Chase the Shadows

Setehday

2009-06-22T12:38:00.002+05:30

Once in a while and if you are the lucky kind, once in a rare while; there comes a day when everything goes wrong. I mean everything. Things that are generally very usual by behavior and history, turn chaotic beyond measure.

This is one of those days that you wake up on a hot, muggy morning and realize that you are out of toothpaste. Wait, rewind just a bit, you step out of your bed and realize the house is flooded because you forgot to turn a tap off at night. And as a happening of pissenstance, many factors contribute to it,
Something got clogged somewhere.
You worked late at night and thus naturally overslept.
You switched on the rumbling AC at full blast and thus didn't hear a sound.
Your laptop is on the floor amidst the flood and is still working, albeit strikingly dripping.
You almost keep all your life's worth of documents on the floor (almost).

You move on angry, after an hour of cleaning and calls and ring-a-bells from intruding neighbors. Then the following happens.

1.) There is no cab to take you to work.
2.) You look for a long time, start sweating and still don't find one.
3.) You get caught up in some unusual traffic and swear at the traffic cops who stop the traffic lights and direct the jams on their own.
4.) Your laptop crashes at work.
5.) Your dad sends you wrong and incomplete documents. And the CA is unavailable to rectify it.
6.) Your favorite restaurant is closed at lunchtime because of water shortage.
7.) It doesn't rain.
8.) A work trip gets postponed, uncomfortably close to a very important date.
9.) You transfer some money to an account, and considering the omens of the day, it naturally doesn't happen. Something that should happen in a couple of hours, takes 3 days and you are left to borrow bits and pieces to complete the 46k for your ticket in 24 hours. If you miss the booking, its gonna cost 20k more!
10.) You send an urgent courier home and with a commitment of a 1 day delivery, and it is lost in Kolhapur for 3 days.
11.) Your office internet doesn't work and you have a very important email to send.
12.) You have a meeting with your counselor at 6 and as it so happens, your boss schedules an emergency meeting at 6.
13.) You stand for 20 minutes outside your workplace, one of the busiest streets in central Bombay and don't find a cab.
14.) Your counselor's internet also crashes.
15.) She inputs some wrong information in your visa form. Thankfully, you notice it.
16.) Before the above two, she makes you wait for 30 minutes.
17.) Naturally, you don't find a cab home for a while.
18.) Before that, you go to Birdy's and realize your favorite sandwich is out of stock.
19.) You fall sick at night.
20.) Your favorite team loses its match.
21.) Your favorite ice cream is not available in your nearby store.
22.) Your favorite shirt has some grease smeared on it.
23.) Your favorite girl is busy and unavailable to talk.

God of Chaos - Seteh/Set/Seth day. Everything goes wrong day.

Surprisingly, everything went better than expected the next day.
Does the universe also conspire for you at times?

Moon Monster Pic

2009-05-31T19:35:00.005+05:30

Beautiful pic of the SD nightsky. Can't hardly wait!

The image at Wiki

2009-05-17T16:35:00.002+05:30

The answer to everything in this world is through only one word, 'Question'.

- X

Because I never

2009-05-17T11:08:00.002+05:30

This is an article put on Facebook by my friend Nikhil Naik. I guess it is a translated version of one of Pula Deshpande's writings. Nevertheless, very funny.
-------

When I come from office in the evening, my wife is cooking.
I can hear the utensils in the kitchen.

I stealthily enter the house, take out the bottle from my black cupboard.
Shivaji Maharaj is looking at me from the photo frame, but still no one is aware of it.
Because I never take risks.

I take out the glass from the rack above the old sink.
Quickly enjoy one peg.
Wash the glass and again keep it on the rack.
Of course I also keep the bottle inside my cupboard.
Shivaji Maharaj smiles.

I peep into the kitchen. Wife is cutting potatoes.
No one is aware of what I did.
Because I never take risks.

I say to my wife: "Any news on Chopra's daughter's marriage?"
Wife: "Nope, she doesn't seem to be that lucky. Still they are looking for someone for her."

I come out again; there is a small noise from the black cupboard.
But I don't make any sound while taking out the bottle.
I take out the glass from the old rack above the sink.
Quickly enjoy one peg.

Wash the bottle and keep it in the sink.
Also keep the Black Glass in the cupboard.
But still no one is aware of what I did.
Because I never take risks.

I say to my Wife : "But still I think Chopra's daughter's age is not that much."
Wife: "What? She is 28 yrs old... like an aged horse!"
Me: "Oh OK..."

I again take out potatoes out from my black cupboard.
But the cupboard's place has automatically changed.
I take out the bottle from the rack and quickly enjoy one peg in the sink.
Shivaji Maharaj laughs out loud.

I keep the rack in the potatoes & wash Shivaji Maharaj's photo & keep it in the black cupboard.
Wife is keeping the sink on the stove.
But still no one is aware of what I did.
Because I never take risks.

I say to my Wife: (agitated) "You call Mr. Chopra a horse? If you say that again, I will slit your tongue!"
Wife: "Don't just blabber something, go out and sit quietly."

I take out the bottle from the potatoes.
Go in the black cupboard and enjoy a peg.
Wash the sink and keep it over the rack.

My wife smiles.
Shivaji Maharaj is still cooking.
But still no one is aware of what I did.
Because I never take risks.

I say to my wife with a laugh: "So chopra is marrying a horse!"
Wife: "Just go! Sprinkle some water on your face!"

I go to the kitchen again, and quietly sit on the rack.
Stove is also on the rack.
There is a small noise of bottles from the room outside.
I peep and see that wife is enjoying a peg in the sink.
But none of the horses are aware of what I did.
Becoz Shivaji Maharaj never take risks.
chopra is still cooking

And I look at my wife from the photo and laugh.

Because I never take... I never take...... never take .....
never take what?

I never take a potato I guess...

The Why's

2009-05-16T23:05:00.006+05:30

I am currently working on a complete review of the electoral process of 2009 and the parties involved. A look on the repercussions to the country, the would be and the would have been's, governance by the Congress in the past, governance by the BJP in the past and governance in the future. Established economic, security, healthcare, education et al policies of the combatants, and the expected policies of the Congress in the absence of any such established policies.

ETA - 6 months.

Why LK Advani and the BJP stumbled majorly?
Why Nitish Kumar and Naveen Patnaik did well?
Why Behenji and Mulayamji succumbed to the Rahul effect?
Why Chandrababu Naidu faltered under the onslaught of YSR?
Why the NCP didn't fare well enough to put Sharad Pawar on the national map (was he ever in contention)?
Why Mamata is such a pain to the country?
Why the BJP is not suited to the role of a national party today?
Why its prime ministerial candidate was also one of its weakest links?
Why the minority would go with the Congress or in some cases with other parties?
Why the Congress doesn't really bring great tidings for the country?
Why the BJP would have brought worse tidings under the same scenario?
Why are dynastic politics such a major force in India?
Why governance is so crappy (for the lack of a more politically correct word) in India?
Why the media plays such a major and at times, a visibly minor, unfruitful and intruding role in India and its politics?
Why opinion polls in India generally turn out to be wrong?
Why the government needs to change its outlook towards China and reckon it with considerably more respect?
Why the babulog of this country deserve much more attention?
Why India needs a major rehaul of its international diplomacy?
Why the concept of the Indian youth is a farce?
Why regional parties would in the future look more towards Assembly elections and not the distant Lok Sabha?
Why the Left needs to reassess their concept of communism and take some tips from Messrs Khruschev and Deng Xiaoping?
Why the Naxals are a bigger threat than terrorists?

And why India is in such a mess today?

Why am I doing this anyway?

- X

Any helpers?

I open at the close

2009-04-26T18:51:00.002+05:30

The title is obviously not a reference to Dumbledore's clue in the last of the Harry Potter series.

As children, we are open and take to knowledge like a sponge to water or a moth to the light, i.e. with verve and without inhibition. When we grow up, we tend to close in to things around us. We become less receptive to the signals emanating from everywhere.

There was a time when I absorbed everything that lay in front of me. I found out things by happenstance and latched on to them. There was a thirst, a quest for knowledge and understanding. I have savored the best things in life, assimilated an astonishing amount of information, mingled with the best and the worst (that was also the best experience in a way) just because of this openness and a willingness to learn.

I can cite a few examples here. Hearts of Iron is one of the best games that I have ever played, it has consumed a major part of my time in the last three years of college. How did I come across it? I have a vague idea. It was on one of those nerdy history forums. Some guy mentioned somewhere that people who played Age of Empires were the Mussolini's, who played Civilizations were the Stalin's and who played Hearts of Iron were the Churchill's of this world. I, one of the better player of Empires in my cohort never wanted to be a Mussolini and detested him to a certain extent. To those of you not in the know, Mussolini was perhaps the worst military commander in chief of a nation in the Second World War. So I downloaded a game I had never heard of, on my crappy internet and it doesn't end there. This is one of those games that tests your patience. There is no easy way to learn it. It took 2 months to understand its basics and start a game at Easy level. It was another 6 months to defeat the AI in Normal mode. On top of that, you make a small mistake in the game and its repercussions are felt 10 game years down the line just like in the real world and that is 3 weeks of real life time down the drain. But I stuck by it and now know the entire political map of the world. People have been amazed, dumbstruck at times, by my knowledge of the world's cities and regions. Therein lies the answer to that mystery. Now, I haven't played a new game or even Hearts of Iron or any other game for that matter in the past year.

