free? Doesn't she want a boyfriend? Did she ever date? Did any guy hit on her any time? If yes how did she react? The trouble with the character is that the minute you realize she is a victim-muslim, you think "Zaheera!" I am sorry but I couldn't help it. And Amit's effort to position Muneeza as a 'modern' girl does not quite succeed. But, I won't blame Amit for it. Like I said I am the average reader with average intelligence and imagination. Or maybe Amit was so caught up with Abir Ganguly that he missed some fine tuning on Muneeza. Amit may claim that he is not Abir but hey! :)

I don't know if I am writing this because I have followed Amit's blog and met him a couple of times... I tried to be as honest as I can be. Um, so there!

This is the kind of a book that you'd finish in one sitting. Probably during your commute. And you'll probably startle your fellow passengers with your laughter. So go ahead and give it a spin.

Observations of an Amateur Bird Photographer

2009-04-20T11:25:00.003+05:30

I had posted this on India Nature Watch long time back...

It is the journey. Not the destination.

I used to go to Hebbal lake to photograph birds. What's the big deal? Only, I was armed with my mighty Nikkor 18-70 MM and I used to wonder 'Why in the god's name do the Pelicans appear so distant.' Yeah. Laugh away. That's when one of the gentlemen who was armed with something that closely resembled a Bazooka told me 'Er, you need a bigger lens?' And I bought myself a Nikon 70-300 G for a little over five thousand bucks. Improvement? Yes. Satisfied. Hell no. Well, my point here is, whether I was trying to photograph birds with my kit lens or my poor man's telephoto lens, the journey has always been the same. I discovered my inherent ability to get closer to birds. My wife laughs every time she catches me crawling on all fours to shoot birds at ground level. Once in Savandurga I spent more than half hour getting close to a Magpie Robin. I had to crawl through thorny bushes; in fact I managed to cut my calf muscle. And, just a microsecond before I squeezed the shutter, the Robin took off. And in Lalbagh once, a Purple Swamp hen came and stood right in front of me and I had to freeze for well over five minutes. And, resist the temptation to scratch my neck. The journey, my friends, was and still is the same: exciting, fun, and inspiring. So on days when you go back home without a single decent shot, well, don't be too hard on yourself. It is the journey that counts. Not the destination or that award winning pic.

Let them come to you

I know that all the bird watchers I admire, including Sudhir Shivram, Vijay Cavale have this to say about getting close to a bird: let them come to you. Simple? No! It is easier said than done. Last week in Nandi Hills, my excitement got the better of my judgement and I went chasing a bunch of Orietnal White Eyes. I was exasperated when I realized that there was no way I was going to capture them in a frame. So, I wanted to rest. I found myself a quiet place, surrounded by bush and untouched for the day by humans. I dozed off on a rock. When I woke up after about 15 minutes, I realised that I was surrounded by at least 20 birds! Red Whiskered Bulbuls, Rufous Bellied Babblers, a solitary Jungle fowl, and of course the White eyes. I made it a point to not make any abrupt movements. In fact I did not even feel like taking pictures. I spent the next twenty minutes watching them go about their business. The babblers were building a nest and were busy collecting nesting material. The Bulbuls were just hanging out in pairs mostly. And I also spotted a Scimitar (my first sighting). The White Cheeked Barbets were singing away a heart-wrenching love song... Moral of the story: take a break and don't run after them. Walk down and relax.

The equipment does/does not matter

Sigh! Just when I was convinced that my 70-300 'G' was why I was shooting crappy pictures, I found someone posting great pictures shot with that same lens! Though it is natural to run to Jayesh and buy that 300 mm F 2.8, in my opinion, every aspiring photographer should start with a point and shoot 35mm film camera. And they should upgrade only when they are sure that their fundamentals are strong as required. I know people that own SLRs (for years!) and can't tell aperture from apricot. I'd say start with the basic camera. Learn making pictures with it and then, you can conquer the world with your 300... no 600 mm F 4. It is a hard fact to digest I know. I used my Sony 4.5 mega pixel point-and-shoot for a long time and actually got some good pics with it. In fact I became interested in photography only after I got me self a point-and-shoot. The equipment matters, but only when you are clear about what you want from life. You don't need a sledgehammer to crack a walnut. And, a toothpick is not a replacement for your dentist. Now that I am done with my metaphors and similes... find purpose, equipment will follow.

A backyard in hand is worth two Ranganthittus in your dreams

When I got my SLR (complete with the powerful 18-70mm kit lens), I went straight to Ranganthittu to shoot pictures. I failed to notice that the exposure compensation was +7 or something like that!! I did not even know where my focus was! I was just clicking away from that boat. And I had a smirk whenever I saw those normal humans with their point-and-shoots... Anyway, I finished my adventure at Ranganthittu and was reaching Bangalore when my 70 year old dad called from Chennai.
'I went for a 'shoot'' I told him.
He grunted and asked 'shoot what?'
I said 'Birds dad. Painted storks, Pelica...'
and he cut me in half with 'Why? are there no birds in your neighborhood?'

Now a days I go sit in the private park that belongs to our apartment complex and spot the sunbirds, flowerpeckers, and Ashy Priniass every day. Every single day. Sometimes I manage a White Cheeked Barbet. A few weeks back it'd rained on a warm Sunday afternoon. After it stopped raining, I went down to the park on an instinct. I spotted six Asian Koels. I also spotted a Barn Owl in the nights. Since I am ending all my gyan with a punch line, let me do an encore here. Frame the Prinia. The flycatcher will follow. Or, better still, if you can't play in your backyard don't go to the stadium... :-)

Aandal Part 2

2009-04-17T13:00:00.005+05:30

Read the first part

It was a Sunday afternoon and Aandal was squatting outside our grand ma's. She was telling my granny about this mentally challenged kid in one of the homes on Alwarpet street. She was talking about how that kid was always screaming for food. "Maami andha payyan eppo paaru bun kaapi bun kaapi nu Katheenu irukkum" (that kid screams bun n coffee bun n coffee all the time). So Suren started imitating her and she lost her temper. "Ayyy chinnadhu, Koluppaa? Pichi puduven!" (something to the effect hey you small one watch it!).

Now in all the years and all the maids that passed through our home no one has ever dared to mock us. It was us! Suren and I! Whatever hesitation we had about ragging Aandal was blown away and we stretched and cracked our knuckles, sighed, and said 'here we go!'

The next day Suren proposed to Aandal. "Aandal I - I love you... will you scrub my back?" She laughed baring her remaining, tobacco stained teeth. She was illiterate but who doesn't understand 'I love you' ? She referred to 'Love' as 'Labzu' and she complained to my mom "Maami idha paaru maami Chinnadhu Labzu pannudhu!' (Maami, see your younger son is doing 'Labzu')

Aandal worked in many homes in Alwarpet street and she was on a tight schedule every day. So she could ill afford any delays. We knew it and exploited it. When she came in the mornings to do the dishes and mop the house, Suren took his own time in the shower. Aandal started with gentle knocks on the bathroom door but she realised she was dealing with assholes, so the gentle knocks became explosive thumps, which were always echoed by Suren's devilish laughter.

When we bumped into her on the street, we always blew kisses and she would spit on the ground and mutter some unprintable stuff. Within a few months Aandal was quite famous among the boys, the shopkeepers in the neighbourhood, and the jobless adults that hung about the street.

I vividly remember Aandal giving one of those guys her piece of mind.
As she was walking by to 'Bhai's' provision store, the gang of boys sitting outside the store went 'hoo hooo Aandal I love you!' Aandal stopped in her tracks, surveyed the gang and picked one guy and said 'Thevdyaa payya, Why don't you go do labzu to your mother? I will chop it off!' A roar of laughter erupted and Aandal's voice became shrill as she started abusing that guy, but now she included his aunts, grand mom, uncles, wife... she also asked him 'dey! do you know who fathered you? I bet your mom doesn't know too...go fuck a dog!'

She never used such choicest abuses on us. She loved us I think and she knew we were harmless. She became quite a friend to my grand ma, probably because they were of the same age. When Suren made fun of my granny he attracted Aandal's attention too.

The days chugged on and Aandal got used to the ass holes that we were. Actually when Suren or me went out of town and were missing, Aandal gave us a rousing welcome when we returned. 'Take off your Saagunu! And put if for wash... take bath and eat... you need rest!' (Saagunu meant socks in Aandalese).

She hated the girl friends that visited home. Especially those that wore shorts. "Ayyyaaa! Ennaadhu idhu! Payyanaa ponnaa!? Ippidi thodaya kaattudhu!" ("Is this a guy or girl? And why is she exposing her thighs like this?")

But she hated drunks. She got extra ballistic on any drunk that crossed her path, including Ginny, my uncle. [...to be contd]

Partha Sarathi MBA

2009-04-15T15:00:00.003+05:30

"I am an MBA." He announced and laughed revealing his yellow teeth. He was standing in a corner, nursing a 90 of cheap whisky along with some beer. The veins were pronounced on his hands. He pulled the sleeves of his once off-white shirt yet again; it was an involuntary, nervous reaction I guess. I offered him a smoke. "I normally smoke Marlboro sir, but today I'll smoke my own Wills. Sorry eh?" He said. I shrugged and started talking to Sam. I ordered one more 60 of Old Monk rum.

"My name is Partha Sarathy." He continued. "Is that Godfather? Mario Puzo?"
I nodded in agreement and said "It is the latest in the series. This is not by Puzo though." He shook his head a hundred times and took the book from me. He pretended to seriously appraise the book and placed it on the wooden ledge that served as a place to set your drink down in Sapthagiri Wines. He finished his drink even before ours arrived. There was a bench along the wall and three guys occupied it. The leader of this group was already staring at Mr. Partha with adulation filled eyes.

"I helped this contractors get business worth Crores. Crores! And see what they have done to me. I told them that I didn't want a penny and walked off. Do you see this mobile phone? This is mine. I didn't even have money for the bus... I walked seven KM saar! Seven KM!"
He told his sad story. I was wary of him but Sam, as always, started his anthropo-neuro-psychological study, yet again. Sam introduced himself. Mr. Partha exclaimed, "So you are a doctor in Victoria? I know your chief... what's his name again?" Sam told him the Chief's name. "Ah yes! Same person. How is he? Don't tell him you met me here eh?" And he laughed that psychotic laugh again and said "I normally drink only in 3-star bars. But today..." He diverted his attention to me and said "...But today because of those bastards!" He tried to muffle his sobs. He wiped the tears with the sleeve of his dirty shirt.

I remained impassive. However, the trio on the bench were nonplussed and moved. The leader of the bench trio asked us in Kannada, "Yen aayithhu Saar? Ishtu Chennaga Ingleesh Maathadthaa idhaaney!" (or something to that effect) Sam explained to the bench trio about Mr. Partha and how his Contracting firm conned him of Crores. The leader of the trio immediately asked one of his gang members to stand up and make place for Mr. Partha.

Mr. Partha bummed a smoke from Leader as he sat down. He even spoke in broken Kannada. "I am an Iyengar sir. I can dictate 600 words a minute you know?" I nodded as I didn't know how the hell I should react to such a monumental statement. So I turned away and adjusted my position in that cubbyhole that was the bar behind Sapthagiri wines. I hardly had space to move my arm. With my back to Mr. Partha, I told Sam that we should be leaving. Sam nodded and he noticed that Mr. Partha was now putting a scheme on the trio. I lost interest, I mean I knew what his game was.

Mr. Partha called me after a few minutes. I turned around with a lot of difficulty. And he dropped his pitch on me.
"Don't mistake me..." He started, sipping on the whisky that he'd bummed from the trio who were sobbing now after listening to Mr. Partha's story.
"...I have to go to Chennai to meet my business partners." He paused as the Leader offered him some spicy Chicken.
"...I have to meet my partners in Chennai, and I left all my ATM cards in those bastards' office...can you give me 200 Rupees?" A brief silence ensued and it was broken by Manja, the waiter-boy, shouting out an order to the Counter: 'Half Khoday's rummu, ondhu packet Small illi!" I stared into Mr. Partha's eyes that were lodged in deep sockets. I smiled and said "If I had 200, why would I drink here?"

He chewed on it for a little while and said "Yes yes. How about 50? At least 20?" I said no. He shrugged as if he forgave me, started to say something, and decided against it. He returned his focus on the trio and started his pitch.

As I was leaving with Sam, he called out and said "Don't mistake me, ok?" I smiled and waved a bye to him. As I waited near the Counter to settle our bill, I could hear him swear at his Contracting firm and sob. I thought I also heard
"If not 500, at least 200? Yes, yes. I will transfer it online."
"..."
"Oh you don't have Internet okay! I'll give you a check, yes? Wonderful... Yeah just one more 60 for me sir... can't drink too much!"

Aandal

2009-03-11T08:50:00.002+05:30

You knew Aandal was in the vicinity when the atrocious stench of her chewing tobacco (called Panneer Pugailai in Tamil) assaulted your nose. It'd normally be early in the morning, around eight, when she would turn up to perform her duties as our maid. No one really knew how she ended up in the neighbourhood. When we moved to Chennai, mom was on the lookout for a maid and she hired the services of Aandal who was already working in our grand ma's. When I first saw Aandal I was petrified. She looked like the vampire version of Miss Grundy. A million wrinkles creased her face and that nose protruded at a right angle to her face. And, her teeth, whatever little that was left of them I mean, were a deep, dark brown. The most petrifying thing about though was not her looks. She served up whiplashes when she spoke.

Now, Suren, my younger bro and I had a tacit agreement right from when we were in prep school. It was more of a mission statement than an agreement really: we would bully the shit out of the maid. Any maid. No, no, it was not a result of some traumatic experience or something. We just love bullying people. The maid was the perfect target. They wouldn't dare retaliate and even if they did, it'd be at best a complaint to mom.

When Aandal came on the scene, Suren and I were suffering from withdrawal symptoms. There had a been a long hiatus, of almost ten years since we had bullied a maid. We were not kids any longer all right. I had started working as a salesman and Suren had started college at the New College in Chennai. We let Aandal be for a while. I mean she was as old as grand ma and we were not sure if we should really be bullying her. Our apprehensions were blasted to pieces one day. [To be contd...]

'Pitchi' Rammurthy

2009-02-25T21:34:00.004+05:30

The bogeyman of Pagadamanu street in Greamspet, during the early 80s, was none other than 'Pitchi' Rammurthy. Pithchi means mad in Telugu and no prizes for guessing, our bogeyman was as mad as mad can get. He strutted about, perennially clad in a dirty white shirt with no buttons and a dirtier white dhoti, drawn up and tied up at knee level. His yellow, front teet jutted out and rested outside his mouth; you could drive a car through the gaps between his teeth. He was half bald. The remaining grey, frazzled hair clung to the back and sides of his head. He looked the part but that's not what made our hearts skip beats. It was his war cry.

He walked up and down the street around lunch hour, when the sun tried in vain to fry the town. And he would scream at passers by. "Narikey. Lanjakodukuni narikkeyy!" (Hack that bastard down!). That was his war cry. But he never stopped and troubled anyone. He just walked about cursing. No one knew who or what he was cursing. But new comers peed in their pants during their first encounter with Rammurthy. Funny thing was no one had ever heard Rammurthy say anything other than the war cry. Not a single word!

I have heard young mothers tell their kids that refused to eat or do their homework "If you don't... well, I'll hand you over to Pitchi Rammurthy!" It worked like a charm.

The teens in the neighbourhood teased him albeit from a safe distance. The adults steered clear, for I am sure they were scared of him but their pride didn't allow them to admit it.

Rammurthy survived on the left-over food that the folks gave him. He never begged mind you. He was too proud I guess. He'd just make an appearance and the generous, kind hearted housewives offered him food. He retired for the night in two or three houses. By that I mean, he'd sleep outside in the verandah or on the granite benches ("dhinna"). He was the bogeyman for the kids all right but folks knew that he was quite harmless.