The first time I listened to Metallica was on advice from someone, having hardly heard of the band in almost 17 years of life. I started watching English movies and listening to mainstream music after being chided by a cousin from Bombay on being a simpleton (literal translation - gaonwallah) for not having heard of Barbie Girl a year after it was released. Now, I find it cumbersome to try new music.

I read Making History because my brother in law happened to get extra books that were lying around in his ship's library. He just put them up and said I could go through them if I wanted to but he had no idea of what these books were. I found Guns of August on the roadside bookwallah in Nerul and happened to buy it for an excess of some money and time and for that picture of Winston Churchill and Kaiser Wilhelm on the cover and JFK's accolades on the inside pages. These books have molded my professional ambitions in life beyond measure. Now, it didn't take months of unrelenting publicity by all newspapers and signal boys swarming with pirated copies for me to read The White Tiger. It took a boring day at office and an ebook on my screen to bring me to taste it.

I heard of Harry Potter from a friend, always read the new releases through the night so I could return it back to her in the morning. I read the Godfather in 4th/5th in a week after another cousin advised me to read a lot and suggested that I should complete my schooling abroad. Now, it took me 12 months to finish Hitchhikers guide in my final year.

It is astonishing how these things fell into place at the right time. And how I or in general, people respond to them. If it were not for that childish openness, we would be such different people.

That brings me to the very point of this long post. As adults, it is difficult to remain open and unbiased (better word virginal) to hear out contrary opinions and go through novel experiences. Prejudices and mental blocks have been formed and I can no longer absorb things or randomly read through Wiki entries as I did 4 years ago.

Isn't life supposed to be an ever learning curve? We put our puny hands into a hundred things when we don't have the resources and when we do have them, it grinds to a stand still.

Is it the 27 syndrome? Your brain functions start deteriorating at that age. I hope not. There is so much to learn and so less time.

I quote Sonya here, Life is short and there is too much to read and explore to even think of experimenting with anything but the best.

Cheers.

Breakfast at McD's

2009-04-24T18:17:00.002+05:30

Open invitation to anyone and everyone who reads this crap for breakfast every Saturday without fail, anytime between 7:30 and 9:00, mostly around 8:00 AM at McDonalds VT.

Hot cakes with Maple Syrup and extra butter anyone?

*Offer valid only till July 15

RAIT Alumni Reunion 2008

2009-04-24T15:51:00.000+05:30

The 4th RAIT Alumni Reunion took place on the 30th of March, 2008. It was important in the sense that 2008 was RAIT’s 25th year of existence. It was perhaps the first time that the RAA moved out from under the shadow of elder overbearing brothers, the SUC and Horizon.

With a complete lack of resources in terms of databases (which were all presumably lost from the administrative office in crashes and from the RAA room in crashes or stolen HDD's in previous years!), we started our work.

Whilst the RAA was tottering around confused with what to do and more importantly how to do it, the RAIT Alumni Network was created by the Dark Lord at the end of 2007. It was the spark actually and truly required, it was the light bulb over our heads, the Eureka in our mouths. It was an online platform to reach out. A symbiotic association was struck and the RAA began its work in earnest.

Despite the fact that the RAA and SUC were now actually differentiated, most of the people who worked in this country were also residents of the other! I slave labored for Horizon with zero appreciation :-(. Sincere work could only begin once Horizon 2008 got over. Hectic calling began on the 3rd of March, the morning Horizon ended and continued up to the end of the month. The dates were precisely chosen so as to keep some time and also, interference of the SUC away from the event.

More than a 1000 people were personally telephoned, more than 2000 emails sent, many to now dysfunctional email addresses. After a month of hectic spamming and bothering, the reunion day saw a participation of 300+ Alums and students.

The reunion:

It kickstarted off in the Pavilion of the DY Patil stadium, can't remember if it was pavilion A or B, the one to the right side :-). 25 odd people turned up on personal invitations at 5:00 PM to hold perhaps the first official RAA meeting in years. One alum embarrassed me immeasurably by stating that he wasn’t invited, but happened to be in Nerul at the time and saw the huge flex outside the gate. Blimey!

It is great to see some of the luminaries who are working with us now were present on that day. Many issues were raised, many topics covered. E-cell, Udaan, formalization of the RAA, more interaction of the Alumni etc etc. All to the applause and satisfaction of the authorities, all of course to our contentment.

Maybe things would get easier from now on, me thinketh at that time. We forget this is RAIT, takes time to set something rolling, but once rolling, woe betide the moss in its way!

It took a second informal reunion completely financed by Porky aka Protik (we are talking thousands of rupees here) and to an iota of a miniscule, dot of a minor extent by me and current RAA GSec Animesh to put things into motion.

The amount of work done in the past 2 months is unparalleled, more than the RAA has ever achieved in its history. It is momentous to be a part of this happening at the start and I implore everyone to contribute in any way they can.

Getting back to the reunion. It featured,

* Excellent food from Sai Darbar in Nerul, widely acknowledged as the best biryani for miles
* A great performance by the band Colossus which played U2, Coldplay, Floyd etc late into the night and for much longer than they were scheduled to and finally stopped when pleaded to by the organizers about police trouble. It doesn't help that parties on both side were in varying states of liquidated bliss :-)
* A mindblowingly memorable rendition of No Woman, No Cry by alum Kingshuk and some hindi numbers by now famous singer and alum, Sameer
* A lot of networking. The only time I met and talked freely to people from the 2001-02 batches. Amazing experience to debate why our Horizon was the best as compared to theirs
* Listening to tales of bravado and at times, utter foolhardiness in RAIT during those older days
* Lots of white colored RAA T-shirts passed around for free numbering more than 300. Hooo! \m/
* Great combination of spiked coke and chicken lollypops
* 3 student bloggers recording conversations, performances, impromptu stupidities. In another tradition of RAIT, most of these tapes are lost or were mistakenly recorded upon and feature versions of ‘cRapshoddy’ of all the things :-(

Two fluttering heartbeats of a dying Horizon

2009-04-24T14:50:00.001+05:30

Three words can succinctly describe Horizon 2007: Jal, Yana Gupta and Channel V.
A short summary of what happened then for those who missed it!

1. Pakistani band Jal performed for the main concert night and the event featured massive participation, or at least the deft work by the Channel V crewmen makes it seem so. In the long living tradition of RAIT mess ups, while they were being chauffeured from the airport a team was scampering around in Navi Mumbai trying to book a hotel for them that would accept Pakistani artistes.
2. A cricket match was also conducted at the stadium (can’t remember whether it was the international one or the practice ground) between the DY Patil/RAIT and Jal team.
3. Yana Gupta finally came to RAIT and people thought it was a hoax like previous years. Despite massive number of posters, we had to make SOS calls to get people roused out of their slumber on the morning of the 3rd day after a total night of DJ chaos. This included kicking many people off from the floors of RAIT at 7 am in the morning. Needless to say, these people were in varying states of inebriation promoted by various alcohols and stimulants/depressants of the natural/artificial etc category.
4. Once she actually arrived in college though, pandemonium broke loose. We had to resort to a literal security circle around here, not that it bothered me…I was in charge! Yana Gupta didn’t arrive for the Fashion Show or something else. She came to award the prize winners for the Online Gaming contest conducted by Indiagames.com, an event that saw an attendance of more than 400 people. This event was conducted at the IT Center and the older SysAdmin Lab which suffered continuous PC crashes. Subsequently, all 20 PC’s were formatted by us on the 2nd night before Yana and the press came in. This was done without the permission of the Lab Admin and left a hundred complaints against us in the next few days. Naturally, they were all water of a duck’s back. A part of her appearance also included a ‘Date Contest’ with her that called for participants to sing/dance/do any foolishness to impress her. The foolish winner turned out to be RAIT SUC GSec 2009 Dhruv Rishi who got a solitary date with her for 2 hours at Bandra Taj Lands End. Lucky bugger.
5. This ‘Horizon’ was perhaps one of the few ones that was telecasted on national television via the grace of Channel V. Deft and undercover work by three student bloggers gave the world many insights about the intricacies of our great festival.
6. Unchained was in a state of decline like previous years with minimal funds. One highlight was the participation of the band ‘Decibel’ which was to gain fame as participants of Channel V’s ‘Launchpad’ programme. They also performed the super-hit ‘Nagin’ before it actually became popular. Emphasizing the cash crunch trend, this band was put up at the house of one of the event heads.
7. In a first, Next Electronics (the Fashion Show sponsor) turned out to be the sponsor for all night events thanks to the lack of any other sponsor!