Mom gave him food on and off, and I stared at him from behind the window in the bedroom. Though he never spoke a word to anyone but he expressed his gratitude with his body language. He'd nod or offer a slight bow, eat his food, and depart.

One morning, I think it was a Sunday, I got up around seven and opened the heavy wooden door only to find Rammurthy sleeping. He got up with a start and glared at me for what seemed like ages. He had dark circles around his brown eyes. Just for a moment I thought I saw an incendiary rage in his eyes. Just for a fleeting moment. But it instantly changed to a kinder look. He clucked his tongue, adjusted his dhoti as he stood up, and said "DheergaAyushmaan bhava!" Sanskrit for 'wish you a long life.' Of course, no one believed me when I told them that Rammurthy spoke to me.

Years later, after we moved out of Chittoor, I heard from a friend that Rammurthy passed away. Somehow, I felt sad. After all he was probably the only benign bogeyman in the world.

Grandmaster Muniyandi: The Sham-Sac (concluding part)

2009-02-20T16:02:00.002+05:30

[Continued from Part 1 and Part 2]

Young people, especially those that are heartbroken, are a showy lot. Ravi was no different. His world knew that he was, to use the archaic term, ‘licked’. Or as boys in Chittoor called it, ‘she gave him haath’. Like all rejected lovers, Ravi went into a stage of sleeplessness, lack-interest-in-life-ness, and solitude. He tried talking to her but the city girl was brutal: she would not budge. She even cracked smart lines (which part of get lost you didn’t understand?). Some thought she was overboard, and some, enjoyed it.

Then started a procession of speakers, veterans at the game of love, that argued, pontificated, and reiterated the rallying cry of all failed lovers: girls are vicious.

Ramesh, poet-cum-failed lover-cum-classmate told Ravi, while smoking endlessly into the night, “They look for status. Money. Bike? Cars! And not your heart. Never! Your heart Ravi, my dear brother, is of no value to them. Look at the irony! You don’t even possess your heart now, for in the name of love, you gave it away.” Ramesh sucked hard on the dying cigarette and as the smell of burnt filter filled the calm night, he shrugged as if saying ‘No further questions your honour’.

Ravi took to drinking. Once, when drunk, he carved her name on his arms with a switch blade. He listened to Telugu movie love songs and cried. His parents misunderstood his drinking as the usual juvenile enchantment with intoxication and admonished him as they saw fit. But Ravi walked through it all, like a zombie. He did start taking precautions to avoid confrontations with his folks. Himabindu on the other hand completely ignored him and stopped all contact. His efforts to gift her 200 roses were met with an icy ‘Get a life!’ So he spread the roses outside the college and told curious onlookers ‘Moksham for the flowers when she walks on them! Narakam for me, for she did walk all over me.’

Ravi stopped playing Chess too. The NGO Home panicked. They tried talking to him and cajoling him but Ravi just was not interested. ‘When love deserts, what can Chess do?’ He told Ramanan, the retired Commercial Tax Officer, who was utterly bewildered by that poetic line.
“Try ENO, it will help.” Ramanan said to Ravi.

At the end of the academic year, Bindu left Chittoor. Her father was transferred to Vizag. And Ravi was inconsolable. He somehow found her address in Vizag and wrote letters. When the letters didn’t elicit a response, he started sending Telegrams. “My life is as meaningless as playing without a queen.” “Your en passant killed this poor pawn.”

Bindu’s father made a phone call to his brother who was a top cop. The Circle Inspector of 2-Town station visited Ravi’s folks and explained in no uncertain terms that such acts can make life uncomfortable for Ravi. “I am sure he can get a loan and set up a pay-phone booth to make a living out of it, but think about it, your son will be a physically challenged person… right now he is only mentally challenged. Please fix your son unless you want us to do the honours.” The Inspector apparently told them. So Ravi, who had flunked his exams, was forcibly packed off to his uncle’s home in Mysore. His parents wanted him to realise his dream of becoming a Grandmaster. The Mysore uncle, who was the reason why Ravi started playing chess, wrote to them saying “I will ensure that this young Knight is back to the central squares. I will do all within my reach to move him from this dark, corner square.” Using chess metaphors, it seemed, was an age old custom in Ravi’s family.

All this while, an interesting development took place. Muniyandi, who was doing odd jobs at the Jaggery Mandi, made a come back to the NGO Home. A few of the regulars did rejoice upon his arrival but the emotion segued to rude shock when Muniyandi stood at the head of that huge chess table and announced, “I want to play a ‘simultaneous’. With all of you. Now! Thoo nee amma!” Muniyandi wanted to play all twelve of them simultaneously. Ramanan had a knowing smile on his face. He knew that it was the pictorial Chess problems book that he’d gifted that propelled Muni to take such a stance. ‘Tactics’ Bala, the guy with really curly hair and a pock marked face lit his cigarette at the wrong end and he coughed out like a bat flew into his throat.

The gang did agree for the match. Probably because they didn’t want to dampen the enthusiasm which Muni amply demonstrated. Who doesn’t like an underdog? As it turned out, Muni beat ten of them, drew with one, and lost a match. The net result of this exercise was that Muni started playing tournaments. The one-eye chess hurricane from Chittoor impressed the fraternity not just with his chess but also with his showmanship in the evenings. Snippets of Muniyandi’s exploits started appearing in the papers. The NGO Home gang pooled in money and bought decent clothes for Muni after the fiasco in the highly rated Palani tournament. Muniyandi entered the tournament hall clad in a blue and white checkered Lungi, unkempt hair, and with an unlit beedi dangling at the side of his mouth. The tournament organisers had a collective cardiac arrest. Some of the country’s best players were playing and they didn’t want an incongruity that was Muni to be a part of the otherwise perfect picture.

Muni left the hall and came back after a couple of hours. Drunk like a rapist in a Telugu movie and armed with a switch blade. He threatened to obliterate the reproductive systems of the organisers. The cops came in and all in all, it was seen as an insult to the fraternity in Chittoor. So the NGO Home gang took it upon themselves to make Muni presentable. They bought him nice clothes and got him to cut his hair. They even made him promise that he wouldn’t smoke or drink during tournaments. Of course, Muni also had to take an oath on his violence.

Through it all, Muni kept asking Ramanan on Ravi’s whereabouts. Ramanan visited Ravi’s folks and found out about Ravi’s Mysore plan. He wrote to Ravi and asked him to play in the prestigious Rajiv Memorial in Tirupathi, one of the most prestigious tournament in the state. But, Ravi wrote back, saying that he was not interested. The NGO Home gang then did a signature campaign and sent a letter with some 50 signatures and a thumb impression (of Muni’s) and urged him to come back. That did the trick and of course Ravi’s uncle in Mysore apparently told him ‘You are declining the love of so many people just because one girl was mean to you? It is like saving the queen and losing all your other pieces!’

Muni did bump into Ravi at the NGO Home but he was utterly shocked at the sight of his Lord. Ravi was a mere shadow of the man he was! Dark circles under eyes, a stubble, and a generally depressing disposition made Ravi look like a patient. Another man would have put a arm around, or even hug and say a few comforting words but Muni lacked that knack. He just flashed a bleak smile at Ravi and kept to himself. Ravi really didn’t care too much about Muni anyway, so the stalemate persisted.

They went to Tirupathi in an APSRTC bus. One of those Red ones. Muni, knowing that he won’t be able to drink during the tournament, was drunk. He smoked much to the irritation of his fellow passengers. There were also a bunch of piligrims from Tamilnadu and Muni tortured them by screaming ‘Govinda Govinda’ at every hill he spotted. The Lord’s seven-hills abode was another 40 km away but the Tamils didn’t want to take a chance and joined Muni in a chorus of ‘Govinda’. After a while Muni got bored of it and slept.
The tournament organiser was also the State head of the Chess association. Mr. Naidu escorted the gang from Chittoor to a wedding hall, where accommodation was arranged for all players participating in the tournament. They had arranged for cooks that made food for the players in the kitchen of the wedding hall. That night Muni picked up a fight with the head cook. He called his Sambar ‘Cow piss, thoo nee amma!’ Before they hit their beds, the players socialized and before long were playing rapid one-minute games with the aid of chess clocks.

The tournament went on smoothly. Muni and Ravi were the only ones from Chittoor that registered wins in the knock-out tournament. The rest became spectators. Ravi sailed through seven rounds. Though he was not at his best, he still was a handful. Muni on the other hand was the surprise package. In the seventh round, his opponent was Rao from Nellore, number two of the state. In the morning while inspecting the pairings along with Ravi, Rao asked him ‘So is this Muniyandi a rated player?’
Ravi said ‘No… but I hear he’s good. He has only one eye, I hope you know that.’
‘So that’s a free point for me right there huh?’ Rao said.
‘You can say that…’

Muni was playing black, popularly considered a disadvantage as White gets to make the first move. Rao played the first move, by moving the King pawn two squares up. Muni thought for ten minutes. It is unusual for players at this level to spend any time in the opening. Most of the opening moves are well theorized and are dispensed with, with minimal thought. Muni’s clock was ticking away. When he made the first move, he had consumed ten minutes of his two hours. He played the French Defence. It was not a popular opening as it cramped the Black in the opening stage and most times did not allow Black to castle his King. Rao started a vicious attack on Muni’s King. Muni, it appeared, was clueless. Around the 26th move, Muni stunned Rao by capturing a white pawn and placing his Queen in a beautiful position to charge Rao on the Queen’s side. Rao’s attack slowly dissipated and before long he was frantically defending his game. Around the 37th move, Rao capitulated and resigned.

It sent shockwaves through the tournament. ‘Was Rao too careless?’ ‘I thought Muniyandi played a brilliant, unconventional line’ and so on. Ravi was surprised but happy for Muni. The only thing that saddened him was that Muni would meet him in the final round.

The final round started. Muni played white and opened with the King pawn. Ravi played his favourite Sicilian defence, a combative opening where Black played for advantage and not just equality. Around the 30th move Muni sacrificed one of his Bishops. A gasp echoed in the hall. Most thought it was a blunder. Ravi too didn’t quite get it. Four moves later Ravi realised the beauty of the combination that Muni was playing. It gave Muni a staggering advantage to attack the King. Muni who was poring through the board all this while looked up and saw the look of devastation in Ravi’s eyes. Ravi looked at Muni and managed a feeble smile. Something happened to Muniyandi at that moment. He stormed off after playing a move and lit a beedi.

Muni was sad. He didn’t want to hurt his Lord. After thinking hard for about ten minutes Muni entered the hall. Three more moves later, Muni gave away another piece. Ravi was stunned. It looked like a good move, for it allowed white to make a lot of noise. But, after thinking through, Ravi knew that his opponent, who was playing like God until then, had miscalculated. This was surely a blunder! A few more moves later, Muni resigned. However, he was the number two now. At least in the district! Ravi slapped Muni’s back and said ‘You almost got me there!’ Ravi never told anyone that he almost resigned after Muni’s first Bishop sacrifice. After the prize distribution was over, Muni headed to the nearest wine store and got drunk. Not because he was sad but because he was ecstatic.

As he was drinking his third one, Rao and Ravi entered the store and Muni ducked for cover. Ravi told him that it was all right.
‘Saar why are you spoiling your health? Don’t drink saar please!’ Muni said to Ravi.
‘I am drinking because I am celebrating Muni. For coming back to the right path after getting lost.’
Muni nodded as if he understood. ‘You want pickle saar? Tastes nice with the rum.’

‘He almost beat me!’ Ravi said.
Rao nodded watching Muni, who was talking to the wine store clerk.
‘Almost. Yes. But he knew what was more important.’ Rao said.
‘What?’ Ravi was amused.
‘He played the second sacrifice to lose the match. And he didn’t want to offend you by making an obvious blunder. So he thought of a combination that looked lethal but lacked the venom. He is a genius! Now, don’t ask him and kill his happiness. Look at him! He is so happy!’

Their Final Words as The Grunts of Circuit City

2009-02-05T15:12:00.001+05:30

Now here it was the final day. We opened and were immediately rushed with people. I mean it was crazy. Now we still had some software and ink, plenty of cables, plenty of media, along with other random stuff. At 1 PM a manager came on the loud speaker. "For the next 20 minutes only take and additional 50% off of everything." So that continued for two hours. At 3 he started naming stuff that we had plenty of (like ink and cables) and said that the stuff is $1. So I grabbed a PlayNC card for $1. And back to work. By 4 PM most of the stuff had died down, but we still had plenty of cables and ink. The liquidator just grabbed a cart, filled it with random shit and said " WHOLE CART FOR $1". So everything else went out the door fast. But a buddy of mine did come up with gold. He got a lens (which was in plain sight and wasn't stashed) and a flash for $10. Now the lens was a $400 lens and the flash was $200. So I'm sure he ebayed that for some pocket.

Grandmaster Muniyandi-2 - The Queen's Gambit

2009-01-20T15:33:00.027+05:30

[Contd from part 1]
Ravi cleared his throat, took a deep breath, coughed and said "Pleased to meet you. It is a privilege to meet you." He found it difficult to not stare at the wonderful contours her t-shirt made. Just when he was about to thank god, Muniyandi appeared on the scene from nowhere and said "Hello madam, come tomorrow for autographs, sir is tired now."

Ravi felt like a whore in the church. 'Thank you god, that was a nice touch' Ravi thought and turned to Muni and was about say something when she said "Who the hell are you now? His personal assistant or something?"

Muniyandi nodded in agreement and said "Yes, yes. Sorry but you won't know how Chess can make you exhausted..."

"Shut up Muni!" Ravi shouted. Muni was bewildered. Here he was protecting his lord from an unruly fan and lord doesn't even say thanks!

"I am sorry, he is an idiot. He hangs around here all the time and acts like he is everyone's best friend." Ravi told her.

Muniyandi's world blew up. The weight of his master's words took a little while to sink in. When it did, Muni felt like he was mowed down by a speeding truck.

A crestfallen Muni left the hall and lit a beedi and sucked in a lungful. As tears broke free from his good eye, he sat down on the Cement bench in the lawn and mopped his face with a dirty towel that he always carried. His wife was right. She always warned him, 'Ravi saar is from a good family... I know the girl that works as a maid in their house. So don't you get him into any trouble!' He always dismissed her. 'Hey sarthaan podee, I know what I am doing. Thoo nee amma!'

As darkness fell, Ravi emerged from the hall but stopped to talk to Ramanan, the retired Commercial Tax Officer who played lousy chess. That girl was not around; probably, she left? Muni got up from the bench and waited at the gate. In the adjacent, dark lane that bordered with the sub-jail, people were throwing stuff into the cells. The lane was always dark, for people broke the street lamps every time the Electricity department replaced them. So they stopped replacing lamps. The cops knew about people passing on stuff from across the wall, but didn't bother too much... after all it was the petty criminals that were remanded to custody here. Muni felt sad for them and so once in a while he would throw a pack of beedis or some snack like Murukku inside a cell. He would scream 'Muniyaandi gift raaa! Thoo nee amma!' And they always thanked him in chorus 'Namaste annaa!'

He moved away from the glare of the tea shop's Hurricane lamp and waited in the shadows. The 'Pump' stove from the tea shop was going at full blast and a bunch of vadas sizzled in the pan. Muni longed for some tea and a couple of those hot vadas. But he suppressed his craving and got ready to apologize to Ravi.

As Ravi approached the main gate of the NGO Home, Muni became nervous. He stood in Ravi's way and said,
"Sorry saar!"
"What sorry? Don't you have manners? It is all my fault. Who the hell are you to tell my friends what they are supposed to do?"

Muni gulped. He didn't understand why Ravi was being so irate.

"Saar, I know how Chess can drain you..."
"What the fuck do you know about Chess? Just because you know how to move the pieces does not make you a player! You don't tell me how Chess works. Enough, I don't want to talk to you or see you again. If you disturb me again, I will call the Police."

Muni bit his lip as tears rolled down his face. He adjusted his glass eye, blew his nose, and mopped his face with the dirty towel again.

"Saar don't say that please... you know how much I respect you and how much I love chess... please saar"

"You love chess? What the- never mind! You claim you can't see half of the board... why don't you go get a job or something? Love chess! Now, leave me alone. Like I said, I will not hesitate to call the police if you disturb me again."

And Ravi left a wounded Muniyandi.

That night Muni visited the Arrack shop near Prathap cinema. He drank like there was no tomorrow and started abusing people around him.
"Thoo theri maaki! Chess theriyumaadaa bosadikey! Chess? I am a chess player. Man of the match in the Penumur tournament. And you, ask me to shut up? Lavadey ka baal! Narikesthaa! I will cut you to pieces and make a side-dish out of you." He told the guy behind the counter. And before long a scuffle broke out. Three guys beat the crap out of Muniyandi and packed him off to the two-town police station. It would have been fine if Muni had shut his mouth with the cops. He called the constable's mother some unspeakable things and opined that the sub-inspector was a 'Kojja' (eunuch).

Muni's wife pleaded with Ramanan, the retired commercial tax officer and lousy chess player to help. Ramanan was also a former office-bearer of the Chess association and he always thought Muniyandi had potential. He spoke to the cops, paid bribes, and got Muniyandi out. But by that time, the cops had had their share of fun. Muni could barely get on his feet. His glass eye was missing. They found it by the water pot in the corner of the cell. They had to carry him to an auto. It took ten days for Muniyandi to get discharged from the government hospital.

It made news in the NGO Home. Some sympathized with Muni. Ravi was not one of them. Most people extracted entertainment out of Muni's misery. They made jokes and laughed out loud. Ramanan visited Muni who was still recovering and gifted him a wooden chess board and a Chess problem book that did not require one to know how to read. Muni cried yet again. After Ramanan left, Muni's wife asked him,
"What the hell is wrong with you? Saithaan!"
"..."
"Why don't you go to the Home in the evening ya? Play some Chess..."
"No. I am not going there."
"What happened?" She persisted.
"Nothing dee Kaidhey! Summa iru, nee amma! Thoo!"

That was that. No one saw Muni at the Home after that for more than six months. No one knew what happened. No one cared. Once in a while, someone spotted him in the Jaggery Mandi, unloading sacks.

In the meantime, Ravi's hopes grew. He met Bindu every day. He even went to her house and her father was pleased to meet the Chess champ.

One day after college hours, Ravi and Bindu were discussing a variation of the King's Indian Defense.
"Your birthday is coming up... what plans?" He said.
"It is just another day and I am an adult... nothing I guess?"

Ravi nodded. He could not fathom it. Is she attracted to me? Does she know what I feel for her? He could never tell. She had a lot of guy friends that wrote to her. Ravi was angry but was careful enough to not display it.
'You should meet Pawan, he is such a sweet heart you know?' 'Once Raju, Prince, and I went to the Golconda fort...'

What the fuck was wrong with that city? How could a girl go on an excursion with two guys!? A girl that wore tight Jeans and tighter t-shirts! God! Was she 'experienced'?

These questions swarmed and buzzed around in Ravi's head. His friends also told him how city girls were 'fast' and about how they don't care for 'love' but only for bikes, biceps, and money. Once or twice Ravi decided to not pursue her but the resolution lasted only till he met her next. All she had to do was laugh. Her lustrous, smooth, raven-black hair bounced around in utter glee when she laughed. She clapped when she laughed and looked to heavens. The gentle undulations of her t-shirt added a beautiful touch. And he fell in love again. And again. And again.

The college grapevine speculated: Ravi got her. We saw them kissing in the forest department nursery. They got secretly married. And, people congratulated Ravi. Winked at him. Slapped his back. 'You think she does not know what you feel for her? Get out of here! Women! I tell you. They want you to make the move first.' Ravi was almost convinced that it was only a matter of articulating it and formalizing the relationship. He can ask her to stop wearing jeans and t-shirts after that.

On her birthday he met her at the Durga temple in the morning and gave a bunch of roses and a greeting card. 'I have something to show you... after college?' Ravi said. She was thrilled with the roses he thought. It was all falling in place. They would be just like the Thipsays. The husband and wife chess champs!

Ravi could not concentrate in the class. He waited for the final hour to end. As soon as it ended he ran to the park bench under the Neem tree and set up the Chess board. He arranged a chess formation. It was a Checkmate in five moves problem. But there was more.

She came after a while.
"What are you doing here?" She said, shaking his hands. He shrugged.
"Mate in five. White wins. You think you can crack it?" He said.
She smiled and hunched over the board. After a few minutes she got the solution. It was quite simple. The white queen moved right next to the Black king and it was mate.

He was quiet. He collected his thoughts.
"That's what happened to me too." He said.
"I didn't understand...?"
"Um... You came into my life. And mated... I mean, it was checkmate for my black... I mean I have nowhere to go... I l-love you?"

The afternoon breeze picked up and whistled through the trees. From beyond the ZP quarters a goat bleated.

"WHAT?!" She yelped.

"You love me? God! Now you know why I never tried being friends around here? You guys... Ravi I thought you were different!"

A sledgehammer crashed into his heart.
"Wh-what? I thought you knew it all along... I mean... what's wrong with me?"

"It is not about wrong or right... I don't feel that way... anyway, never mind, it was nice knowing you. Good bye."

And she stormed off his life.

(will surely be concluded in the next post)

L.K. Advani 2009

2009-01-07T16:09:00.002+05:30

Grandmaster Muniyandi - 1

2009-01-06T11:55:00.028+05:30

Vishy Anand won the World Junior Chess Championship and the small Chess community in Chittoor celebrated. They met at the NGO home, next to to the sub-jail, like every evening; the Chess association secretary distributed sweets. It was business as usual after that in the NGO Home. Some men played 'Ring' in the front lawn. The chess club members huddled over Chess boards, under ancient filament lamps with monstrous glass domes. Right beside the huge teakwood table that hosted Chess, people played Carrom board, which had a filament lamp hovering over it... it made the Carrom players look hideous, as the Carrom board reflected light and lit their faces partially. There was no other lighting in the Home's hall. It was always dark, damp, and smelt like an old book.

Muniyandi lit his 240th beedi of the day, adjusted his glass eye, and tried to focus on the chessmen with his good eye. Muniyandi always complained that he could see only half of the Chess board, a ridiculous idea all right but people indulged Muni. Muni also claimed that there were thirty criminal cases on him (including attempt to murder) but the cops would not dare apprehend him. "Othha they know how I lost my eye now, don't they?" Muni would snarl. If any unsuspecting person did inquire about the lost eye, Muni would seize that opportunity to take the inquirer to the tea stall outside the NGO Home, sit him down, and start his unbelievable story. It was all fiction. We knew. But that's what Muni did to get sponsors for his tea, snacks, and smokes. The general concept of his 'how I lost my eye' story hovered around Muni's valor: how he fought 45 (or 150 sometimes) rowdies single handedly, before losing his eye in hand-to-hand combat. There were a few at the Home who believed that Muni's wife must have popped his eye off. It seemed quite plausible, for Muni was an incorrigible drunk and he stole money from his wife when he ran out of cash.

So how did a big-mouth, 4-anna hustler develop a passion for Chess? No one knew. It was one of those flamboyant aberrations of life. Muniyandi, however, claimed he was always in love with the game. He was a good player. His tactics on the board were nothing short of brilliant. But he lacked the much needed strategic perspective to move up and become a rated player. Also, he could not afford Chess books, the best resource for learning the art. Not that it would have made a difference, for he couldn't read or write. There were a couple of 'rated' players in the club: Ravi, the second year B.Sc student from the Arts college, was one of them. Muniyandi revered him.

Muni accompanied Ravi to all tournaments in and around Chittoor. The year before Muniyandi had even participated in a tournament in Penumur. Ravi got the first spot and Muni actually got the third place! For reasons best known to them, the organizers chose to call the third place winner as 'Man of the match'.

Muniyandi collected the prize money, a princely sum of 75 Rupees, slipped out, got drunk, and came back to extract revenge on the organizers that had played a cruel joke by calling him 'Man of the match'. It was his maiden win in a tournament! According to Ravi, Muni pulled a switch knife and waved it at the terrified organizers and said "Nee amma! Man of the match! This is fucking chess, thoo nee amma!"

Only Ravi knew that Muni was harmless. The people of Penumur actually fell for Muni's antics and believed that they were in the presence of a fearless outlaw. Ravi whisked away Muni before the shit hit the fan and jumped on the first bus back to Chittoor.

From then on Muni became the self-proclaimed bodyguard of Ravi. It was irritating for young Ravi but his sense of humor prevailed and he generally did not mind Muni and his antics.
NGO Home's only hope, its rising star was Ravi. He won the district championships, and went on to win the State championship. The modest chess club from Chittoor produced a champion! The Chess club presented Ravi with a cheque of four thousand Rupees. Ravi used up the cash to buy a good Chess clock and books on Chess openings. Muni found a lot of pride in being Ravi's assistant cum bodyguard. All the retired, older men did not quite like it but they didn't want to argue with Muni, understandably so.

Himabindu, a stunningly pretty girl moved to Chittoor from Kurnool. She became Ravi's classmate too, in the Arts College. She was also the state number two in women's chess. Himabindu attracted a lot of attention. She was probably the first girl in Chittoor that wore Jeans to college. If that wasn't revolutionary enough, she wore a t-shirt, which said 'Little Bo Peep did it for insurance.' Not one guy in college understood what that meant but they did stare at the location of that text for prolonged periods, making guttural noises. Himabindu ignored the naughty boys in college that passed comments when she passed by. She refused to accept any love letter from anyone. She broke quite a few hearts. But no one tried to mess with her. Her dad was a high ranking official in the Zilla Parishad. Her uncle was a top cop in Tirupathi. So none of the boys tried getting cute with Bindu.

Amid all this love blossomed. At least in Ravi's heart. To him Bindu was the dream girl. She played chess! Was a champ! Looked like a goddess... he dreamed of discussing chess with her, going on long walks behind the Z.P quarters right behind the college. He also dreamed of Bindu embracing 'Indian' clothes, just like those once-arrogant heroines in Telugu movies that saw the wisdom behind the villager hero's words and ended up wearing Kanchi silk saris even to bed. However there was a small problem. Bindu made no attempt to make friends in college. She was always spotted reading some book or the other, all by herself. When some girls did try to make conversation they were met with a luke-warm response. However, there was hope. He was the state champ and she had to come around. She did.

That year the Chess club at the NGO Home hosted the university chess championships and Ravi swore to himself that he would produce a spectacular performance. Muniyandi never left the table where Ravi played. He was more nervous than Ravi himself. During a game in which Ravi played black, things got tricky. Ravi played the French defense and his opponent launched an all out king-side attack. It looked bleak but Ravi knew that it was only a matter of time before he wrested the initiative. But Muniyandi could not see as far. When Ravi stepped out after finishing his 40th move, Muni ran behind him and very seriously suggested "If it looks like we are losing, I can arrange for a win. I just need to have a word with your opponent." A horrified Ravi explained to Muni that it was not needed.

On the girl's side, Bindu was cruising to the first spot. It was the penultimate round that swung Ravi's fortunes. Ravi sacrificed his queen, the most powerful piece. It may seem spectacular but Ravi knew exactly what he was doing. But the spectators gasped as he played that move and before long, there was a small crowd huddled over Ravi's board. Bindu was there too. As Ravi wrapped up the match in style, the crowd applauded. Bindu shook his hand. As the crowd dispersed that evening and Ravi packed his bags to go home, he spotted her walking towards him. His heart rammed against his ribs and his knees started shaking.
"You were brilliant... It is a privilege, meeting you." She said. She had large, expressive eyes, which were accentuated by Kajal. Ravi wanted to reach out and touch her face but he thought the better of it.
"Oona ulkah hrooo?" he said. He wanted to say "You are a champ too"
She shifted on her feet and raised her eyebrow as if asking 'What the fuck did you say sir?'
Ravi cleared his throat, took a deep breath, coughed and said "Pleased to meet you. It is a privilege to meet you." He found it difficult to not stare at the wonderful contours her t-shirt made. Just when he was about to thank god, Muniyandi appeared on the scene from no where and said "Hello madam, come tomorrow for autographs, sir is tired now." (concluding part in the next installment)

Happy New Year Folks!

2008-12-31T12:02:00.005+05:30

To all ye folks out there in the civilized world, Spotty, my Owlet buddy and I wish you a happy new year.

Chennai Vs Bangalore Debate

2008-12-17T12:02:00.009+05:30

I wrote this post as a response to SelAm's post. First things first, I am a Chennai boy that lived in Andhra Pradesh for 20 years. I moved back to Chennai in 1993 and quit the city in 2001. I moved to Bangalore about five years back. I have lived in Pune and Indore. When I say lived, I mean lived there for at least six months.

I visited Bangalore first in 1996. I was deputed to Tata Yellow Pages's Bangalore office. I spent a couple of months there. As I was a salesman, I had to go around the city and thus was well acquainted with the city and its culture in a short time.

I don't know if one is predisposed to be biased about his home town, but I thought Chennai was better than Bangalore back then. There was no logic or rationale to that bias but I believed in it, fought for Chennai, and was quite sure I was right. My facts were rock solid: Chennai had better roads, better public transport... you know?

This is exactly where SelAm went wrong. If one were to go by infrastructure, I'd rate Kuwait better than Chennai or Bangalore. But, the question is, would you live in Kuwait? I won't. My liberty is more important than a pothole in the road. A city is not about roads and amenities. It is mostly about people. And culture. Both cities are rich in that regard. You really can't and should not choose between cultures. Each city has its unique personality and it'd be foolish to pose the question 'which has better culture?'

That said, we are left with this really tricky benchmark called 'Cosmopolitan'. Is Chennai more cosmopolitan? I don't think so. Having lived in Bangalore for close to five years, I can vouch for it: Bangalore is more cosmopolitan.

Take for example, food: the sheer number of cuisines Bangalore offers is a small yet significant testimony to that fact. I know people from Chennai will cry foul and throw a list of eateries in and around Chennai. Hang on people. I am talking accessibility and abundance here. Almost every street, lane corner has a food place in Bangalore. I *know* that is not the case in Chennai. Let's not even talk about variety of cuisines. Chennai is far behind Bangalore.

I think Bangaloreans are a liberal lot. This is my personal opinion but I don't think I can say that about Chennai. I thought of a million examples to illustrate my point but I thought better of it. It is *my* opinion! Bangalore's Cinemas show Tamil and Telugu movies. Chennai's don't show Kannada or too many Telugu movies. You tell me who is cosmopolitan.

There was some talk of who speaks better English on SelAm's post (see the comments). I don't understand the relevance of this point. So I choose not to respond to it.

Personally though, Bangalore makes better coffee than Chennai. Surprised? Walk into any of those 'Darshinis' and drink coffee.

Finally, I have to tell you this. Not because it is important but it reflects the hypocrisy of Chennai, the so called conservative 'Tamil' loving city.
Why the fuck do you need to be formally attired to go to a pub? And, these rules are only for us brown skinned bastards. If a white guy walked in clad in his undies, those ugly bouncers will let them in. Don't believe me? Why don't you try it yourself? 1) Residency Towers and 2) 10 Downing Street on North Boag road.