Horizon 2008:

Few words to describe Horizon 2008: Paintball, Pritam, Times of India, Gary Lawyer and cost cutting
A few one-liners to describe Horizon 2008:
Venky (Cultural Secretary): Paisa nahin milega
Vivek (General Secretary): You are right, and you are also right
Alok (Treasurer): Where am I?
Mohsin (some unknown worker): *%$!*@$#

1. Well, Horizon 2008 featured the very expensive artiste Pritam and his band in one of most touted events in recent times. The event was highly appreciated with VP calling it the best he has seen (big smile there). I had a strong suspicion they were lip-synching since I was up close, but couldn’t prove anything (who would want to?)
2. RAIT also went back to ‘The Rock Age’ (patent mine) with Gary Lawyer performing on the third night to an almost empty arena. Doesn’t matter. It was the highlight of the festival for me.
3. Paintball came to RAIT for the first time after an effort of over 4 years. The very expensive sport was loved by everyone. I almost got gored by the actor Chetan Hansraj (he owned the paintball company) because I inadvertently sprayed the bullets read paintballs in some unmentionable area.
4. Project Udaan saw the light of the day. 3 underprivileged students are being educated by the savings of the organizers in the college. Two of them are performing exceptionally.
5. Perhaps the only ‘Horizon’ that had only 12 people helping with publicity, read poster slapping across New Bombay, two nights prior to Horizon. I did the headcount. This was thanks to Venky’s no free beer policy.
6. The only time that Horizon also got Page 3 coverage in the Times of India main edition. It wasn’t about rave reviews of Pritam or Paintball, rather, the beating up of LT college dance troupe participants who had the audacity of shouting ‘RAIT sucks’ inside the campus!
7. There was a huge fire inside the Dental building while Gary Lawyer was performing. Two fire engines and the entire Nerul police station ensured Gary Lawyer was stopped on time. The interlude between the cop and Gary on stage was hilarious.
8. The only time in recent memory that Unchained organizers actually ended up paying more than the prize money promised thanks to the generosity of the previous Unchained organizers committee.
9. In my opinion, the highest budgeted and cleanest Horizon in a long time. Period.

Brief summary of the last two Horizons' in the maiden RAIT Alumni Magazine (RAM).

So Texing

2009-04-16T11:56:00.008+05:30

Well, first to the title, it isn't a spelling mistake. Well, that's obvious innit? I don't make spelling mistakes ever. Alright, before I veer off in some tangential direction, I have to focus my thoughts on my rant.

I have never been a decision maker. I have always been wedded to the blissful wife that goes by the name ignorance and I loved her too much. For every decision that I have ever taken, the situation was never under my control. I preferred to keep or rather throw the ball in someone else's court so that I would be at the receiving end of a decision.

Alright, chuck it. Hindi movie jingles and flashback. Sunlight streaming in on the camera.
The last time I took a decision. Well I remember vividly, don't I? Only time I ever let my brain do the talking and it did me no good. That was almost 6 years ago. I was confused between what to do after my 12th. Medicine and Engineering were the two options; and like a cruel joke of fate, one was expensive (private medical college) and the other something I was never interested in and detested to a certain extent; To the extent that I skipped integration and derivatives in 12th.
I was the idealist then, wanted to be self sustainable when I still am not and can never be! Like the good, concerned, overtly idiotic child I chose engineering and lived to tell the tale. Eventually, when I look back upon it in a nutshell, I guess it was the right decision. I would have been miserable amongst those whitecoats and the chicas.

I find myself in a similar position today. There is GWU, the cold of DC, a stone's throw from the White House (not that I would dare to, probably have invisible lasers surrounding the place shooting things down), considerably high tuition and living expenses but the saving grace of my sister's house in Maryland, and the killing grace of the thought of staying with a sister again!

On the other hand, by a quirk of fate, I have an admit from Texas A&M. All you engineering sods planning their MS'es don't go gaga. The Bush School (cries of anguish) is good, one of the new prestigious ones that has a great course relevant to my interests. But in the end, it is not the best. There went my UN dreams with GW. But hey, the CIA recruits at Bush \m/.

GWU is one of the best. But I am slightly inclined towards the Bush School (bigger cries of anguish) because it is turning out to be almost 1/3rd of the costs even if I don't work anytime. Plus, I had a small scholarship which I just declined yesterday as the deadline ran out because I don't want to commit to any school, just yet. Again my inherent failure in making decisions. Now I have upto May 11 to commit to Bush (biggest cries of anguish yet, Oh C'mon, its named for his poppa, not the end of the world) without the financial aid. Even without the aid, the costs are still way way cheaper.

Now, the crueler twist of fate is that Texas is one of the last places on Earth I ever wanted to land on, the list in descending order of livability goes thus, Norway, Switzerland, NZ, ...Iraq, Afghanistan, Texas, Pakistan. But I am adapting, i.e. watching cowboy, rodeo movies, throwing Howdy at strangers on the street, following TV evangelists, planning to buy a rifle and go hunting in the forests of Borivli etc.

I don't want to leave Bombay weather to land again in Bombay weather. Aaargh.

What was this article about? Oh yes, my desire to create new words.
Texing : To be super confused about the intention of doing something. Something against your wishes, something you never wanted to, never wildly dreamt of. It happens because the universe always conspires against you. Eat me Rhonda Byrne.

Disastrance

2009-03-16T15:51:00.005+05:30

It all starts with getting late. Not that I got up late, far from it. As always, I had been awake since 2 AM going on to 5 AM. Got ready, a little too early to leave for work. Lay down for a while, slept off. Woke up with alarm bells in my head to see it is 10. Not that anyone would have a problem if I arrived late at work, generally reach late anyways. But these days I report to my big boss in Singapore and it being ahead of IST, he talks to me by 10:30, so had to reach before that.

Since I hadn't read the newspaper, decided to skim through it in the cab. Wrong decision no. 1.

The ipod generally goes in my pocket with the earphones where they belong, my ears. The wires were too entangled, so it went along with the newspaper in my right hand. Wrong decision no. 2.

I always try and carry the 60 Rs change on me or ask the cabbie at the start if he has change for a 100/-. Forgot to do both today, wrong decision no. 3.

Got too engrossed with the newspaper, and forgot to put on the music, wrong decision no. 4.

Reached office, realized there was no change, rushed inside, got it, came back out to pay it.

I always and always check the cab because my Iphone has this tendency to slip out for some reason. For some other unknown reason, didn't do it today. Wrong decision no. 5.

Just yesterday, precisely at 2:45 PM while traveling to Kings Circle, I thought one should always note down taxi numbers in case they forget something, meanwhile smirking about a couple of friends who had lost their phones in cabs and rickshaws. Didn't heed my own counsel the next day. Wrong decision no. 6.

Disaster strikes only on such momentous occasions. When you tend to not do those very things that you always do as routine and assume to do through the sub-conscious. A disastrance really.

I lost my Ipod. I feel like I lost a great friend, like I lost some kin. No, I lost a part of me really, a part of my identity. I lost the support of Messrs, Children of Bodom, Dire Straits, Pink Floyd, RPWL et al who have helped me through those depressing times.

Time to use the old shuffle and perhaps the Iphone itself. In the style of the castaway Tom Hanks, I name thee Bluesleek the Sympathizer and mourn your loss. May you serve some other master and perhaps kill him with a nice little electric shock or turn Kamikaze and die of an internal short circuit rather than submit to someone else!

- Mohsin

Today

2009-03-04T17:45:00.006+05:30

Today is a day of eternal mourning,
And a day of utmost inspiration to me.
A year to this date and I have traversed an abyss of promise and emotion.
A year to this date and I have commuted a journey that presented the most cynical circumstance to me.
A year to this date and I have observed epiphany in motion.
Survival is just a perfunctory continuation and a compromise with reality. Thriving is the real and difficult thing.

I celebrate this momentous year of downs. My new year begins today.
Trivialities and ambiguities are now left behind.
Clarity, reason and change are my best friends.
Dynamism, diligence and detachment are my three pillars.
Hope is only the hangman that tightens the noose from behind your back.

Cheers to the drink called my life; where every sip has the bitterness of reminiscence and the careless mirth of ambition.

Dedicated to ME.

2009-01-01T07:49:00.002+05:30

Welcome in the new year with sickness, inspiring music, diligent personal and academic work, awesomeness in spirit, unshirted verve, sudden realizations, change and vegetarianism :-)

Original II

2008-12-24T12:25:00.002+05:30

There is a protocol to enmity one should "always" flout and a border to it one should "never" transcend!

Barbara Tuchman

2008-12-23T21:29:00.002+05:30

To the woman who changed my life,

Tuchman's Law:
The fact of being reported multiplies the apparent extent of any deplorable development by five- to tenfold. Disaster is rarely as pervasive as it seems from recorded accounts. The fact of being on the record makes it appear continuous and ubiquitous whereas it is more likely to have been sporadic both in time and place. Besides, persistence of the normal is usually greater than the effect of the disturbance, as we know from our own times. After absorbing the news of today, one expects to face a world consisting entirely of strikes, crimes, power failures, broken water mains, stalled trains, school shutdowns, muggers, drug addicts, neo-Nazis, and rapists. The fact is that one can come home in the evening, on a lucky day, without having encountered more than one or two of these phenomena.