As far as the 'safe' city point, I don't think any of our cities are safe for women. So don't give me that bull on how Chennai is safer. No city is safe for Indian women in their country.

Don't rush to hate a city. You'll never realize how bad your crib is until you get out of it. And see some real cribs. I love Chennai for different reasons and Bangalore for different reasons. Though I was irritated with Indore, I grew to like it later. Or, my hometown bias has waned because I have lived in multiple towns. Whatever. I urge you to get your ass out and travel. Don't throw stones when you live in a... ok, I won't say it.

The Historic Test's Last Day

2008-12-16T10:45:00.003+05:30

One of the images that will stay with me for a long time is that of the lady from the cleaning staff of the MAC stadium in Chennai, running up to Sachin Tendular, shaking his hand, and blushing and running back. I was not planning to watch the match in the stadium. One of my friends asked if I would be interested and I said 'Yes'. When we walked into the stadium Dravid was already gone. Gambir and Sachin were at the crease. 'Same old story!' I thought but I was wrong.

Let me assure you that being there with the crowd is a fantastic experience. If you want to understand and experience the Indian Cricket Mania, go watch it in the stadium. I saw old men, with packed lunches, sharing their wisdom with strangers. "Now, he will bring the forward short-leg." the old man told the guy sitting next to him and to my amazement, KP did bring in a short-leg fielder.

The guy sitting behind me has an amplifier in this vocal cords I think. He kept screaming at Sachin. "Thambi! Paathu daa kanna. Rahu kalam will pass at 1 PM. Go for your fifty then!" and "Otha oyeee! Flitooffu, oootukku poi sera maattey!" He was with his sister and two nephews. He was screaming at his nephews "Otha saapda vandheengla match paakka vandhingala? Lavadeykabaal!"

He was actually having a conversation with Sachin. He reminded me of my friend's brother who used to 'put mandhiram' when the opposition was playing. No, he actually believed he got India wickets with his 'spells'.

The TNCA lunch was delicious. It was a typical Iyer lunch. So the veggies had a lot of fun. During lunch I overheard an old man recounting a story from the 80s to his friend. Another TNCA staffer predicted that Sehwag would be the Man-of-the-match. Another was rattling out statistics on all the winning 4th innings chases and a break down on successful chases in the sub-continent.

As I walked back in to my seat, I thought 'Hope Sachin finishes this one unlike that Pakistan match!' A shudder went up my spine. The master did not make that mistake this time. The mad guy behind me was now coaxing Sachin by screaming 'Thambi, come back for tea, don't get out now!' I also found it enchanting that the crowd applauded good fielding efforts by England. I don't think you'll see a better sporting crowd in this country.

To watch VVS hit those sublime drives is sheer joy. I don't think there will be another artistic Indian batsman as VVS: his silken touch, grace, and elegance is beyond human comprehension.

The only regret I have is Dravid's horrific form. I hope this man bounces back fast enough, for it would be a shame to watch one of the greatest batsmen this game has ever seen, walk away in the shadows of obscurity: unsung and hurt.

Just before tea Yuvi hit a massive six off Monty. Somehow, I realized that we were going to win. We still needed 100 plus runs but I knew the result. Indian cricket is in good hands. The guy sitting behind echoed that thought by saying 'Apdeedhaan thambi, Kulla, nee weight machi!'

Amen!

P.S. I did not translate the Tamil in this post. You need a Chennai boy to translate the slang. Sorry!

Orissa Govt Does it Again

2008-12-11T11:55:00.005+05:30

Orissa cops have taken the term gag order to a new level altogether. A Leftist writer and the editor of Oriya literary magazine Nissan, Lenin Ray was quite literally stopped from speaking to the media by policemen who muzzled him as he was being produced in Bhubaneswar's district court. [via NDTV]

How long will we let BJP get away with murder? What happened in Gujrat is haunting us even today.

Security Starts at Home

2008-12-04T14:55:00.004+05:30

You must have gone for the candle light vigil in your city. Tweeted or blogged about how India should respond or how courageous our soldiers are. Some of us hurled insults at the government and its 'inaction'. All of the above is needed. But what we need is grassroots responsibility.
If you are a salaried employee, you must, most likely, be working in one of those business complexes that house a number of business houses. I work in one too. After the Mumbai tragedy, the chief of security of the building called for a meeting to all the occupants (business houses) of the building. "Out of 50 only 12 representatives turned up" he laments. Somehow we seem to live in a bubble called 'it can't happen to us!'

Face it. It can happen to you. What are your options given that the security apparatus of your building (and your city) is not sufficient? We blame others all the time, but have you ever wondered 'What can I do?' For starters, attend security meetings in your building. Ask questions. Point out lapses that you noticed. Most often than not the person in charge of Security of your building has to deal with under-staffed teams, lack of equipment, cost-conscious builders, and apathetic tenants like us. What is the one thing you can change in that list? Apathy. Urge your 'I-am-too-cool-for-this-shit' colleague to participate. If you have an emergency response team at your workplace, talk to them, support them, and help them stay motivated. If you don't have an ERT, start one!

Ask the builder questions. Given the economic meltdown, no builder is willing to spend. We have to pressurize them to get them miserly asses to swing into action.

Make a list of Dos and Don'ts and circulate. For example,
1) Report unidentified objects in the vicinity.
2) Always. Repeat. Always wear your ID.
3) Don't let people tail-gate.
4) Report people moving around suspiciously near your work place.
5) Co-operate with Security. Don't act like you are being stopped from launching a spaceship when they run a metal detector check or frisk you. It's your ass, remember?
6) Have a list of important phone numbers at hand, all the time (cops, hospitals, ambulance etc)
7) Take Mock Drills seriously. The next time, it could be for real.

I am sure there's more, but I hope you got the drift.

Do the Islamic Terrorists Care for Muslims?

2008-12-03T15:37:00.004+05:30

I doubt it. A cursory glance at the deceased list from the recent Mumbai attacks is enough to conclude that these cowards merely want to spread terror. They are not really bothered about Muslims or Hindus. Their motives are political and far removed from a religious cause.
Muslims form approximately 15% of the civilian causalities. See deceased list.
Now tell me, does Islam condone killing of your own brethren? No. I think not. However, the foaming-at-the-mouth fanatics will come up with some screwed up theory that Allah understands collateral damage. The cliche is true: terrorists do not have a religion, for no religion accommodates killing of innocent people.

So if you by any outside chance thought that you were safe because you are a Muslim, perish that thought. They don't care about religion. They don't care about you. And, most importantly, they are not fighting for you.

Mumbai under terrorist attack

2008-11-27T01:20:00.002+05:30

if anyone needs help contacting folks in bombay - drop in your message here - http://mumbaihelp.blogspot.com/2008/11/can-we-help.html

http://search.twitter.com/search?q=%23mumbai for real time Twitter updates.

Photos from Mumbai terror attacks at http://flickr.com/photos/vinu/
More than 40 dead says a TV Channel.

Hats-off Chiba San!

2008-11-20T11:10:00.003+05:30

At Toyota Kirloskar’s 10th anniversary do, a Japanese employee does the late Shankar Nag proud in the land of his birth, in the language of his life. [link]

Aside:This is an Ilayaraja number, which makes it more special.

Testing trutap from my mobile

2008-11-18T05:21:00.001+05:30

I have added a pic taken with my phone too. . . This is cool.

Sent from my phone using trutap

Hindutva Logic

2008-11-05T08:36:00.002+05:30

"I do not know Pragnya Singh at all. But I know she is not a terrorist."
"No Hindu can be a terrorist."
- Praveen Togadia, leader of Vishwa Hindu Parishad (VHP).

Are we, the average citizens, morons? At least, that's the impression I get from speeches of the Thackerays and the Togadias.

The Tailors of Chittoor Part 3

2008-10-22T10:30:00.009+05:30

With a week to go for Diwali, my mom broke the news: 'Go to dad's office and pick up the cash. We are shopping for your trousers today!' She said. It was a second Saturday and a holiday for me. She was happy for me. She had convinced dad that she didn't want anything for Diwali, as she had a new Saree; a gift from her sister.
'Where are we going shopping? Shoba Paradise?' I asked her.
'They are expensive da kanna. We'll go to Setty's shop in Greamspet?' She said, cajoling me. It meant we were going to buy a pant 'piece' and have a trouser stitched out of it by none other than Balaji, the master stylist and self-proclaimed fashion aficionado. I could live that I thought.
Dad's office was some two kilometers from home. I had to walk to the Colony gate to catch a bus. I normally got down at the MSR cinema stop and walked up to my dad's office next to the RTO's office on Darga road. I was giddy with excitement. A million thoughts raged in my head. A trouser meant that Vachi will no longer look at me as a 'boy'. That reminded me about that Rose. It would bloom in another couple of days. I realised that some girl on a gleaming BSA SLR bicycle was screaming my name. Vachi! She was riding a brand new girl's bicycle. The vermilion and sandalwood paste dots on the cycle were probably still wet.
'Got it today! Appa's gift!' She gushed and rang the bell 'trrngggg'. I looked around if people were watching us. I didn't want to give more ammunition to Tailor Balaji. That's how small town romances worked. All hush-hush. Only, there was no romance here. Just a boy and a girl meeting up on the road and we still were not old enough to worry about prying eyes. She was wearing a purple dress that contrasted her lemony complexion. There was that sparkle in her eyes. And of course, the Gokul Santol fragrance filled my lungs. I was happy that I met her but something was tugging at my heart, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. I wanted my dad to buy me a cycle. But I knew it was not going to happen. I mean I almost had to hire a lawyer to fight my case for a pair of trousers.
'Where are you going da Kutty?' She asked. She was the only one, other than my parents, that called me by my nickname.
'I am going to my dad's office. To pick up cash. We are going shopping today for clothes.'
'Hey! That's wonderful. So you are getting your trousers? Your mother was telling mine how you were adamant about it.'

I cursed my mom for letting out my personal information to, of all the people, Vachi's mom.

'I want to be the first person outside of your family to see you clad in trousers da Kutty. I will never talk to you if show your trousers to someone else first.' She said.

That was the first time, in the two years I had been friends with her, she had said something like that. Something personal and intimate. I liked the idea of her having a 'right' on me. I smiled.

She rang that god awful, shrill bell again and said 'Bye da. I have to show off my cycle to my girl friends.'

I said 'bye' and started walking when she called out again.

'Hey, do you want to borrow my cycle?' She said.

The sun was behind her. She was the world's best silhouette. I wanted to say no. One, I didn't want to be spotted riding a girl's cycle. Two, it was her brand new cycle, which she got probably a few hours back.
'No Vachi. I'll take the bus...' I said.
'Why are you treating me like a third person?' She yelled.
I looked around to see if anyone caught that intensely personal remark. I didn't know what happened to my girl that day. She was being all mush. It was new to me. She was never like that. Personal and demanding. She was always the girl with pigtails, who liked to play silly games. But that day she was being, um, one of them, you know... Women!

'Ok! Ok! Stop screaming. I will take your cycle. Are you sure? Your folks won't be mad at you?'

'Don't worry about that. I will wait for you in Sreelakshmi's house.' Sreelakshmi, her classmate lived in the lane right behind her house.

Somewhere at the back of my head I felt it was a bad idea. But I could not say no to her. So I took her cycle and was on my way to dad's office. I stopped at Balaji's tailor shop. He raised his eyebrows and said 'Whose cycle is that da Madraas!' I ignored his question and told him that I will be giving him the trouser cloth and that I wanted the trousers a day before Diwali.
'Don't worry da. I will deliver it two days before Diwali.'
I stood there staring at him cut cloth. The Scissors made a lovely, smooth sound as it cut through the cloth 'Katchikk'.

'This is my first pair of trousers nnaa. Please make it memorable for me.' I pleaded. He stopped cutting, dropped his scissors, and patted my face. He was moved I guess, with my melodrama.
'Don't worry da Madras. I promise, you'll remember me all your life.' [...to be contd]

SimplyMarry.com is a Spam Site

2008-10-16T14:03:00.002+05:30

Out of the blue I started getting mails about 'matches' for my profile in SimplyMarry.com, A IndiaTimes site. I never registered on the site. So I followed instructions and sent a mail to unsubscribe@simplymarry.com. Even that didn't stop the spamming. So I called their Call Center and the staff their told me that 'Someone must have registered on your behalf. I will send your password. You tell me the password and I will delete your profile.' He also explained that he can't see my password hence he is having the site send it to me. When asked 'what is the point of having an 'unsubscribe' feature, he obviously did not have an answer. He told me that he has deleted my account and I won't be getting mails after 'a week'.

Either people at IndiaTimes think people are dumb and they are really smart. They actually think they can get away with this spamming. Why do business houses get away with such atrocities just like politicians get away with murder in our country is something that baffles me.

What do you think I should do?

While we hang our heads in shame...

2008-09-30T10:14:00.003+05:30

"My appeals to the policemen who were standing nearby and watching only resulted in further beating. At one point the nun slipped away to plead with the police for help but she was dragged back by the mob and her blouse torn," he said. The nun was gang raped in a nearby building, and he was doused with kerosene by the mob, which threatened to set him on fire. [Via The Hindu]

If we turn a blind-eye, it will come back to haunt us. It is such acts of barbarity that widens the divide. I don't want to get into the argument about how some missions are forcing conversions. There is no excuse for raping women, like there is none for killing innocent people in the name of Jihad. Hinduism as I know it does not condone it. We were taught to worship women. And look what the so called Hindutva torch-bearers did: they gang raped a nun, with cops as witnesses. Now pray tell me, if our cops can't stop a rape, how in the god's name are they going to save us from terrorists and their bombs?

If you think about it for a moment you'll understand how a bigot can exploit this terrible situation. It is easier than ever before to hate us Hindus. If we turn a blind-eye, it will come back to haunt us. Remember Gujrat? We are still paying for it. Do you think our children should pay for Gujrat too? I don't think so.

What is appalling is discovering fundamentalist, religious rhetoric from blue-collar voices. Like I always said, education does not teach you civic sense, culture, or tolerance. I am hurt. I am ashamed. I hang my head low today. I probably will for a long time.

Scaly Breasted Munia

2008-09-30T08:57:00.001+05:30

The Tailors of Chittoor Part 2

2008-09-16T06:46:00.029+05:30

Continued from Part 1:
Diwali was on November 2nd. They were dismantling the huge shelter, at the entrance of our colony, they'd built for the Dasarra festivities. Strangely, the weather was cold. It was seven in the morning. I was walking down to the entrance where I had to catch a town-bus to school. The cold air caressed my legs. Balaji Tailors were open early that day. On an impulse, I walked into the shop and found Balaji and his assistant laboring away. Balaji was probably 27 or 28. A tall, lanky chap with soft hair and naughty eyes. I did not like his mooch though. That was probably because I was not able to grow one. There was a huge teak-wood table at the entrance and under its glasstop, Balaji's collection of all those newspaper cuttings and ads from magazines stared at me. I stared at those models wearing those trousers cut by angels. Oh those pleats and the baggy cut! I was not sure if Balaji could make a trouser like those in the ads. I have heard of guys complaining about crotch-smothering trousers and about how Balaji always defended "That's what you asked for! I followed your instructions." I thought of hiring the services of Hi-fashion Tailors or MegaStar Tailors in the town. But, they were expensive and they won't take my order in the first place: they were too busy during Diwali time. I sighed and looked at Raju, the assistant stitching buttons on a flouroscent orange shirt. Whoever the owner of that shirt was, he was definitely brave. Raju bit the loose ends of the thread and spat out.

"Ennadaa Madras, when are you giving your clothes for stitching? I am busy already. If you want yours by Diwali, hurry up. Tell your dad." Balaji said. The 'Takai' Tape Recorder was playing some shitty song. Any song on that thing would sound awful, that's another thing.