In this age of livewire reporting, this stands so true!

Weapon

2008-12-22T22:56:00.004+05:30

I am the gun to be triggered
I am the pike to be speared
I am the arrow to be strung
I am the dirge to be sung
I am the goodness lamented
I am the love fragmented
I am the candle flickered
I am the scorn feared
I am the angst reared
I am the touch endeared
I am the cushion
I am the weapon

Blinderwall:

2008-12-19T17:42:00.003+05:30

Definition (Mohsintionary) - The state of too many things lying pending & stacking up on top of each other like an Iron Wall.
Each task individually attainable fairly easily. But when placed in a heap, seemingly insurmountable, inertia inducing and blinding common sense or reason.

Vagaries

2008-12-10T07:07:00.009+05:30

It seems two years of insomnia and more recently, the nights awake in the past week are catching up on me; I have slept more than 9 hours for two straight days. And this coming at the most crucial juncture of my professional, personal and academic life.
Sigh!

I relate animal sacrifice to Gods in the modern age to the human sacrifice atop the Aztec (or was it Mayan, no definitely think it was Aztec) pyramids in the medieval age.

When Stephen Fry was asked how and when he realized he was gay..."I suppose it all began when I came out of the womb. I looked back up at my mother and thought to myself, That's the last time I'm coming out of one of those."

Pissenstance - The mohsintionary describes it as the collusion of a multitude of pissing events happening in succession or close proximity to each other and furthering the destructive (pissing) effect than could have been caused by each such event in individuality.
Alternate - A happenstance may include positive or negative events. A pissenstance is exclusively for negative events.

Places I want to visit

2008-12-09T15:15:00.005+05:30

Lake Baikal - Russia, the deepest lake in the world and largest in terms of water volume, Southern Siberia, near the city of Irkutsk.

Lake Darashkol - Altay Mountains, Altay Republic, Russia. The center of Asia, bordering Mongolia, China, Kazakhstan, the origin of the Turkic people.

I want

2008-12-03T21:47:00.000+05:30

I want,

a lot of good food
sleep
continuous sleep and not batches of it
Indians to stop berating and start believing
people to stop jaywalking
money to buy around a 1000 books
an Xbox 360
an LCD TV so that I can play the Xbox
my second recommender to actually come to work
my first recommender to get out of Thailand Airport
a stocked up fridge full of Amul Milk, UK Kitkat, and Kellogg's Chocos
to put on weight
a wider network
the name of my company to be changed so its easier for people to understand
people to stop asking what I exactly do
to go home
someone to wash clothes and utensils on weekdays
a bike
a helmet for safety
Indians to stop spitting and littering
a kickass supplemental essay
a kickass supplemental essay written by me
my counselor to refrain from giving me crappy universities
the emotional spectrum of Beck
the humor spectrum of Wodehouse
the writing spectrum of Stephen Fry
to complete the International Economics book so I can complete the other 10
to complete the German course so I can complete Spanish and Swedish after that
my back and neck to stop hurting
people to start realizing and accepting who they are
people to start realizing and accepting when they are a pile of turd
Indian politicians to employ better speech writers
Condy to stop being ambiguous, your term and time's over
to write crap poetry again
to complete Chapter 3
a vacation
space
time
I want out

Sea Change by Beck

2008-12-03T03:31:00.000+05:30

I am currently listening to an album called Sea Change by Beck Hansen, also called Beck. The genre is ambiguous.

This album has the distinction of being ONLY the second album EVER to be given the full "5 stars" by the Rolling Stones magazine. The second album is one of Bruce Springsteen's, can't remember which. Sea Change was written in a week's time only, after Beck's split with his girlfriend of 9 years. The underlying theme of all the songs in the album is this.

Never have I been affected so much by any work of art, may it be music or a book et al. The music is hauntingly melancholy, the lyrics disarmingly touching. The fact that I am listening to it at 3:30 AM in the morning bears testimony to this fact. I was introduced to this album by my former flatmate AOneShuman in May, but hadn't really concentrated on it. And I happened to stumble across it again quite recently.

The Rolling Stone review here:
http://www.rollingstone.com/reviews/album/165933/review/6067359/seachange

Such sadness is incomprehensible.

A salute to the Dylan and Morrison of our age!

Cashmere?

2008-12-01T22:09:00.000+05:30

What is it with India, Pakistan and Kashmir? Or Cashmere :) Like the wool, good to see, nice to touch, criminal to use!

This conflict has been raging on perennially now. Time to put an end to a dismal relationship. What is it the Kahva boys want? I wouldn't know for I haven't been there nor have interacted with anyone. From what the local and international media tells me, I get paradoxical viewpoints. I feel they want out. So let them. What's the point of holding on to something thats slowly slipping out of your grasp, it is like holding on to a porcupine, it hurts and pokes and bleeds but you just don't want to let go. If they want autonomy, I suggest grant it, it will ease half our problems and take away the Pakis only contention with us.

But of course we can't do it, Kashmir is an integral part of us. The already fragmented country we have, one wouldn't be surprised if the North-East follows suit. What do you expect of a country that has 26 state languages (or more?). Perhaps, we are the only country in the world with such a distinction (or is it a curse?). Be it the Chinese, Russkis, Amrikans, they always have one uniform language. But that is perhaps food for another article. Let's not go there.

Coming back to dear Kashmir, I think the ideal course of action is to make it the de facto Switzerland of the south and not a namesake. The Swiss have for ages been at the center of a raging storm and have been left unscathed. Be it the dear Kaiser or the detestable Hitler :), they haven't been bothered with. I envisage something similar for Kashmir. A hub of terrorism to a hub of tourism.

How do we do it? I am no foreign policy expert, but setting up an autonomous government would be the first step. It antagonizes and pains me to no end to even think about it. Sigh! Ideally, we could set up a puppet government there. So, the people on both sides are satisfied. Of course, this is strictly my view as a radically liberal Indian. Personally, I prefer military dictatorships. Total occupation ;)

We could get in an International peacekeeping force there so the Pakis can keep their dirty hands, feet of the land and their noses of the pure air. An international presence would also keep them Pakis on their toes and restrict or rather put an end to their unclean motives.

We, India can then concentrate on sweeping our armed forces into Pakiland through the green fields of Punjab and the deserts of Rajasthan and the swamps of Kutch and put an end to our blood feud. A joke :D

Perhaps, with our resources saved, we can then concentrate on education, health and most importantly, build our factious country into one unit where language or religion is no barrier. Our favorite chant is unity in diversity or being proud of our culture, but that's just an empty claim. For once, lets build a real country, a process that failed in 1947.

Religion - the root cause of evil?

2008-12-01T20:56:00.000+05:30

I think not. It has come into prominence now for lack of other issues. I personally feel the human race is bound to be and determined to be at conflict and maybe even genetically programmed to do so at every point of time. Somehow, the inherent barbaric nature takes over.
At a time when conflicts between nations have reduced to the local Indo-Pak, Israel-Arab (waning), South & North Korea (I haven't heard from them for so long I am disposed to ponder if they united :)) skirmishes, the man-beast requires something to fight over. Religion has been in place for a long long time. There have been fights over it, the crusades come to mind immediately. After all, the concept of God has always been higher to country or clan in the human mindset.

Scuffles between countries though are long standing too and more vehement. We know of the outcome of the Franco-German and Russo-German conflicts in the past century. To elaborate my point, the worst genocides in history have rarely had religious undertones.

Mao Zedong directly/indirectly killed around 70 million in China through purges, famine and war, thanks to his tiff with Chiang Kai-Shek (the then overlord of China) who fled to a small island called Formosa and formed, you guessed it right, the country of Taiwan (and the tiff continues!)

My favorite Herr Stalin killed 30 million Ivans and everyone he remotely suspected in the same way through his Siberian Gulags and other prison camps and famine. But of course, in the eyes of the ignorant world he isn't remembered much thanks to the efforts of his arch-nemesis and image supplanter, the equally megalomaniac Comrade Hitler who exterminated 5-7 million Jews, Gypsies and gays (yes, he was a homophobe of sorts, after all, he killed his first ever ally and lieutenant Ernst Rohm, who was unfortunately gay, when he no longer needed him in 1934). Of course, I am not counting the civilian casualties of the Second World War here.

Then how can we forget the Khmer Rouge in Cambodia. Pol Pot and his inane urge for a back to prehistoric lifestyle killed 1.7 million. Kim II Sung with 1.6, Menghistu in Ehiopia with 1.5, Saddam's offence against the Kurds (0.6 million). I find it ridiculously disgusting to even throw these numbers in the air like loose change. The list is endless. The astonishing fact is none of these exterminations were aroused out of a religious disharmony! It was ideological, at times ethnic, at times plain hatred without reason.

This is just a passing phase. Religion will cause many problems in the portended future. Human lust for a fight will move on to better things when they realize their God won't supply them water, but their neighboring country will when their rivers run dry. Lack of food, population bursting at its seems, bad air, melting icecaps and displaced land are the things we ought to look out for. Religion will be outmoded in a few years.

Making History: Stephen Fry

2008-11-30T11:48:00.000+05:30

I read this book when I was in the 11th standard. That’s a long time ago. I must have reread it at least 20 times since then and almost know the dialogues by rote.

This book is very immensely significant to me. I read it at a time when I was unsure of what I wanted to do in life, still am though. Yet I have never been so influenced by the protagonist of a book. I am a huge fan of Fry and this book takes the cake without a doubt.

This book is difficult reading, even for someone who has been reading a long time. The writer’s use of British inside jokes, reference to classic American movies and actors, use of phrases rarely heard in India, use of German and Latin words, its backdrop of history, plus the tendency to waver and a lot of soliloquizing contributes to the abstruseness.

But once you make an effort, it is like biting into a banana and finding strawberry juice inside.

The book revolves around a history graduate pursuing his PhD. Contrary to the two categories of stereotyped historians, he belongs to a third imaginary category, the PhDude, history surfing, screaming out juvenile cusses all around type. The protagonist, named Michael Young aka Pup, is the one of the most hilarious creations for me ever.

Then there is Leo Zuckermann, the theoretical physicist, who is pretending to live a Jew life while he was in actuality, born the son of a Nazi storm doctor. Jane, Pup’s girlfriend, who ditches him twice, without understanding or even making the effort to know what he is doing.

There’s the devil Adolf Hitler himself, also called Dolfi. Rudolf Gloder, the fictional and even more terrible and intelligent Nazi who would have come to power in case Dolfi was never born; he, who would conquer Russia and Britain and create a world dominated by Germany, America, Japan and Italy.

Then there’s Steve Burns, Michael’s gay interest, although he doesn’t really know him in the real world, but meets him in the alternate reality.

Enough, you wouldn’t understand a thing. The book deals with Mikey and Leo’s attempt to recreate a world rid of Hitler by going back in time and sterilizing his father using new age male pills :)
The attempt backfires, as Mikey wakes up in America and finds himself in a world ruled by Gloder and a place where black rights or free speech is never heard of. He sets out to find Leo, who is working on the same kind of experiment even in this alternate reality and they, with the assistance of Steve, make sure that Adolf Hitler lived so that the world would be a better place.

The author’s use of movie scripts style in the middle pages, fluent, fruity and biting British humor, the excellent chemistry, be it between Jane and Pup, Pup and Leo, Pup and Steve is endearing.

The book puts across a controversial theory that people are genetically programmed to behave in a certain manner, and it is not the upbringing or the surrounding that matters. Somehow, its discards the notions of fate or destiny, or even free will. Leo’s father, a concentration camp doctor in Hitler’s world, creates a sterilizing water in Gloder’s world (this of course originates from the Hitler family well, in which Leo and Pup had mixed in the male pill originally :) ) which is used to eliminate all Jews in Europe.

Why am I so much in love with this book? Apart from the fact that it has been compared to classics like Catch 22, it introduced me to history. It introduced me to British humor. It introduced to me movies, books I had never heard of.
I have changed over the period of time, and now I find a certain resemblance between Pup and myself and if a book can do so many things, it truly is amazing.

Some original quotes :-)

2008-11-22T21:09:00.000+05:30

Morally, you are not in the wrong until the opposite side actually knows that you are.

Better to be an ignorant fool than a wise fool who shrouds himself under a cloak of arrogance and rigidity.

I was never on the cliff waiting for the nudge to push me down, rather, I was dangling from the precipice waiting for the finger crunching foot-stamp. Now I am free-falling. The thud will come and it may hurt, but until then I am feeling the wind in my hair!

When you start day dreaming, there is someone up there who always sends an interrupt.

It never was about you against me. It always was about you and me against me and you.

A lie, however good or sincere it maybe, is still a lie, and thus, hurtful.

The Universe is governed by laws; the unfortunate part is God doesn't understand them.

My moonshine!

2008-11-22T21:08:00.000+05:30

O Sweet Sunshine! Soothing Moonshine!
Your appearance, freckled, fresh and fine.
A writers muse; a lovers ruse,
like a canvas of colored hues.

The eyes, a gateway to another life;
The mind full of strife.
Your countenance, epitome of grace,
reminds me of greener days.

Like violets on the air you freshen the mind;
this karmic solace, this eternal peace,
where else can one find?

You smile, you suffer, and its contagious.
Like the plague of yore it will spread.
Drowning me in pools of sorrow,
leaving emotions numb and dead.

You can whisper all day long in my ears;
And shed in my hand all your pearly tears.
For I shall stash every single one away,
to reflect your crystal beauty on a happier day.

Walk with me, trust in me:
Into the crowded streets where we shall both be free.
The touch of your body is like a blazing furnace.
Like sea, salt, silk, coal, ice,
like the unrelenting strike of a mace.
Talk to me, trust in me;
Won't you ever falter, blessed be thee.

The focussed eyes, the luscious lips, the poised movement.
The touch of your hands, a gift heaven sent.
In your train of emotions I ride;
This feeling towards you, of love and sincerity, shall never subside.

Unmatched in sheer exuberance,
Unchallenged in outright defiance,
Unrivaled in your austere beauty,
Gracious like a dove,
Here's the sweetest one I will ever know?

A day in my life

2008-11-22T21:07:00.001+05:30

23.05.08-Today, was one of the better days of my life.

From early morning to evening I had nothing absolutely to do. My Ipod had run out of charge, my phone battery was low and it was annihilated by a couple of long calls. My laptop battery runs for 4 minutes and within that timeframe I surfed Orkut, checked my email, read four lines of Book 1 of the Bartimaeus Trilogy before the battery feebly died. I read no books (ebook, study book or novel). Plus there was no electricity, no water. And I was and am miserably sick and I was alone. Such sad times bring out the best in people, and I found the best companion I could ever: Me, Myself and NO Irene.

During the day, I stared at the sun, at the trees, drank water, strummed a few notes on the guitar, drank water again and again (it was humid), opened the refrigerator and closed it many times, strummed again, reconstructed the 1st World War, a map of Africa, tried my hand at Gabriel G Marquez and left it after 3 lines, sang an awful rendition of Lost for Words by Floyd, Hello by Blackfield and a spiteful version of Blunderwall oops, you know what, almost started writing a modern day satire on Lord of the Rings etc etc.

I realized what I had been doing over the past two years: reading less, writing lesser, working excessively at times for stupid things, being inherently nice and looking for goodness in others. Well, no more Mr. Nice guy, meet Dr. Nasty.
And so the day passed and never have I been so close to myself and at peace.
At the end, I happened to eat some stale rolls from Monginis and am sick again.

A disclaimer I wrote for the Goa trip, just found it funny :-)

2008-11-22T20:36:00.000+05:30

INDEMNITY BOND:

I, __________________________, Roll no: _____________, of _____ Year of Ramrao Adik Institute of Technology, Nerul, Navi Mumbai have read the rules and regulations provided forthwith and agree with it completely. I shall take full responsibility for all my actions in Goa and enroute to Goa. In case of any untoward incident, I will not hold the Organizers responsible in any possible manner.

Date:

Signature:

Place:

Rules and Regulations:

· Drunken Driving will not be tolerated and the strictest of action will be taken against the offenders.

· Only valid License Holders will be allowed to drive bikes/ cars. If found otherwise, proper and stern action will be taken against such students.

· The behavior and conduct of the students at all times should be in line with the standards set by the reputation and prestige of the college.

· Students should move around in groups and each group will have a coordinator appointed by the Organization Committee.

· A Bus Service can be provided and recommended for any kind of sightseeing for a group of non-licensees mentioned above.

· Students are asked to hire vehicles with YELLOW number plates and collect the Registration and Insurance papers to avoid any kind of trouble.

Pincer movement

2008-11-22T20:33:00.000+05:30

The pincer movement is one of the oldest and most widely used maneuvers in military history. It has been used right from the times of Hannibal at Carthage to the Second World War at Stalingrad.

Over the years it has been used tactically, that is, on the battlefield itself to strategically, on a larger scale where the entire army movement is based on this theory.

If an enemy force is right in front of you, then a pincer movement is like a hug around him. It can be a single armed hug where one pincer tries to envelop the opponents or a two armed one wherein double envelopment can be achieved and result in the annihilation of the enemy forces.

One of the oldest examples of a tactical pincer movement that is still taught in military schools all over the globe is that of Cannae. The Romans outnumbered Hannibal Barca, the leader of the Carthingian forces. He stationed his cavalry at the flanks i.e. at the extreme ends. His center retreated in an orderly manner thus enticing and later trapping the Romans in an arc. Once his cavalry moved from their positions it was no game for the Romans. Their casualties numbered around 60 to 70,000.