"Get yourself some Spun material. I will make a nice baggy trouser for you." He said and pointed to a model under the glass on the table. "That's the one I am talking about." 'Yeah. Yeah. Sure!' I thought.

He was a smooth operator all right. Rumor had it that he had moved to our colony because he was thrown out from the center of town: he was getting naughty with the girls . He was a good looker and definitely had the charm. I had seen so many girls spend hours standing outside, behind the glass-top table and laugh even when Balaji sneezed.

"How is your girl friend da?" Balaji asked. A big grin creased his otherwise flawless face. This was his favorite theme to tease me.

"Get lost!" I said. How the hell do these guys figure out these secrets I wondered. I had feelings for her but I hadn't told anyone. Not even to my close friends!

"She is not my girl friend okay anna? Don't say such things again." I said.

"Okay! But she asked about you. You are not in the same section I see? She is in 8th A? Yeah, she was asking me if you gave your clothes..."
I jumped on it. "When? When? When? What did she ask? Was she alone..." and he started laughing. The retard Raju was also laughing unmindful of the spittle spraying on that orange shirt.
"Get lost nnaa!" I said and ran from there.
"Give your clothes fast da!" He yelled out.

I reached the arch at the entrance of the colony and No. 4 'Vedam' arrived with it musical horn. 'Paapa-peen-peen-pa. PaBaaaan!' I jumped into the bus from the driver's end and waved at Qadir behind the wheel. He had a permanent smile creasing his awkward face and the pronounced, firm jaw added a steely aura to his demeanor. He nodded and winked. I settled down in one of the front seats and rummaged through my pockets for change to buy the ticket. I was wondering why Qadir had winked.
"Ah, rey-rey" the conductor gave his signal and banged that bell. I took the money out. The bus had not moved. Probably someone was coming. I turned towards the colony and found her running.
The sun caressed her golden face. She looked stunning even in that stupid Green and white uniform. I looked at Qadir and was surprised that he was looking at me with a knowing smile. Why was the world being so nice to me, I wondered.

She jumped in, saw me, and sat next to me. She was gasping for breath. The bus moved.
"Thank you da!" She said. She thought I'd stopped the bus. I did not tell her the truth. When the world was being nice to you, you enjoy the ride. Her arm was grazing against mine. Her hair was neatly combed back. Two really cute clips stood proud at the front. A dash of ash (Vibuthi) right beneath the black bindi, in some weird way made her look hot. The fragrance of Gokul Santol Talcum powder filled my lungs. Vasanthi a.k.a Vachi was a beautiful girl.

I knew her from sixth standard. We were family friends apparently. The moms met often. When my mom made a special dish, my mom would send a portion of it to them. Her mom too reciprocated but not as often. I hated the way her mom looted our Curry leaves tree. The tree was bald now, thanks to Vachi's mom. I was planning to give the first bloom from our new Rose plant to Vachi. I wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do.
[...to be contd]

The Right to Stupidity

2008-09-10T11:53:00.005+05:30

I wonder why we can't make Cigarettes, Bidis, and Ghutka illegal. A little Googling reveals that the government does not have the guts to do so:

The Indian government considers Tobacco as a legal, agricultural product.
Cigarettes contribute nearly 10 per cent of total excise to the exchequer. [Link]
The Indian government has invested 33% in equity holdings of India's main tobacco companies. [Link]
Tobacco industry gets every type of subsidy from A to Z and from Z to A -- agriculture, seeds, transport, water, electricity, the works. The total estimates have never been calculated.[ Link]
ITC alone employs more than 20,000 people. So, if we made Cigarettes illegal, thousands of people will lose their livelihood. The government obviously does not want to get into this issue.
Other than that, the bulk of India's domestic consumption of tobacco is in the form of chewing tobacco or smoking bidis. Because Bidis and other forms of Tobacco products are largely in the unorganized sector (and can't be brought under the tax net) the government screws the Cigarette smokers, who amount to only 13% of all tobacco smokers (see link) and pay 55% tax on every cigarette they buy. There is no way we are banning Cigarettes or declaring Tobacco as an illegal product.

Our Honorable Health Minister has hogged a lot of media coverage, thanks to his high-profile, high-visibility campaign against Tobacco consumption.
CNN-IBN quotes him:

"Right now the fine is Rs 200 rupees, but soon we want to make it Rs 1,000 for individuals and Rs 5,000 for institutions that are allowing this," said Ramadoss.

And, we all know about his public tiffs with Bollywood celebrities. To make his case, he comes up with statistics. He says "13 per cent children in the age group of 13-16 years consume tobacco." Yes sir, that is very sad. What is the remedy to it? Make a law, like in the USA, where one can't buy smokes unless he or she provides an identification and age proof. Now, you might laugh and say 'hey that is impossible to enforce in our country.' I agree. But so is the public smoking ban that will come into effect on October 2nd.

Some reports state that enforcing a ban on smoking has given positive results in developed countries. I am not against ban on smoking in public places mind you. My angst is that our Health Minister is doing this for publicity. There are graver health-care issues facing us.

A UNICEF report says:

With over 240 million children under the age of five, India contributes 25 percent of the world’s child deaths. It is evident that a major turnaround in India will ensure a significant impact globally!"
"The message of hope in this challenging scenario is that a vast majority of children can be saved through a combination of good care, nutrition, and medical treatment. It is believed that other easy measures could prevent 90% of diarrhea deaths, 62% of pneumonia deaths, 100% measles deaths 92% malaria deaths, 44% HIV/AIDS deaths and 52% neonatal fatalities."

We are a different country. Statistics and research from the so called developed countries are not entirely relevant to us. The tobacco consumer profile is unique in India. The health minister should be forming his anti-tobacco/anti-smoking policies based on ground realities and not on some fancy report from the West. And, he should be saving our dying children instead of trying to save idiots that smoke out of their free will. An adult smokes knowing fully well that it is harmful. That is his liberty. It is impractical and silly to play the big daddy and think for every goddamned adult in this country.
We voted for you sir but we'd like it if you stopped poking your nose in our personal lives. Stop shopkeepers selling smokes to kids and leave the adults of this country alone. If an idiot chooses to die, he will. Ban or not. I am an idiot and I know it. And, I have the right to be an idiot, as long as I am not enroaching on someone else's liberty.

The Angry Young Teacher

2008-09-05T12:06:00.008+05:30

Everyone was scared of Suresh sir. The new science graduate from PVKN College, Chittoor. His explosive temper was almost legendary. Even Mallik, the Correspondent of Anita Tutorials avoided confrontations with Suresh. The lady teachers though had little to worry about. Suresh was nice to them, especially to pretty lady teachers. I kept a very low profile in the Tutorials. Especially in Physics and Math classes which Suresh taught. We were five of us in the 9th standard classes (English Medium). One pretty girl and four boys. And I was the shorty of the class. As you may have already read elsewhere, I wore 'Knickers' or Shorts to school as well as the Tutorials. The other guys wore trousers. Shaved daily. And looked like men. Probably were having sex too on a regular basis. I, on the other hand, hanged with the 7th standard boys, played marbles, read Disney, and sat in the front bench. I looked the part I must admit but the three guys didn't give a shit about me as I posed no threat: I was not in the race to win that girl's heart. I was her kid brother's friend. Sigh!

I was happy with my uneventful life until the day Suresh started Magnetism classes. I had read up and researched on it earlier and I couldn't keep my mouth shut. While he was explaining the basics of Magnetism, I just put my hand up and finished the class for him. Now, I am no geek. It was just a coincidence that I knew Magnetism better than my entire class. It was an aberration. My family celebrated everytime I scored more than 35% in math. But Suresh thought I had potential. Our Tam-Bram connection too probably made him pay attention to me, I don't know!

"Dey Soplangi, when did you study about Electron spin and all?" Suresh said.

I looked around. My heart was racing. My nails dug into my clenched, perspiring fists. I unclenched my fists and rested my hands on the coarse floor. I wanted to take a leak. I was resting so much on my hands that my crossed-legs slightly lifted. Iyengar yoga I guess.
I wanted to say something cool. Something that told the arrogant bastards in my class who I was. And, of course, I wanted this moment to change the way Mini (the solitary girl in the class) looked at me: I wanted to graduate to 'my friend' from 'my thumb-sucking kid bro's friend'. But all that came out was

"Eyouhaahazti?"

The sniggering echoed against the unpolished, jagged walls of the room. Mini looked uninterested. She was busy poring through the text book.

"Enna daa? Muttaal! Say something coherent" Suresh said.

I took a deep breath and said,

"I read up on it. Sir..."

"Very good." Suresh said and turned to the losers and Mini and said, "I'd appreciate that kind of proactive learning. Don't study only to crack exams. Study to know. Your Physics book can be as exciting as Desmond Bagley's The Golden Keel."

An uncomfortable vacuum developed. All of them wore blank stares as if saying 'What the fuck was that? Golden Keel?"

Suresh turned to me and raised his eyebrows and said
"Dey Asamanjam, do you know who Desmond Bagley is?"

That was familiar territory, all right. I was one of the two guys, in our class at schoool, that read English novels back then. And, my family physician had a small library. It had James Hadley Chase (with newspaper covers to hide those lovely, revealing women on the covers), Alistair Mclean, and of course The Golden Keel.

"That's a novel about Mussolini's hidden treasure and how a group of adventurers smuggle it out of Italy, using the keel of a ship..." I said. My chest expanded by some 40 meters.

Suresh stared at me. A crooked smile was creasing his bespectacled face. I noticed the green veins on his muscular forehand. He punched walls to strengthen his punches. Some of his thick, unruly hair stuck to his forehead. A trickle of sweat drifted down his side-locks. He was still staring with that 'Unfuckingbelievable!' smile stuck on his face. I glanced around. The boys were already packing their bags. And, Mini was smiling at me!

"Not bad at all!" He ended the staring and said.

I wanted to tell him that I was not exactly one of those studious and/or brilliant wankers that aced all their exams and went on to become engineers or doctors. I was in school because my dad wanted me in it. I hated school. I was not a complete dufus all right but I wasn't Krishna (our class topper, another shorty) or Ramesh (topper from 9th C). He slapped my back with his Pop-eye arms and said,
"Class dismissed." The other boys slithered out of the class. Their worried faces told me that they knew, they now had new, tougher competition. Mini stayed back to edit her essay with Suresh's help. I was about to take off when Suresh said, "Dey wait, I need to talk to you." I slammed my brakes and I stood there like E.T. in a bowling alley. Mini had expressive eyes. She had a way of animating with her arms. Like when she asked a question, her outstretched palm too asked it... almost like a classical dancer. I was salivating at her and before long she finished her essay discussion and left. I thought she flashed a smile at me but it was probably my imagination.

Suresh was busy stacking up some papers on the shelf behind his desk. We were in the office room now. He switched the table fan on and settled down on his chair.
"Sit da!" He yelled.
I sat at the edge of the chair.

"What else do you read?" Suresh asked.
I stopped playing with the paperweight and told him about Chase, Mclean, Tintin, Asterix, and of course Disney. I also told him about how I read anything and everything. About my disagreements with Yendamuri. About how Yerramsetty Sai copied Wodehouse. He did not utter a word through it all. When I ended my chatter he said.
"You don't want to be an engineer, no?"
I gulped. It was like swallowing a Cricket ball. If I said 'no' and he went and told that to my dad, that would be a catastrophe. I blinked and made some incoherent noises.

"It is okay if you don't want to be one. At least you know what you don't want da. Look at me, my dad wants me to study engineering after my BSc and I have no choice. I have to do it. You don't know my dad. Hitler never died. He came to Chittoor and married my mom."

I nodded. Hmmm. Even teachers suffer from dads. He continued.

"Your dad seems a man of reason da. So tell him what you want to do. Set his expectations. You still have time."

I nodded in agreement.

"You got talent da Soplaangi. Make use of it when you have time. Have a dream and pursue it." We spoke for some more time. He treated me like an equal. He wanted me to read Ayn Rand (I will never forgive him for doing that to me. That was death by prose!)

That was that. As he pedaled away on his Bicycle down the slope, I felt a strange pain. I wrote my first novella in a 200 page notebook that night. I wrote till 2 A.M. When I finished scribbling 'The End' and closed the notebook, I knew that Suresh sir was indirectly responsible for unleashing another wannabe writer.

I never did any of what he asked me to do. I did miserably in school and college. I never bothered. But his words from that day made a lasting impact. He was the first person who told me I was good. That I was talented. I don't know if I am, but I believed in him. I believe in myself. He probably forgot all about me. He probably forgot our conversation in the next hour. But, to me, it was a start. I don't know how you tell a good teacher from the ordinary, but I know now. A good teacher makes you believe. That, and only that counts.

Happy Teachers' day.

The Tailors of Chittoor Part 1

2008-09-02T16:52:00.000+05:30

Winter was just around the corner and my folks finally agreed to get me full pants (or trousers as they are known now). My dad found it inconceivable that an 8th standard kid should be wearing trousers.

'I wore half pants in PUC!' He exclaimed every time I raised the topic. I am sure your dad wore loin-cloth in college I used to think. Almost all the boys (but for Koya I think) had graduated to trousers. The peer pressure was tremendous. Stonewash Jeans. Classic Denim. Baggy trousers. And I was the odd boy out. The sore thumb. The front bencher.

A trouser those days (new clothes in general) was a costly affair and it was indeed a luxury for us. Readymade branded wear had yet to make a splash in Chittoor. Shobha Paradise had just started advertising their ready-wear in Gurunadha Talkies I think. Before Diwali though, Shobha Paradise intensified their marketing promos. They hired auto-rickshaws fitted with those loudspeakers (those cone-shaped monsters, yeah) and sent the auto around. The ad man sat in the back, next to the PA equipment and between stanzas of Chiranjeevi songs, shouted out the script: "Shoba Paradise! Visit today! Shoba Paradise, sirrrr!" I suspected that it was the same guy that hawked Ginger confectionery at the bus stand (Inji maraabbbbbbbbbaa!, sirrr!). Every time the promo auto passed our street, I used to stare at the display hoardings stuck to the auto on the sides; at those kids clad in with a million pleats and imagined myself walking into my class, clad in those trousers and a baggy t-shirt.

I gave up on my dad and started pestering mom. It took me a week to convince her to try convincing dad. A few days later, my dad summoned me after dinner. He was sitting in the Verandah, drowned in the old wooden chair that creaked everytime you moved. Mohd Rafi was singing a soul stirring melody (Ab kya Misaal dhoon...) in the Philips radio. Despite the static, Rafi sounded like God. A couple of moths were flying around in the Verandah. A dirty 60W filament lamp was struggling to keep the dark at bay. And I could hear the strains of Ghantasala's Bhagavadgita from afar; the Durga temple at the entrance of our colony was playing it. Some over enthusiastic kids were already bursting crackers. Diwali was still a week away.
'This Diwali we'll get you trousers along with half-pants da.' Dad said.

I was confused.
'Daddy, I don't want to wear half-pants anymore. I am only growing older if you didn't notice? Even Koya has decided to quit half-pants... It will be very embarrassing for me, no?'

My father grunted and sighed and mumbled something under his breath. He looked up at the noisy fan and told my mom 'We need to clean the blades, borrow the ladder from the landlord.'

I bit my lip and started slapping my sides. Dad finally cleared his throat and said,
'What I meant was, we'll buy you new half-pants and I wanted you to alter one of my old trousers and start using it...'
I shot a glance to my mom and she shrugged hinting her helplessness. I wanted to scream.
'So I guess that is fine then?' dad asked.
'....'
'What?'
'No dad, I don't want the half-pants. I want a new trouser.'

His head rose from the newspaper and through his thick-glass spectacles his eyes started drilling holes on me.
'It will cost you only a little more... come on, please.' I pleaded.