A strategic example of a pincer movement occurred in the First World War. The German forces planned to move against the French from the north, like the movement of a scythe. A single pincer consisting of about 6,00,000 men would drive up through Belgium and then south into Paris, the theory being that the last man on the right would brush the English Channel with his sleeve. On the other hand, the other supposed pincer from the south would try to breach the defenses of the French but hold its position at any cost. The offensive was halted outside Paris resulting in trench warfare for the next 4 years.

A famous example of a two-pronged pincer was the famous Battle of Stalingrad, regarded as many to be the turning point of the Second World War. The German forces had captured the city (now called Volgograd) on the banks of the river Volga. The Soviet Forces had a few pockets in the city itself but the majority of their army was across the river. Attempts to reinforce their soldiers on the German side were bloody as depicted in the movie ‘Enemy at the Gates’.

The German Flanks were, however weak. Poorly equipped Hungarians and Romanians occupied the north of the city along the Don River. The southern flank was weak in a similar fashion. The Soviet offensive (codenamed Operation Uranus) broke through the north and the south in a perfect pincer movement and linked up behind the city, thus trapping 2,50,000 soldiers inside the Stalingrad Pocket. Immediately, two defensive lines were formed; one facing towards the city to prevent any breakout by the trapped soldiers; the other facing outside to avoid any reinforcement of it by the German Army. The total casualties of the battle were around 8,50,000 Axis (German, Romanian, Italian, Hungarian, Croatian et al) casualties.

In the 1971 war, the Indian Armed Forces executed a brilliant multi pronged pincer attack into East Pakistan (now Bangladesh) from all sides, coupled with a naval blockade led by INS Vikrant, India’s only aircraft carrier at that time. Within 9 days, Indian Army Forces were deep inside Bangladesh surprising even their own conservative estimates. The final result was around 20,000 dead and 80,000 captured of the Pakistani Army.

The military tactic of a pincer movement followed up by complete destruction of enemy forces has been and will be widely used in future combat techniques.

The War of the Wills

2008-11-22T20:29:00.000+05:30

The 3^rd World War has just begun and it is similar to the second in many ways. On one side of the war is Aryan Singh with his nonsensical agendas and grievous views on the Meritocracy. His policies are simple, eliminating and undermining the superior Meritocracy race. His armies are better; he has the lathi wielding and pot-bellied Gestapolice on his side.

On our side are the elite Medical Corps and the respected and money minting Tech Brigade. With no visible leader amongst us we might dither and disintegrate under the onslaught of the Gestapolice. There is a slightly biased yet neutral Media Corps supporting us by propagating our views and sufferings to other rebels and affected people all over the country. A few weeks ago, the siege of Governor House came to an end under heavy losses. Our forces had to fall back to reinforce and reinvigorate themselves. Like it was in WWII, the Gestapolice will not retreat and will try to spread misinformation about the rebels’ activities. A few of our soldiers were nabbed and taken away to the infamous Police Concentration Camps. There was a statement by the head of the Gestapolice, which said that the rebels had used unconventional warfare and WMD’s (Women of Manic Disposition). The highlight of this war has become the widespread participation of the Lady Regiments. They have fought with unnerving ferocity coming under the blow themselves, several times.

We lost the battle but we will win the war. The country was appalled at the blatant lies on live TV. The Media Corps surely is swaying the tide of the war in our favor. Hitler may have had his Goebbels for propaganda, but we have Rupert Murdoch on our side.

Aryan Singh has been trying desperately to avoid a more than Two-Front War. There seems to be a non- aggression pact between him and the Engineering Army of inferior quality, yet a monstrous force to be reckoned with. It is a slow force to mobilize but they have the numbers: around Two Hundred Thousand including reserves in the state of Maharashtra itself. We are waiting for them to be roused.

Then there are the Pharmaceutical Battalions with their Penicillin, the Alumni Reserve with their Pedigrees, and the Dentists with their teeth-shattering technology. We also have the poorly trained nonetheless respected paratroopers from the BSC’s, BCOM’s and the BA’s armed with their Einsteins and Faradays, spreadsheets and complex accounting practices, and their Shakespeares in respective order.

The Meds have a secret weapon and this may affect the civilians as well. All of them have refused to treat members of the Gestapolice. This is a two-edged sword that may turn the civilian populace against us. But it shall have its desired effects too.

For now, we wait for future battles. A tough road lies ahead. But we shall fight on the streets, in the colleges, and the hostels. We shall never surrender. We proclaim forever our right to a meritorious country, not a divided one.

We are still waiting for reinforcements from the Engineering Army. It seems they have exams going on.

Published in RAIT’s College Magazine, The Wall: Written after the Governor House incident where students were lathi-charged by policemen in broad view of the country.

A crappy article written for DNA NM

2008-11-22T20:27:00.000+05:30

Coaching Classes:

Navi Mumbai has become a nucleus for the educational setup in recent years. With the advent of a wave of educational institutions in the fields of Engineering, Medical, Dental and a whole lot of other streams, the number of coaching classes has increased too. The city boasts of a score of eminent coaching classes for all the subjects right from Junior College to Graduation.

The standard of teaching in most colleges in Navi Mumbai has dwindled to lamentable levels despite the spurt in the number of students. As such, students have no alternative but to turn to these reliable saviors- Coaching classes. Private tutors and students alike feel that the concentration level of college teachers is lacking and sometimes appallingly so.

But, are coaching classes so very essential? A year of hard studying on her own didn’t deliver the marks that Shilpi Pathak had hoped for, thus paving the way for enrolling in a coaching class. She believes that the whole system forms a vicious circle. Other students stand by this belief.

Chakravarthy Sridhar, a student of RAIT, who had joined classes for more than half of his subjects in the first year, and stood in the top ten in his college, stresses on the fact that coaching classes are necessary but at the same time detrimental to a student’s education. Some students like Manas Karekar are against the general viewpoint. He believes that coaching classes are like crutches, once students start relying excessively on them, they will never walk on their own.

Prof. Irfan, who teaches Digital Design for technical students, states that students have developed a mindset where they are concerned only with passing and getting marks, hence the obsession with private tuitions. He adds that the coaching classes also conduct their classes in a most unprofessional manner, cramming students in stuffy classrooms.

Prof. Amit Iyer, previously teaching Electronics and now Management related subjects believes that the HSC setup has become a complete rat race to attain the highest marks and thus tuitions are absolutely vital for these students. On being asked who was to be blamed for this ruckus, he said it is the collective fault of the students, their parents and the colleges. He added that the students of today are so used to this system that they are incapable of using reference books on their own.

There is a growing trend nowadays of toddlers hopping onto the bandwagon from their school days. It is alarming as encumbering children at such young ages is the de facto fault of parent’s helplessness and the burgeoning drift towards results and marks. Parents and children have to play an important role to tackle this virus.

Coaching classes can be deleterious to a students overall pragmatic knowledge but have become a necessity now in any field. As long as steps are not taken to improve the standard of teaching in colleges, the classes will stay. Finally, it all boils down to a student.

Some students are consummate in their studies while others are not; most have a laid-back attitude towards education (who can blame them!). But there are things more important than marks or percentages in life.

Think of what William Love Bryan said, ‘Education is...

One of the few things a person is willing to pay for and not get.

DNA NEW MUMBAI

2008-11-22T20:25:00.000+05:30

A poem a great friend wrote for me once.

I’m a lucky girl, got someone in this world
To tell my deepest secrets to
Fortunately I’ve got someone in my life
And that someone is you
I like the way you listen to me
When I talk about things that matter
I like the way you always stand up for me
When I’m not around
The way we help each other
Through the crazy ups and downs that happen
A thing like this don’t come along everyday
And I just wanna say...
Call on me anytime, call on me rain or shine
Your a friend of mine
Whether it’s day or night, whether you’re wrong or right
You are a friend of mine

2008-11-22T20:24:00.000+05:30

COP STORY

Through my years in college, the home bird that I am, I have rarely ventured far. Commuting up to Vashi is a laborious task, one of the main reasons I never join classes.

So the other day I grasped at an opportunity to take a walk around Vashi in the pleasurable company of a lady friend. The only place in Vashi I happen to know is sector 17. So trudging up all the way to the mini sea shore was a novel experience.

I am not much of a sea-baby, have seen mountain-heads go gaga when they see the sea for the first time. Trust me; you won’t be, if you’ve lived more than half your life, less that half a km away from the beach. And mini sea shore it isn’t much of a shore to the sea. More like a forgotten, decrepit lake of sorts.

The walk inside was pretty endearing though. The walkway, lined with green was something that reminded me of my hometown. There also happened to be some sort of festival over there, meaning crowds; one more thing I dislike. I’d had a tiresome day in college, and howsoever much I may like walks, they do tend to tire me out. So we found a place reserved for elderly and women citizens to sit on and sat a meter apart, I know because that’s how much my hand could stretch out without a trace of human contact!

The story gets interesting now. We were discussing important issues, not like world saving, but salvation on a ‘personal level’ issues. Being brought up in a small town, I am uncomfortable in female company around public places, so I was categorically on the lookout for any kind of intrusive eyes. With a sharp clang, and the cacophony of a hundred Nokia alarms and air raid klaxons sounding all round, a couple of khakis came sauntering in on a Pulsar and stopped right in front of us.

Oh! Another good cop, bad cop routine to follow. I should have trusted these two specimens with a little intelligence though, both were bad cops. With sidelong glances at my lady friend, they both come up to me and asked what I happened to be doing there. The smartass that I am, I said I was taking a walk and was sitting because I was tired. They both delivered ridiculous misbelieving looks that my teachers reserve for the choicest of occasions when I use the lamest of excuses as a cover up.

My lady friend tried to intervene, an inherently flawed move, said her parents knew where she was and it wasn’t wrong to sit in the company of a gent in a public park.

Ouch! Bad cops started a rant about it being illegal and how it was a festival day and there was a bandobast and mentioned about gaadi mein chalo station.

I am a lawyer’s son, have had a few shady encounters with these guys, have a tough skin and would have dished it right back to the nags, but only if it was Ratnagiri, this is Bombay baby. I chose the easy way out. Knew it wouldn’t be beyond the IQ of these guys with their pea sized brains to throw some mud at my lady friend’s character and cook up something frivolous. Festival time means these guys are out on a money drive, and why not make somebody’s day.

I gestured him to come to the side, now it was the three of us, men who would talk business, who could reason without threatening. I asked him for a way out. Thousand came back the reply. I pretended not to hear, I told him I was a student and could give only a fifty. A flabbergasted frown followed up; I was trying to bribe a dishonest police officer with a measly fifty, how demeaning could that be!

They presented a renegotiated deal cutting it down to half. I removed a hundred rupee note, thrust it into their hands and said that’s all I could afford. The bastards smiled; the matter resolved, the cops moved on without ensuring that we leave, leaving us to continue our humble tête-à-tête.

One thing that stabbed me later, I would have gladly paid a thousand quid if I were caught in a compromising position with a pretty lady, but at a meter away almost facing two different directions seems to be a waste of my old man’s money.

I proportion blame to the whole for the actions of a few. So I change from Airtel to Vodafone, just because a couple of Customer Execs were unhelpful.

I started off this article wanting to present an anguished and concerned tirade against these sods. Uncouth ruffians, overweight buffoons, I have a hundred other adjectives in my arsenal, but somewhere in the middle I lost track.

The point is, I really do hate cops, someday if I have the necessary means and power; there will be a change, mark my words.

Chapter 1: Footnotes removed

2008-07-21T12:17:00.001+05:30

CHASE THE SHADOWS

All stories start off with an anomaly or an aberration. This one’s no better.

I cannot fathom how a mistaken platform could have set into motion a train of events that I, in fact, no one could have foreseen. But it did happen and starts off with a train indeed. Let’s come back to that in a few pages.

For now, I am in one of the infamous, dirty, environmentally unfriendly yellow black brutes that define the transportation of Bombay city (I do not believe in changing place names. For more information, continue reading). The traffic crawls, inching together in a long line of pollution spewing ants. I am trying to breach this serpentine queue with the help of my benevolent driver; who, by his incessant inconsequential chatter isn’t helping my cause a wee bit.

We are trying to reach V.T sweetie (Victoria Terminus. Bombay’s central and oldest station. Now named Chattrapati Shivaji Terminus. Of course, we liberals still call it V.T. Am I incurring the wrath of a certain SS here, not the Nazi one folks), but I am despaired. I gotta board a train for Nagpur in exactly 25 minutes and I hate to admit it, but I am running late. My efforts in achieving this seemingly insurmountable task seem stymied.

I take a moment of my treasured time to glance around and take in the sights (Slums: The word itself screams out apathy. I have very strong views on the subject as you will soon find out). Jokes apart, think of the Victorian or Gothic or Saracen or whatever influenced architecture. It’s quite worthwhile and reminiscent of the colonial era.

All that we can conjure up is the image of the slums and we are obsessed about this sensitive issue (Guffaw). For everything and anything that happens we blame it on the slums. Power cuts which were unrelenting in the rest of the state, are now, forgive us Holy Father, torturing us in this harsh mega polis too (Well almost, the suburbs for sure. For amusement, I do the courtesy of calling up a friend who stays in New Bombay during his scheduled power cut and brag about the cooling prowess of the newest Hitachi air conditioner).

Shortage of water, lack of space on roads or lack of roads altogether, expensive real estate or no real estate, crimes, evils; lack and excesses of everything that can ail a city are undeservingly blamed on the slum dwellers (Our politicians deserve a fair share of the credit too).

Our city fathers love the word drive. It starts off with cleanliness drives, then come the literacy drives, health drives, human rights drives et al (No sexual drives unfortunately). After all this, when there is nothing better to be done, there come the eviction drives. After a couple of days of relentless flattening, small skirmishes, breaking news coverage, the city forgets the issue and moves on.

The evicted are back of course, with their mobile homes. Television sets, fans, cots and the entire armory. Let us not forget these people have somehow ended on the voter lists (A mystery; the answer to which still eludes me despite meticulous research) and thus hold quite an influential vote bank for some of our esteemed small time politicians, whose only claim to fame is a photograph in the newspapers talking of human rights violations. Their ignorance and reasoning could put Martin Luther King to shame.

If you want a crash course in the art of packing, unpacking, moving and then doing it all over again in a few hours; you gotta talk to these experts with inputs from our hawkers.

Darn! I warned you I have strong feelings on the subject.

I am about to miss the only train that has a ticket booked in my name and all I can think about is these (These, spoken with a mime that can be best described as when you inadvertently and unluckily step on a pile of cow shit) things. I feel hopeless and helpless. The ‘real’ Napster in the Italian Job comes to mind (Charlize was hot; the only reason why I watched the movie in the first place). I wish I could have put fours years of computer engineering to some better use!

Mind you, I am still taking in the sights. I pass through an area called Reay Road hoping against hope that it wasn’t named after some Lord Reay because the poor sod must be turning in his grave now (An old hackneyed joke. What’s happening to my appreciable sense of humor! I am telling you it’s the traffic).

There are slums on both sides of the road; a quarter or more of each side thus being occupied. This area is exclusively for illegal Bangladeshi immigrants. The city has a stupendous mix of localities where people of different religions or regions stay in harmony normally resembling an ethnic stew pot (During riots or clashes, these pots boil over). There are places of segregation where only one community resides (During the same riots, these areas turn into bastions or massacre grounds dependant upon demographic factors).

All thanks to Bombay being a permanent magnet for all downtrodden South East Asians (To be trodden down even more over here). You need asylum, are a defector, don’t have no money, come to Bombay honey. Allow me another stale joke here. It still circulates because it is good. It says that Bombay probably has more Bangladeshis than the original country itself. Mercifully, Pakis are unwelcome and absent.

Bombay doesn’t have roads; it has alleys between buildings and slums.

There is a magical clearing and my taxi lurches forward passing inconveniently close through two cumbersome trucks (Really close shave that. I even forgot to record my thoughts for that moment). A tot playing in his private asphalt park screams as he dives for the safety of his roadside shanty (He didn’t need to do that. My taxi was far off. These kids can’t resist showing off. In return, a smile and a hearty snarl to him).

We cross a few blocks and enter an area full of glossy multiplexes and malls and the usual junk made of glass and concrete.

What a brawl! From a chawl to a mall in the blink of an eyeball.

That’s our city on a silver platter to you. For anything that it maybe, it holds something very special for anyone who has lived here for howsoever much a brief time. When you travel in the overcrowded, stuffed, reeking (I have a hundred other flavored adjectives, or call it expletives, in my arsenal) trains fit for cattle; you hurl obloquy’s at everyone in sight. But then you develop a certain sense of camaraderie that you are all part of something magnanimous; you share the same feeling with ten million other sweating and stinking people.

The city of dreams. The city that turns millions of people into people of millions.

Ahhh! I am almost at my destination now. The cabbie has done a good job. Five minutes before time. Funny how engrossed I was in my own thoughts. I should do this soliloquizing more often in my oft boring lectures.

I get out with a typical flourish holding my minuscule bag in one hand. I heavily tip the cabbie despite the fact that tipping taxi drivers isn’t prevalent here (I am of a generous nature, see).

The sky is overcast and its windy, a combination I detest. This can be presumed to be heartening or relieving anywhere in India but Bombay. The rains flood us for days on end (The last time round; I didn’t have a bath for a week. I still remember the stench. And I was stuck in New Bombay where there was least flooding!) and the wind whips up the dust like a blazing twister stinging our precious eyes.

I don’t even know the platform number for my train (Not that I can be blamed about it. Platform numbers are confirmed only around the time of the departure). It’s about Five Thirty, rush hour. Made a mistake, shoulda taken the St. George entrance. This one has all the local commuters streaming in and out continuously. I take in a deep breath and wade inside (Careful Watson, these are deep waters). In an instance I am pulled limb to limb. Excruciating pain is exerted on my weak appendages as my little bag tries to break free. Despite this, I stand there defiant like Leonidas (Okay, without the six pack. But at least I don’t have to resort to a ‘Hoo’ every time I move one step forward). A coupla people get pushed around in the melee but I stabilize. Securing my bag, I look around for the electronic display boards.