There was a long pause. An irritating pause. He knew I was restless and anxious, yet he chose to mind-hump me by pausing for an eternity and talking about cleaning the ceiling fan. I was staring at the alarm clock in the hall . It tick-tocked away, while mom was cutting Spinach. My dad snapped the newspaper straight for the 34000th time and did his grunting routine again. Every penny counted for him. Every extra penny meant compromise. The festival advance that the government gave its non-gazetted officers wouldn't buy all the boys (we were three) loin cloth. I was feeling guilty but I chose to ignore it, for exposing your hairy legs brought with it something even worse: ridicule. And I was ready to go on the guilt trip. I wanted my trousers, for my knickers were in a twist.

The Great Himalayan Bird Count 2008

2008-08-27T10:45:00.001+05:30

Prateek posted this on the BNG Birds Yahoo Mailing List. If you are a birder, you wouldn't want to miss this:

The Great Himalayan Bird Count, Winter of 2008 is planned on the most popular trekking trails situated in the valleys of Yamuna; Bhagirithi; Bhilingna; Ganga; Mandakini and Alaknanda rivers in Garhwal.

- The Bird Count Dates are: 14th to 17th of November, 2008

- The bird count will start and finish at Dehradun

- We propose 15 Groups undertaking 34 different treks of +/- 10 kms each between 14th and 17th November 2008 (Each Group size will be a maximum of five birders plus 2-3 urban school students) local village youths and govt. school students will join the trails at the
count destinations itself.

- We are involving young school children because we at ARCH feel that young minds should start thinking of Conservation as an academic and career pursuit instead of just another constructive activity.

- This event will be organized with the support of Uttarakhand Forest Department.

- There will be a Orientation and Debriefing Workshop at Dehradun on the 14th & 17th respectively.

- The 14th & 17th are also the dates for to-&-fro journey to the count destinations.

- Most of the groups will be undertaking two treks during the Count but one or two groups will be undertaking 3-4 treks in the Count.

- It is an encounter-rate baseline data generation and conservation awareness activity.

- Each group will accommodate some local youths and young school children from the area and will provide orientation & motivation to take-up bird watching as an revenue generation skill.

- Each group is encouraged to conduct a small half-hour workshop with the local village elders to generate list of vernacular names of the bird species found in different river valleys. They are also expected to document any references occurring in oral folk.

- This is not a commercial activity, so we expect the participants to share the cost of lodging, Boarding & travel expenses at actuals.

- During the count modest lodging & boarding will be arranged at the Forest Rest Houses of the area.

Friends now you know the dates, so plan your schedules accordingly and kindly let un know of your intention (with your trekking & birding experience of Himalayan bird species) to participate in this wonderful birding opportunity at the earliest possible.

Kindly take an early Registration initiative to avoid any disappointments later.

Each Group size is restricted to 5 birders only, so please hurry...

On hearing from you we'll furnish the Count Trails and Registration Details at the outset.

Our next count "The Great Himalayan Bird Count, Summer of 2009" in Garhwal Himalayas is happening in May 2009.

Regards,
Prateek Panwar
Founder Trustee ARCH
Action & Research for Conservation in Himalayas
MDDA Duplex Villa # 3, Sahastradhara Road,
Dehradun, Uttarakhand 248001 INDIA

Tel# 9412054216
(0135)2114649
Email: arch.birdcount (at) gmail (dot) com
arch.birdcount(at)yahoo(dot)in

Oriental Magpie Robin

2008-08-25T20:54:00.000+05:30

On an overcast day in Siddhapur, Coorg, I was sitting around lamenting over the weather and bad light and this angel swung by to make my day. Did I grab the opportunity and make the most of it? No. Chromatic aberration screwed the pic.

When the Universe Unfolds...

2008-08-11T18:39:00.003+05:30

The universe works in weird ways. The markets are looking up. We won a Gold in Olympics. That's fucking historic. You know? The medal I mean. The markets were buoyant because of the medal? I would love to think so but I know not many would like to believe me. But, I believe this day is a turnaround day for the country my fellow citizens. Drink a 90. Celebrate. Savor the moment.

P.S. Abhinav Bhindra is very, very cool. I love his unruffled, cool demeanor. God, man! he made it look like he got his monthly haircut and was walking out bored! Hats off sir!

Subramaniapuram

2008-08-07T10:31:00.002+05:30

A laid back suburb of Madurai. A gang of friends that have no (real) jobs. A politician. A girl. The rich, rural 80s life. And, um, violence. Yeah. That sums it up. Is that it? No. The 80s backdrop is what makes the movie Subramaniapuram intriguing and watchable. I hear quite a few disapproving groans out there, but to me the movie started with a lot of promise and fizzled out in the second half. The 80s backdrop alone is not enough to make it a cohesive story. But boy did I love the 80s theme! Director Sasi Kumar uses Ilayaraja's music cleverly to tap into your nostalgia. I have to take my hat off for the attention to detail Sasikumar pays in creating the 80s theme. And I don't know why, but I love that girl. I love the way she rolls her eyes while flirting with the hero. Her face lights up with a thousand titillating tales. This girl's got a future Jack. Mark my words. Unless she is devoured by the mediocrity that ails our movie makers. The boys in the movie are, well, ordinary. Don't want to waste screen space on them. I really hope that one day they learn to act and not talk like drunk Langurs.

James Vasanth's music is dreamy and poignant. But of course. He uses a lot of material from Ilayaraja. That song Kangal Irundhal is a take off on Chinna Kannan Azhaikiraan. Me thinks.

Sasikumar, how does a jobless, infatuated youth turn into a monster? He needs strong motivation. I am from a violent small town and I know how it was. But it takes a lot for one to become a killer. The excuse of 'they made me beg for my life from a woman' does not stick sir and is cliched. You became lazy or you were too anxious to finish your script. What kind of a love affair is that? The hero doesn't even want to hold her hand? Ganja Karuppu's character does not stick either. Sometimes a simple closure is the best way out, instead of scrounging for, and ending up with, a brittle 'twist-in-the-tale' closure that is as convincing as lipstick on a pig.

I don't agree with people complaining about the gore and the violence. What the fuck! The real world is worse. If you really don't like gore, close your eyes when the scene arrives. And shut up.

P.S. I am glad this new breed of directors is trying to tell captivating stories unlike the so called veterans like KamalHassan. Kamal has become self-congratulatory and suffers from a serious case of delusion. I hope this new breed does not succumb to the hypocrisy of Kodambakkam. Good luck gentlemen.

For a litter-free Nandi Hills

2008-07-21T08:50:00.002+05:30

A few of us have planned to clean up Nandi Hills... and attempt to make it stay clean. We're planning to swarm and clean the place on August 2nd. You can find the details at :
http://cleannandihills.wordpress.com/

If you're interested in joining this exercise, register online at http://spreadsheets.google.com/ccc?key=pcg6l1lkoIvWHV7LIScCKMA&hl=en

More Birds of Chennai

2008-07-16T10:38:00.002+05:30

Went birding in Adyar Poonga again and I am still amazed that I found such a rich variety of birds, bang in the middle of the city.

Rose Ringed Parakeet

Shikra

See more pics from Adyra Poonga

White Cheeked Barbet

2008-06-03T10:05:00.002+05:30

Got this guy in Cubbon Park. This is actually a very common bird. Every time you hear 'coottrrrr-coottrrrr' from atop a tree nearby, yeah, it is him making that heart-wrenching call.

Recipes for the bachelor

2008-05-27T12:03:00.002+05:30

Preran's blog on recipes. Interesting! If you are one of those guys, bachelor or otherwise, that fancy cooking, there are some interesting recipes there. Preran, after a while you can publish a book for bachelors and help them see beyond Maggi?

Raj Thackeray Logic: Throw the Maharashtrians out of Bangalore!

2008-05-26T17:35:00.004+05:30

After attacking migrants from UP and Bihar, Maharashtra Navnirman Sena leader Raj Thackeray has now trained his guns at a growing number of North Indian students coming to Pune for higher education.

"Pune, with its large number of reputed universities and institutions imparting higher education is attracting students from these states who are being given admissions on massive donations leaving in the lurch the deserving Marathi aspirants," he said at a party rally held here on Sunday night, defying police ban.

[Via The Hindu]
So Raj, can we go ahead and deport all Maharashtrian software engineers from Bangalore? I am not for it but going by your logic, looks like Bangalore has to lose the Maharashtrians. What!? Raj, I can't hear you? Can you talk after you finishing chomping on your Vada Pav?

Sudish Kamat breaks up with Chiyyaan Vikram

2008-05-20T20:04:00.004+05:30

Sudish Kamath is pissed off with actor Vikram. Now, I don't know either of them personally but the way his post panned out, accusing Vikram of being a self-congratulatory, hot-headed asshole, I am left to assume that Sudish is washing dirty underwear in public. Sudish tries hard to couch his raving but his eloquence (or the lack of it thereof) does not come to his rescue. So he tries to hide behind journalistic ethos. A good, principled journo is one who does not tell us that Sudish.

I have a question, if Sudish had picked up an altercation with one of his buddies, not someone famous, but an ordinary Joe, would Sudish have gone on to post a letter on his blog? You tell. So the cynic in me tells me that Sudish is trying to gain some sympathy, some popularity... but you know what? This is going to blow up on his face. That said, Sudish need not have gone on the 'friend' trip when he is actually pissed off. Sudish you are trying to steal his shoes while licking his feet. Make up your mind. You want the shoes or his feet? There is nothing called half a fuck my friend. See how the Kollywood strikes back. Don't you know what happened to Aachi Manorama? And you think you can get away with this.

Now, wait Sudish. I am not a fan of Vikram. I don't know him personally. I don't know you. And, I think you write like a stuck up virgin 70 year old man. Can you take this criticism and not lose your cool? Heh!

Monkey Mother

2008-05-19T13:05:00.001+05:30

She was impassive as I clicked away. She just stared at me. Poignant!

The 3 Mistakes of My Life

2008-05-15T10:34:00.006+05:30

'The biggest selling English language novelist in India's history' says the cover of The 3 Mistakes of My Life, Chetan Bhagat's new novel. In the Acknowledgments page he writes, 'However, I don't want to be India's most admired writer. I just want to be India's most loved writer.' By 'admired' he meant 'respected' I think.
In the same page he starts off with 'To Shinie Antony...' and goes about listing all the people that helped him BUT he does not say what he wanted to say. It is just a list of people. Who is your editor Chetan?

I told myself that I will not start judging the book even before I read it. But I can't help it.

I don't want to talk about Bhagat's writing skills. I am even willing to forgive the lapse on page 3 of the story. He will admit himself that his prose is not something to write home about. Let's talk storytelling. His story is based in Ahmedabad. His characters talk like they are in Boston though. Where is the local flavor Chetan? Guys, even those that want to be seen as hip, don't talk like 'Sure, Ish could not make his dream of being in the Indian Cricket team real.' I know, you mean 'Ish could not realise his dream...' If someone smashes my face, I will not ask 'What's wrong with you?' I will punch him back or run away or at least scream my lungs off. But I definitely won't inquire about my attacker's state of mind.

Chetan don't be carried away by Bollywood. You probably think it is a shrewd idea to package Cricket and Religion in a tale. It is probably clever, I don't know, but to spin a tale, any tale, you need to get the basics ~~write~~ right. I want to identify with your characters. I don't expect a Gujju boy to sound like a foul-mouthed, prepubescent American. I am sure Gujju boys use a lot more 'behen chod' or 'madar chod' than 'fuck'. I hazard a guess that not many in that small town use 'dude'. My point is that I could not see the old city in Ahmedabad. The net effect was that your characters lack life and depth. They sound like Bollywood characters.

So how does one bring the local, vernacular flavor to a tale written in English? Find key phrases, ideas... hooks that will instantly make your reader relate to your story. For example, if you wrote a story based in Chennai about the same characters. You are better off writing 'Otha stop it da machan' than 'What the fuck! Stop it dude!' That's a crude example, but I hope you see my point.

Chetan you know what the three mistakes of your life are now? Don't you?

I wonder, when an American critic picks up the novel, and spots the line on page 3 'We ran out the house' what will she think about us Indian readers? All right it is a typo but dude, but what the fuck?

Here's a review by The Mint. Taneesha, learn what a possessive pronoun is first before you write shit like "Its not when New York Times describes him as the biggest selling English language author..."
Long live mediocrity!

SharePod

2008-05-08T15:02:00.003+05:30

Want to copy music from your Ipod? I know. I know. All the tracks in your Pod are renamed by Itunes. How do you copy and retain track, album, and artist names?
Simple. Get SharePod. Small footprint. Easy to use. Effective. Brilliant!

Note: SharePod needs the Microsoft .NET 2 Framework to work correctly.

Honesty Pays. And How!

2008-05-08T12:55:00.001+05:30

See for yourself

The Fall of the Sparrow

2008-05-07T15:00:00.002+05:30

A year later, however, an ornithological survey conducted by the Indian Council of Agricultural Research confirmed birdwatchers' worst fears: the sparrow population in Andhra Pradesh alone had dropped by 80 per cent, and in other states like Kerala, Gujarat and Rajasthan, it had dipped by 20 per cent, while the decline in coastal areas was as sharp as 70 to 80 per cent.

Here we go again Chennai!

2008-05-06T11:42:00.003+05:30

This time is it is the outfit that Mallika Sherawat wore during the release of Dasavatharam's music. It seems some self-proclaimed guardians of the so called Tamil culture tried lodging a complaint against Mallika. But the cops refused to accept the complaint saying it is impossible to enforce a dress-code. Oh really? Ask the students of Anna University sirs. Also see the FrontLine piece. Scary!

Now the cynic in me tells me that the cops are doing this because the Chief Minister too shared the stage with Mallika.

Let us, for a moment, think that the guardians of Tamil morality are right... then, they need to burn all the weekly Tamil magazines. I kid you not, but every magazine that's worth its name carries pictures of skimpily clad actors. Every week!

Strange but these guardians of morality do not seem to have a problem with actors baring skin in Tamil movies (which are very high on Tamil culture). Why are we being such hypocrites!

Youmint.com deletes my account finally

2008-05-05T16:37:00.003+05:30

You signed up for youmint.com. Imported your contacts from gmail or Orkut and sent invites to your friends. Suddenly, your friends start screaming at you 'What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you sending the same youmint invite 10 times!' Shock laga?
I was stunned too when a few of my friends started mailing me inquiring why I was spamming them.

So I promptly wrote to all the mail ids listed in their 'contact us' page and asked them to delete my account; there is no option on youmint.com to delete your account. Somebody did call me from youmint and assured me that the spamming will stop. But it didn't. So I lost my patience and blogged about it. And, that post now comes up in the first results page on Google when you search for youmint.com or youmint.

:-) and their top boss one Mr. Ankush called and spoke to me. Today I received a mail from them saying that my a/c has been deleted. Ankush also promised to add to their FAQ list on 'how to delete my youmint account'

I'll have to admit that folks at youmint are quite serious about customer care but it'd have been better if only they had paid attention to design. That's another story.

P.S. youmint.com whois

Weekend Birding

2008-05-03T12:11:00.003+05:30

It was him! the Egret said pointing to the aquabatic Cormorant. This rather weird bird was hanging around with a family of ducks and when he was not, he was fishing in the lalbagh lake. He was careless enough to not spot a juicy water snake that swam right under his nose.

This diminutive bird of prey is supposed to be shy;at least during daytime according to popular belief. But this guy was almost shameless. He or she stared at me as I clicked away. For good measure, the bird turned so I could get a good view of the beautiful face.
More pics on my flickr space

Ubuntu Ahoy! The Wubi Revolution

2008-04-28T11:04:00.012+05:30

Note: The points I discuss here are applicable mostly when you want to install Ubuntu alongside Windows XP (dual boot).
I was curious about a Linux Desktop OS. I have heard so much about Ubuntu. A few months earlier I did try to install it on my Windows XP box but the whole partition thing overwhelmed me; I did not want my curiosity to kill my box. So I left it at that. I recently upgraded my computer. Bid goodbye to my old, wheezing CPU (R.I.P ol' boy!) and got me self a new one (AMD 64-bit processor, Geforce motherboard with Nvidia chipset, 2 gigs of RAM, and a 250 gigs HDD). I installed XP all right and one night when I was half asleep, watching Arnab of Times Now act like a moron on steroids, a little voice in my head whispered, 'Ubuntu?' Very soon the whisper became a scream and I went online to see if things had changed since the last time I had tried to install Ubuntu on my Windows XP. Yes, things have changed! And how!

I was chatting with Arnab - no not the news chap - my geeky friend who is doing a Phd on some very geeky shit in University of Michigan, and he told me about this new Windows installer called Wubi for Ubuntu. You can install Ubuntu on Windows like you would any other executable and uninstall it from the Add/Remove Programs menu. I went 'Whaa....t the faaaaaaaaaaaaaa...k?' And, and, and I discovered that Ubuntu had packaged Wubi in its current release (8.04). So all you folks out there that want to try a Linux Desktop OS, just to get a feel of how stuff works on planet Linux, I got news for you: you don't need to worry about the tricky partioning etc anymore. Download the latest Ubuntu release ISO, follow instructions, and Voila! Your Windows PC is now a dual-boot PC. I installed it last night and I gave Ubuntu a spin. Now, I wouldn't call it the most intuitive OS for I am still struggling to set up my broadband connection on Ubuntu. But hey, I am a complete dufus when it comes to all this and even I could install Ubuntu and have it up and running. I am sure I will figure out how to get my Internet working on Ubuntu shortly.

Ubunti (with Wubi) Pros

Faster, easier Ubuntu installation: It breaks down that old barrier. More people are going to give it a try. I like the 'install and try' approach than the 'try and install' of Live CD.
No need to burn CDs. When you run Wubi, it downloads Ubuntu (around 700 MB so might take an hour or more; depends on your connection). If you don't want Wubi download, copy the latest ISO (Ubuntu 8.04) to the same folder where Wubi resides.
Does not eat up your computing resources.
You can uninstall it like any other Windows program from 'Add/Remove Programs'
No more virus.
Comes loaded with all the software you'll ever need, including OpenOffice
Seamless upgrades through the Internet.
Install add-on software that the huge Ubuntu community churns out; there is some cool stuff out there man-o!
And, it is all free of cost.

Ubunti (with Wubi) Cons

http://ubuntuforums.org/showthread.php?t=481219&highlight=catch

All right, that's all I had. If you wanted a stable, no-nonsense OS that did not cost too much (read 'nothing') and one that offers an amazing array of software for your productivity and entertainment; and you wanted to kick Windows through that window. This is it. Repeat after slowly, U-B-U-N-T-U. Yeah, that's right mate, Ubuntu.

Cartoon wants animated characters instead of cheerleaders

2008-04-25T08:13:00.005+05:30

Siddharam Mhetre, Minister of State for Home and guardian of Indian morality has called the cheerleaders of IPL 'absolutely obscene'. He also suggested that they use 'animated' characters in the place of cheerleaders. Why didn't anyone think of it? Didn't you all know that you are going to offend a few cartoons in this country when you brought those lovely girls to cheerlead?
Mr. Mhetre also said:
[quote]"We live in India where womanhood is worshipped. How can anything obscene like this can be allowed?" he asked. Mhetyre wondered why the organisers require "semi- nude" women to entertain people at cricket matches.[/quote] Oh gee! Really? Aren't you from the same party that watched in glee as rabid mobs slaughtered pregnant women in Gujrat?

Sharukh said: "What's wrong with cheerleaders? I am also a family person, I do not see anything negative in it," Yeah, I am sure Karan won't mind the cheerleaders. As long as they are women. Hee hee.

Featured in HT

2008-04-22T12:57:00.004+05:30

Kribs referred my name to Riddi of Hindustan Times and yours truly was featured last Sunday. There are some minor copy discrepancies between the Mumbai and Delhi editions. The screenshot of the Mumbai print edition is what you see here:
Thanks Kribs! Others featured in the article are Kribs, Akshay Mahajan, and Gautam Ghosh.
P.S. When will the media guys learn to link?! No link. No love!

Oh Priyanka!

2008-04-15T16:47:00.002+05:30

Priyanka Gandhi, daughter of former Indian prime minister Rajiv Gandhi, says she has met a woman serving a jail term for her father's assassination.

Why would she tell the Press now is what a cynic would ask, but I love her so, all I say is 'Heh!'

No entry for educated dogs

2008-04-11T11:04:00.006+05:30

There is this song in the Tamil movie Pudupettai, whose lyrics 'Padicha naaye ulla varaadhey' translate to 'No entry for educated dogs'. Thank you Selva Raghavan! And, I have heard our so called elders vent out their ire against a non-conforming person by saying 'padicha thimiru!' (arrogant that he/she is educated). Human nature?

For most of us getting a post-graduation berth in an IIT or IIM or AIIMS is impossible, but there are those that work hard and are blessed with a better IQ, who make the cut. So most of us would just love to trash the guys from IIMs. 'Oh this guy is supposed to be an IIM guy and gaawd, he is such a dud!' or 'IIT guys are arrogant and they lead a cocooned life.' or 'All IIT guys are gay.' You know? Yes, yes you are right. Sour grapes. But our governments have found a way to make you and me (if we belong to one of the the OBCs) enter the hallowed precincts of IIT or IIM, without having worry too much about our score and rank: yessir, Quota it is. But, these is some hope:

Three judges in the five-judge bench — Justices Arijit Pasayat, C K Thakker and Dalveer Bhandari — were of the view that graduation should be the cut off limit for availing quota benefits. Source: ET

Did I say there is hope? But we also have Dr. Anbumani Ramadoss, our Health Minister.

Prime Minister Manmohan Singh has been pushing the Health Ministry to set up private medical colleges, but his plea has fallen on deaf ears. For the past eight months, Health Minister Anbumani Ramadoss has failed to get the Medical Council of India change the laws that will help private sector enter the field of medical education.(via CNN-IBN)

Our honorable Health Minister, instead of attracting private participation in health education, chooses to tax the doctors of this land with a three year mandatory rural service (or three lacs in lieu of the rural service). If this mandatory service becomes a reality, it changes nothing for health care in rural areas: we'll end up with a disgruntled doc with only a steth for equipment in a PHC. The infrastructure is pathetic in government hospitals in metros, leave alone rural areas.

Quite a few of my doctor friends, who passed out recently out of MBBS, have opted to study masters in the USA; I noticed a marked increase in the percentage of doctors going abroad. And why not? What is the point of staying back and getting raped by successive populist governments?

There will be some that will argue that doctors 'must' serve. I agree, but if you want them to serve you, make life easy for them. Don't take a knife called quota and ram them where the sun don't shine. Give them better infrastructure so they can serve, instead of wasting the tax payer's money on schemes like a free color fucking TV to the voters!

What we do, by introducing quota for higher education (instead of stopping it at the graduate level) is this: we send a message 'It is okay to be mediocre'. God save my country. Please. Make all the dogs that want to go to the USA, stay back. Happy Selva? No? But of course!

DO NOT Sign up for Youmint.com

2008-04-10T13:13:00.003+05:30

Do so at your own risk. They make indiatimes look like an angel when it comes to spamming you and your contacts (from Orkut, Gmail, etc). Repeat after me, "I Will not sign up for youmint.com" Don't tell me I didn't warn you. Even if you received an invite from me, ignore it. They have been spamming all my contacts.

The hunt for the Bison - 1

2008-04-04T18:28:00.009+05:30

"My uncle saw the Bison. Mother promise!" Prabhu said. I stared at him for a good minute and said, "Let's go camp then. Tonight?" The late winter morning had a deceiving chill to it. Prabhu pulled his hands into his sweater sleeves and shook his head and said "Not today. Probably next Sunday?"
He was two years junior to me and was still considered a kid: he was in 7th class after all. So were Suri and Viju. But they all showed a maturity that defied their age: they lied like their lives depended on it. We stood outside the door of Anita Tutorials, the education hub of Durga colony. It drew teachers from all across Chittoor and was absolutely hopeless when it came to punctuality, for all the teachers were final year college students from the PVKN Arts college and none of them ever came on time.
We were waiting for Suresh (Suresh sir to be precise), our psychotic science tutor. I was sure that this piece of news about the Bison would excite him. I was sure he'd go camping with us to the hills around Iruvaram, Prabhu's village. Iruvaram was on the Bangalore by-pass, a quiet, insignificant settlement away from the buzz of the Chittoor town. Facing Iruvaram, on the other side of the by-pass were the hills and the arid home of the Bison. A part of me wanted to buy the Bison story. I mean it was so romantic and exciting but the other side of me refused to buy it: what will the Bison survive on? There was absolutely no vegetation other than the Cactus with the plum red fruit or those long thorny shrubs with thick trunks; we used to cut the trunk, dry it, and use it for flotation while learning how to swim in the irrigation wells. I was quite certain that the Bison can't reach the leaves or fruit of the occasional Palm that dotted the area. If the Bison did exist, why was it alone? How did it get here in the first place and why? I had read about the man eating tigers: I knew these were old tigers that were looking for easy prey and that was why they moved closer to human settlements. But why the Bison? It is a herbivore? Right? The story just didn't stick. But I did not share my apprehensions with Suri and Viju. I wanted to go camp, Bison or not. (...to be contd)

Birding in IIT and Vedanthangal

2008-03-20T14:44:00.003+05:30

Spotted Owlet, Vedanthangal

Spotted this guy in Vedanthangal. I saw him perched on a bush close to the water body but he flew away before I could get a shot at him. Minutes later, he appeared magically out of thin air, very close to me, as I was climbing down the observation tower. Love this guy!

Purple Sunbird, Vedanthangal

Small Blue Kingfisher, IIT Chennai

R.I.P Raghuvaran

2008-03-19T16:41:00.004+05:30

It is not often that an actor like Raghuvaran comes by and captures the imagination of a generation of movie fans. He was a breath of fresh air: in a landscape that was dominated by stereotypes and in a time when exaggeration was the norm. He didn't have the wannabe-flamboyance of Kamal Hassan or the in-your-face antics of Rajinikanth. Nor did he belong to the old school of Sivaji Ganesan. He charted a new path called subtlety. Though most of us didn't understand what it was then, we were enchanted by this tall, lanky actor who for once appeared like a real person on the otherwise regressive Tamil screen.

Take for example, his role of a troubled father of a dying child in Manirathnam's Anjali. It was a stunning performance to say the least. However, he was better known for his villain roles. I choose not pick any but I can't help talk about Bhavani in Ram Gopal Verma's Shiva (Telugu). Raghuvaran was mind-blowing as the bad guy in it. He shed the baggage of generations of stereotypes and blazed new trails as a bad guy.

I remember watching him on TV as Madan interviewed him a few months (or a year back?) and as the interview was concluding something in me told me that Raghuvaran was not going to come back like I wanted him to. I hope he finds peace at least after he has crossed over to another world. Or maybe he was one of those that needed pain to thrive, hurt to survive, and misery to exult. Raghu, I pray that you find what you've been looking for, for far too long. May you rest, in peace or otherwise.

P.S. In a display of shoddy journalism, the media couldn't even get Raghuvaran's age right. Some say it is 49 and some 60. Sad!

Birds of Chennai

2008-03-13T14:02:00.002+05:30

White Throated Munia @ Nanmangalam Reserve Forest

Got this elegant bird in Adyar Poonga on Greenways road in Chennai. I was waiting for him to get out of a tree but I gave up. As I stood up to move away, he relented and posed for me by perching on the fence. This bird is supposed to bring rain upon its arrival. (I don't know why I think it is a 'he'.)

See more birds of Chennai

Tickell's flowerpecker

2008-03-01T17:54:00.005+05:30

Went birding in the Hebbal lake and fell in love with the place: it is an avian paradise. I love the place more so because an amateur birder/photographer too can get some decent shots. I hope I got the bird's ID right. If not, do correct me people. See more pics from the Hebbal birding trip.

Love me or hate me...

2008-02-20T12:00:00.000+05:30

Do not miss the sub-titles.

Chennai Cops At It Again

2008-02-14T10:20:00.002+05:30

"There won't be any unnecessary poking into human relationships...normal relationships would not be disturbed," he told reporters when asked whether any special measures would be in force for the Valentine's day in the city to prevent any untoward incidents.

(Via Sify)
That was the Police Commissioner of Chennai Mr. Kumaran being generous. Despite so many pressing, critical issues that plague the city, Chennai's top cop finds it worthy to talk to the press about moral policing on a day when young people want to celebrate love as they know it. So how will he ensure if a couple is married or not? Non-Hindu girls do not wear Mangalsutr sir. Um, are you asking us to carry copies of our marriage certificates? That makes sense, doesn't it? I think he deserves a medal for this. Thank you sir! If not for you we would degenerate and disintegrate into immoral pieces of trash.

Aside: Check this line from the Sify piece. Hilarious:

If Kumaran enforces his diktat, it may be couples who are not in wedlock and display their affection a little too openly who may be under the watchful eyes of police tomorrow, a day when lovers are in gay abandon.

Yawn!

Purple Moore Hen

2008-02-04T16:24:00.000+05:30

Shot this pretty girl (I thin it is a girl) in Lalbagh. Shrieks like a maniac at intruders. More birds of Lalbagh @ Flickr.

Kalyani 2

2008-01-30T12:15:00.000+05:30

Much better recording quality. Used my PC line-in from my keyboard Yamaha E 403. Still trying to figure out getting the midi file out of the instrument. The software that came with the keyboard sucks! Anyway, hope you like this version.

Download as MP3

Kalyani

2008-01-22T11:54:00.000+05:30

Yeah, recorded it straight off the keyboard using a headphone mic. So obviously the audio is bad and has a lot of ambient noise. But I want to bounce it off you and hear from you on what you think about the piece. It is pretty catchy and all but can do with some layering. I want some help in recording it too so if you have any expertise (no I am not talking of doing it in a studio, just my comp and keyboard) let me know. Also, if any of you is an exponent of Carnatic vocals, let me know, I need to add some vocals too. Ok, hope you like it.
Listen to Kalyani

My new baby

2008-01-18T10:52:00.000+05:30

This is my new baby.

Poor Indian Woman

2008-01-13T10:26:00.000+05:30

When I was in sixth standard, I was going home from school in the bus. I sat next to a girl, my class mate. I really didn't understand then the scornful expression on my friends' faces. The next day one of them said, 'How could you sit next to her?' When I asked 'Why the hell not?' He said, 'They are girls!' That's how deep rooted the discrimination is around here. We just don't want to accept our women as our equals. Now, if one wants to treat the opposite sex as an adversary I am fine with it. Well, some men (most men) just won't get it. But I have a serious problem with men attacking the dignity of women. Especially when those men are educated and have blue collar jobs. The recent Juhu case is so shocking to you and me because the media went ballistic on it. Some people went 'Oh what a shame on Mumbai! I always thought it was a safe city!' or 'It will never happen in Bangalore or Chennai.' Even I went with the latter statement for a while but reality bit and here I am. Why do we some of us Indians, despite being taught to worship women, go about raping, molesting, and killing our girls? Why do most of us think that if a girl wears a sleeveless top, she is 'easy'? Why do quite of few us boys have serious problems with reporting to a woman boss? Why are we Indian men so repressed?

Kalpana Sharma writes in her excellent piece, in The Hindu Sunday Magazine:

The real issue that we must grapple with when such incidents occur has a name; it is "patriarchy". It includes the inability of men to accept that women have rights, that they are human beings, that they should be left alone, that they have a right to occupy space in the public arena.

I agree with her but she doesn't offer her thoughts on why some men find it hard to accept that women are human beings and not mere objects that a man can possess. Think about it, in a family run by a working couple, it is the woman that is expected to cook, wash, and take care of the kids after performing her duties at the office. We just take it for granted. Probably most women do too. And, if the husband tells his buddies that he helps her out in the kitchen or babysits while she is at work, he is likely to be ridiculed as an uxorious idiot. I think women should set the record straight and start settling scores: tell your man that he's got to pull his weight at home. Show the finger if need be woman!
I think it has to do with the pseudo morality that plagues our society. In our towns and villages thousands of boys are right now listening to someone telling them that a woman should not lift her head when she walks or a woman's true calling lies in serving her husband and his entire kandhan. Right in now in some small town a rape victim is asking the rapist to marry her. So deep rooted is this discrimination that it is almost impossible for the average Indian male to lose the indoctrination or its effects. Most of us discriminate without even realising it! When I asked one of my software engineer friends what kind of a job his wife-to-be would take up post marriage, he shot back without batting an eye-lid, 'What job? She has the kitchen and she has to raise my kids. That should keep her busy for a lifetime.' The she in question was studying MBA then. I am positive she is using her business school lessons in her elaborate kitchen. I am a chauvinist too at some level I think. I come from a small town where a girl clad in jeans was called a whore. No matter how far I have broadened my perspective and expanded my horizons, I can't look you in the eye and say I don't discriminate. I probably do without realising it. So girls if I ever had said or done anything that offended I am sorry.
Now, the other thing is in all those small towns and villages right now, a movie hall is playing a sleazy movie that has 'bits' Right now there is a college kid sitting in that movie hall (and probably his father in the back row who doesn't know his son is watching the movie). No I am not saying it is right or wrong. All I am saying is if so many men want to watch such movies, we should allow it. Make it legal I mean. Men over 18 can buy permits to watch such movies. But I know I am barking up the wrong tree. We as a society are so sexually repressed and that coupled with our condescending, patronizing, and chauvinistic attitude towards women, we make it seem that it is ok for a guy to feel a girl up in the bus. Or slap her bottom on M.G. Road. That's what boys do, right? Every one of my women friends have a story from their school time or college time. And each one of those stories reeks of the repression of the Indian male. We as a society with our holier than thou, prude outlooks are right now perpetrating a crime against a woman. How do we stop it? I don't know. Probably we should make fornication legal? If two mutually consenting adults decide to do it, you and I have no right or say in that matter. But does it work that way? Nope. But what is possible is we could stop blaming the girls for wearing what they like. Our cops can really stop harassing boys and girls dating. And, women in politics can really shut up and not holler about how Indian women can't have premarital sex.

Now, don't mistake me. There's no magic weapon to eradicate rape. There will always be that psychopath lurking in the dark corners and deserted alleys. There will always be that lecherous old man that will molest our girls. There will always be that demented mind. What I am really worried about is some of my educated, software engineers friends assaulting women. I am worried about mobs sexually assaulting women in our towns. Let me draw a parallel for you: if a terrorist goes about killing innocent people, well, that's bad. But if, like it happened in Gujrat, if lay people come together and go about slaughtering innocent people, we have a serious problem on our hands. That is why what happened in Mumbai should be dealt with severely and we should make an example of the guilty and tell people that such atrocities will not be tolerated.

Finally, after all my ranting, if I ever wanted this post to achieve something, it is this: I want you to think about it. Are we treating our women well? Are we giving them the respect that they so deserve? No, I am not asking you to be the epitome of chivalry. No sir. All I am asking you is before you spew the venom about a colleague or some girl you know and go about judging her, try to think for five seconds before you fire away. That's a start. A worthy start if you will.

Monkey Business

2008-01-09T11:31:00.000+05:30

Oh no, it is not what you think. No Mr.Symonds, I am not getting cute here. This is a true story:
This happened when I was in seventh class. We had just moved back to Chittoor from Chennai. It was a pleasant evening and our neighbor was calling his pigs home. That haunting 'aaaa aaaa och!' We had rented a portion of a house. The landlady lived in the other portion. The house had a small iron gate which led you to the front garden and this huge, ancient Tamarind tree. We kids uses to make up stories that the tree was home to some ghosts and spirits. Along the compound wall, the landlady had planted Crotons of all colors. It was a pretty house all right.
That evening I lugged the chair that dad brought from Delhi, and settled down under the Tamarind tree with a book. My mom was in the kitchen. Half hour passed and my mom called out, "Suman get inside the monkeys are coming." Chittoor had a lot of monkeys then. A few years later, as they were creating havoc in the electrical sub-station, they caught all the monkeys and left them in the forests of Tirumala. Now, I turned to look at the monkeys. It was a big family. The juveniles were in the front. There was a mother and her baby, which clung to her belly. A few boys. And the alpha male. The alpha male was this huge guy with menacing looks. His strong shoulders moved smooth as he walked on the wall behind pack. He had steely eyes that captured the goings on around him. None of the monkeys bothered about me. I told mom "See, if you don't disturb animals, they won't too! Relax, I will be fine." The landlady who just appeared from inside her house said, "don't try to be brave son." I just clucked my tongue and pretended to be lost in my book. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed that the alpha male was just about to descend the wall and he caught my eye. He paused and got back on the wall and leveled his eyes with mine. Now, I had no idea why he did that but I was stupid enough to eye ball him right back. His eyes were devoid of any emotion. After a few seconds he jumped to the ground and started walking towards me in that assured, confident gait. I realised he was a huge monkey as he drew closer. He crossed my chair, reached behind me, jumped on the chair and sat. My mouth went dry and I started shivering. My mom and the landlady started screaming but our alpha paid little attention. He just knew it then I guess that we couldn't do shit about it even if he ate me for an evening snack.
The landlady said 'sit still don't make any abrupt moves.' I followed her advice. After a few seconds alpha slapped the back of my head, caught my hair, and started shaking my head viciously. I was rocking like a humping spider monkey and I was absolutely convinced that this guy was going to kill me. But, he stopped all of a sudden, climbed down my chair and walked away. As I stared at my wet pants I realised that alpha was merely making a point. He probably couldn't take it that I had no fear or probably thought I was a threat to his position... I mean I look more like a monkey than him. Whatever it was, I swore to myself that I will not get cute with monkeys ever again. But monkeys never stand by their words. Do they now? That story, in which a monkey bit my ass, has to wait. :-)

[I hereby declare that the story, its characters, and narration were not aimed at hurting any Australian sentiments.]

The brown man Down Under

2008-01-07T12:58:00.000+05:30

When young Ishant Sharma gave away his wicket, predictably so, under what was probably one of the most dramatic and high-pressure situations in the history of the game, Cricket took an irreversible turn. I predict the beginning of the end of Aussie supremacy, for true champions do not resort to unfair methods to win. When they start doing so, it means that they no longer are as confident as a champion ought to be. You may laugh. You may say it is wishful thinking, but write it down dear friend, the Aussies are on the decline.
I am not going to go into the details of the controversies that surround the match and its result. The Aussies complained on Harbhajan Singh and got a ban slapped on him. That to me is funny. They invented sledging and made a science of it. This whole racism thing is nonsense according to me. I call at least two people 'monkey' every day! So, why are they whining like a pack of prepubescent monkeys? Because they want to win. No matter what. India has managed to create doubt in the Aussie's mind. The Punter is actually worried that Indians might just do the unthinkable: beat them in their backyard. Not many teams in contemporary cricket have done that. So Ponting had to dig deep into his repertoire as an Aussie skipper (and you know what that means) to pull off a historic win. Eight decisions against us are termed dubious from the last test match. That's enough to alter the course of a test match. Two decisions in the second innings were enough actually. Rahul Dravid's and Hussey's. It is unfathomable why a black umpire would dislike the brown men so much! Do you remember how Bucknor gave Sachin out LBW when the ball had actually hit Sachin on the helmet? I can cite a few more, but I think I have made my point. I simply can't understand why that man hates us so much. If you dig up statistics, most controversial umpiring decisions go against visiting sides when they are playing Down Under. I see a pattern there but I have little evidence to prove it to you. I'll leave it at that.

I think it is time we showed the finger to ICC. We can afford to do that trust me. Some how Mr.Pawar (who probably celebrates every time he gets on his feet without help) does not seem to be assertive. I am quite sure of how Mr. Dalmiya would have handled the situation.

Now, should we abandon the tour? There is a lot of acrimony over that point but I'll tell you what, this is sport and sport must go on. Abandoning is the easy way out. As far as Bhajji's ban goes, if ICC does not relent, well so be it! It is only 3 matches. ~~Malcom Speed~~Mike Proctor said "I am South African, and I understand the word 'racism'." I mean what the fuck was that! What is racism to him might not be so to us! But when the mighty white man talks, you listen!

Finally, this whole thing about spirit of the game and that Cricket is a gentleman's game yada yada is crap. No self-respecting captain or team will give the match away to save the so called spirit. But you know what, we Indians are melodramatic to the point of being stupid: sometime in the 60s, we sent a Hockey team to Pakistan with strict instructions to... LOSE! I read it in Tony Greig's book (don't remember the name of the book). Also, think about it the Aussies are champions because their approach is scientific. It is time we stopped being melodramatic and turned to method (and also stop making stupid Cricket commercials like 'mind and body, heart and soul'). Also, it is time we stopped taking shit from these bastards. Think about it, we let Ricky Ponting talk about, hold your breath, integrity! Hilarious!

Happy Holidays People :-)

2007-12-24T15:06:00.000+05:30

:-) I know! I know! I am in an exuberant mood today and these days have become a rarity in my life. No, don't ask. Zip. So you're all set to go out there and have a ball eh? You lucky bastard?

Brigade road sports a blazing, festive look. There are bands playing in pubs. There is a definite energy in the air and pretty girls giggle and walk by you. I never quite understood why they giggle so much. Either they have a bottomless supply of jokes, or they do this to irritate boys. I don't care. To me, that giggle is music. You go girl. Giggle away and make my day.

Anyway, you get out there, drink, listen to some good old rock, and have lots of fun. Merry X-mas and a happy new year. And, drink one for me. All you bloggers out there in Bangalore, shut the hell up, get out, and party. Man!

Why don't many boys in TamilNadu get any

2007-12-20T15:00:00.000+05:30

Now, put that knife down. Stop writing that hate-mail. I am a Tamilian. Phew! A few months back I met this guy-who-I-don't-wish-to-name. Our conversation veered towards the pseudo-conservativeness of Chennai and he blew his lid. He made the usual statements like 'we need culture. Bangalore or Mumbai may not have it but I will defend Chennai's culture yada-yaa.' So I asked him, after much deliberation, "are you telling me that you will refuse to get laid before you get married?" And he actually said "Yes!" There was silence. And, he said "I'll try not to do it but I don't know I might just end up doing it. If it is within my control I won't but if I can't control it I may just do it, you know what I mean?" I didn't know what the fuck he meant. I wish him good luck and I sincerely hope that no sane girl ever dates him. No girls, trust me, these boys will mess your head up.

I thought he was an exception but turns out, he is not. The Chennai HC has issued a notice to Sushmita Sen over her comments on pre-marital sex. I wonder who these gentlemen are; those that scour the armpits of the fourth estate and fish out statements that celebs make and file PILs and cases against the celebs... How utterly jobless one must be to do all of that? How utterly unlaid one must be to indulge in such crass, attention-seeking stunts?

Why is women having pre-marital sex such an issue? If the boys do it it is ok? Why not the girls? Because they can get pregnant? Tell me, please? You can trust a woman to be your Chief Minister but you won't like it if an adult, unmarried girl chooses to do it?

Bro, if you are from Chennai, please travel to other places. Go to Bangalore or Pune or Mumbai. Stay there for a few months. Don't judge the city. Just drink it in. And then you'll realise the difference between a city and a large, Taliban ghetto. Can we do something to save our great city people? Hmmm? No?

Megadeth in Bangalore and Iron Maiden keeps its promise

2007-12-20T14:40:00.000+05:30

Yes people. It is true.

IRON MAIDEN
Date: February 1, 2008
Venue: Bandra Kurla Complex
City: Mumbai
Country: India

MEGADETH
Date: March 14, 2008
Venue: Palace Grounds
City: Bangalore (hee-ha!)
Country: India

Tickets for the Megadeth show @ Ticketpro.

The Bourgeois Commie

2007-12-18T15:37:00.000+05:30

Has put on 15 kg, gels his hair, sports a Stalinesque moustache and loves his blazers

Wears a Rado (worth Rs 2 lakh), is driven in a Pajero, loves designer shades

Drinks two pegs of Scotch whisky every evening. Cannot resist fried chicken.

Appointed his son to the party's regional bureau. His daughter too holds a key post.

[Source: Outlookindia.com]

Who is this man? He is Prachanda, chairman of the Communist Party of Nepal-Maoist (CPN-M). Self-abnegation is not sustainable after all. Now, he is not an aberration; he is just human. At least, he does it in the open unlike like his other comrades across the border. I am not into politics or ideology but I never quite understood how these commies manage to fool millions of people for so long!

Scorpions Rock Bangalore

2007-12-17T15:10:00.000+05:30

The Scorpions came to town and rocked a nostalgic crowd for a couple of hours. The elderly gentleman in the front stood, in stoic silence, and watched Klaus Meine and his boys trying to recreate their magic. There's a story right there: the Scorpions have definitely lost a bit of their sting all right, but despite that they gave a memorable experience. That is precisely what was lacking in the Aerosmith show. The drummer, James Kottak, is the eccentric in the band I think. That madman played hard and drank harder. I don't want to say anything about the guitarists Matthias Jabs and Rudolf Schenker. I really can't make up my mind about their craft. However the bassist, Pawel Maciwoda, showed that rare touch and spirit. I am not going to humor you with the song list of the concert. They played a few from their latest album Humanity: Hour 1 and followed it up with their classics. I have to make a special mention of the rendition of Still Loving You, Blackout, and When the Smoke is Going Down; these numbers reiterated why these guys are legends. So if you grew up listening to Scorpions and missed the concert, I have to tell you that you missed a special performance. That said, what pleased me was how the band engaged the crowd. It showed that they respected the average Bangalorean that paid 1200 bucks to be there. It was a different story in the Aerosmith show: they acted like they were doing us a favor by performing that night.

Why can't the monkeys from the Press write accurate concert reviews? WTF! they get paid to write man. The dufus from Times of India wins the first prize this time. Read on:

The audience too pitched in, straining their vocal chords for songs such as Rock You Like A Hurricane, Wind of change, Still loving you, When the smoke is going down, Holiday, Send me an angel, You and I, Blackout, and Under the same sun.

Under the same sun? They never played that number Prashanth. And, what the fuck do you mean by vocal CHORDS? Who are you people? What gives you the authority and the condescension to write nonsense like that? How difficult is it for a young punk like you to attend a concert, make notes, and write an accurate review? And dude, vocal CHORDS!? Get the fuckouta here.

(Image courtesy: Wikipedia Author: Pablo BM, Plymouth, England)

NDTV Plays Big Daddy

2007-12-12T12:34:00.000+05:30

This case is just another example of how children of the newly rich across the National Capital Region are picking up wrong habits.

That's an excerpt from NDTV's coverage of the Gurgaon School Shootout.

Want bun? Get married first!

2007-11-14T15:47:00.000+05:30

Man in South India married a dog.

...the groom and his family then had a feast, while the dog got a bun.

I hope he stops with the marriage and does not think of consummating it. Poor Selvi.