Heck! They are on the other side of the station. I strain my ears to hear some kind of an announcement, tcchh, too much static. The babble of human mouths around me is so great that they couldn’t hear an air raid siren or better, Scarlett Johansson begging out for a fuck. I look out for the person best fit to answer my query, a porter.

There is a rapacious looking old bugger dressed in the reds of the coolies slightly ahead of me, waiting for a poor victim. He looks at my only bag and scowls; I ain’t a customer (At his age, I will need to push the trolley if I give him my light bag, with him inside it).

“Nagpur ka train?” I ask.

He points outside, bares his tobacco stained broken teeth and says with a mischievous grin, “Not there” (Heck, another smartass. Age not withstanding, I would love to give him a piece of my mind. When cornered in such situations, I put my mastery of the English language to good use putting people in their places. Not now though. Got a train to catch).

I scream out, “Which platform?” (Okay, maybe it resembled more a desperate cry than a loud scream)

“13”, says he grinning even more. I could fit my curled fist into that mouth. Maybe harassing hapless passengers gives him a kick during the course of a dry, monotonous day. Whatever, I don’t care (Raining Blood by Slayer plays in the far reaches of my subconscious; curdling my blood).

I start to move. Not run per se, skedaddle or scamper or whatever you may call it. Whatever it is, a bull Minotaur would have been proud.

Only a couple of minutes left now. I jogged almost 4kms a day regularly until about a month back. My muscles are already close to bursting with the short sprint; sucking the air out of my lungs (The smoking negates all the strenuous exercise. Worth it, I say).

I shove the unlucky traveler who happens to come across me with my spare hand and somehow still lug on to my bag. A couple of people shout at me. Not justified words of exasperation, but proper sweet hardcore cuss words. I cry out a few apologies to the agitated and startled people (I can retort back. And I don’t give a damn about the inconvenienced. But this is no time to pick a fight).

The platforms pass by in a jiffy. I am still on the gallop. Some train honks its departure signal. I have a bad feeling about this.

One last burst. Number 13 is here. Just beyond the general bogeys are the reserved ones, all of the latter interconnected. I board the nearest reserved one. I can change bogeys later from the inside (One ulterior reason behind this is that I get to check out quite a few compartments. There might just be a good lone chick that could make this journey a little bearable).

My primary task being accomplished, I look around the bogey I have climbed into. My fellow passengers all glare at me (I am used to such things, such adulation! I have longish hair, kind of wavy, excessively so at the ends; a pair of neck-phones is always wrapped around my neck. I am thin, girls getting envious types thin and am profusely sweating and panting for breath right now. Effectively, screaming out for attention).

The sultry stale air inside the bogey does not help much. In addition to that, there is a dour smell that yells out alcohol. No problems with that. But it smells more of hooch than Jack Daniels or even RC. That is disgusting. I suspect it is the group of middle aged guys playing cards to the right. Morons, haven’t they heard of the golden paradigm? Drink anything but desi and travel. It stinketh. Heck, even I love to take a swig secretly on a journey once in a while. What use! No wasting my breath over it.

I flash a schoolboy grin at everyone, getting sneering lips and frowning eyes in retaliation. The grin persists though. I have boarded a train in the nick of time. I know more about anything and everything than the rest of the bogey combined. I shouldn’t care about such ignoramuses (Again, a standard comment to comfort myself when pinned down).

I move further and enter the air conditioned bogeys and spot a tall girl bearing an hour glass figure accentuated at the chest-line and rear end and sporting highlights in her hair (A very seductive combination; a good body and highlights. There is something about highlights. It all relates to her going down and the hair covering her face. The very thought makes me perspire).

My countenance changes to one with an air of maturity and authority. I turn to her and ask the bogey number. There is this slightest trace of huskiness in her voice. My senses tingle even more (A husky moan rings in my ears!).

It turns out to be mine. Oh Lord, thanks a lot! Now how about some charm and luck to relieve this poor female soul of her worries. My seat is diagonally opposite to hers. This could be a very profitable journey indeed.

I strike up a trivial conversation and within a minute know that she is a final year Arts Student at one of the South Bombay colleges. Time to churn up the old archives in my brain on Goethe, Dickens and Michelangelo et al. She seems pretty intelligent for her looks and for a change I stop thinking about my clandestine intentions (I ain’t no pervert. A higher calling is exchange of knowledge along with an intelligent conversation. Yeah, and if it gets me in bed with her, so much the better).

Somewhere in there amongst the lines. I get her name, Vinamrata, and since it’s a pretty big name to call out every time, her friends call her Nam.

We are discussing the intricate problems intertwined with the Education System when,

“Excuse me, what is your seat number?” It’s a young management executive complete with a black laptop bag and the whole shebang. They all look the same, ugly tie and formal wear at 38 Degree Celsius. Probably sleeps in it too.

“Its number 12,” I say, annoyed at the interruption.

“Can I have a look at your ticket?” and before I can definitely ask him to sod off, he continues, “Because even I have the same ticket number.”

With indifference, I hand it over to him.

He peers at it through his shitty glasses, looks at me, and back to the ticket. He has a quizzical expression on his face which turns to a puckered brow and then the slightest hint of a smirk.

“Oh yes, even your ticket number is the same, and even the bogey number. Just that it is of a different train. Your ticket here says the Howrah Mail and this train unfortunately happens to be the Vidarbha Express.”

With a klaxon ringing loud in my ears, I turn to Nam. To my consternation her look affirms the man’s claims.

It is difficult to surmise how it feels when you run in opposite directions at a station within a span of 10 minutes. It feels idiotic, humiliating in the least. I can reproach myself for not looking at the display board when I got onto the train, for trusting the porter who inadvertently gave me the platform number of the more popular train to Nagpur and not the Howrah Mail which goes to Calcutta via Nagpur. I, Nikhil Kanetkar (Sorry, in the chaos of the journey, I forgot to introduce myself. My friends call me Nikhil Kane (pronounced Cane) or only Kane or Nick Kane which has somehow over the years become distorted to Nikon and that’s what they call me now), a library of knowledge, progenitor of a hundred brilliant ideas and an IQ of 180 foiled by sheer happenstance.

No time for blame. The time spent in recrimination is best spent in not repeating that mistake (Or something like that, Rudolf Gloder in Making History by Stephen Fry).

I rush through the infuriating crowd slowing down for a nanosecond near the Electronic Display board. One part of my brain registers the platform number while the other half computes the distance to the platform, probable time left for the train’s departure, various interrupts like the crowd etc.

I can see a train starting to pull out of the station. I will use a revised version of last time’s technique and get onto any bogey. Within ten or so minutes the train will stop at Dadar for a couple of minutes. Will change there.

Great minds always think of the larger picture. I am a few meters away from the rapidly moving train. As my brain processes the required velocity and jump distance, it overlooks a minor thing: Indians, and their dirty habits. My brain sends the required parameters to my limbs and at the moment of leaping; my feet in all their exercised glory step over a fruit skin. Without an alternative solution developed by my brain to this contingency, my feet do what they think best. They slip. I lose my balance and fall, head on.

I raise my head and see the train move out. My momentous journey has come to an end.

Everything seems to have stopped still around me. Even the frenetic crowd seems to have thinned down. Bruised, humiliated, I get myself on my dear, once proud, feet.

I gather my bag and head to the nearest tap. My upper lip is numb and badly cut. I sluice the dust and the blood off (All this after I check my headphones. That is Priority Number 1). I brush the grime on my clothes and set my totally devastated hair right. It already feels much better.

I make my way across the station and stare at the interiors, which many people, including me, overlook most times. A defeated warrior emerges from the station and heads to the taxi stand.

Given my feelings on the subject of monsoons in Bombay; the misty and nippy air does cheer me up (I am from Konkan, between the sea and the Sahyadri Hills to the East. The monsoons transform it into a very beautiful place indeed. I always long to be there in June when it starts).

A huge beastly black cloud hovers up in the sky (I am in half a mind to scream, ‘The Martians are here, run for your lives. It’s Independence Day all over again. Except, not one person here will understand the joke). I utter a short prayer to Zeus, the Greek Lord God who also happens to control rain (Not Indra, the Indian Rain God, mind you. My trust in Indian Gods is lesser than the Indian people which in turn is lesser than the telemarketers that hound us, who incidentally also happen to be Indian. End of matter there, I can keep going on for lines); I don’t have a windcheater, or an umbrella. Please let it not rain, please let it be a huge passing cloud on its way to bomb Santacruz, let the people there drown. Just don’t want to get wet after this ordeal.

Indra gets angry at my rebuke, and it begins. The trickles converge into massive droplets and plummet down. All the acid of Bombay as a shower of blessings. People around me run helter skelter with their hands, newspapers, books, bags protecting their heads (Idiots. No respect for books. They deserve to have it the other way round).

I on the other hand am calm, and walk steadily yet purposefully towards a taxi (Don’t want to trip over again. I have also heard a theory that you get wetter if you run). My hair is plastered down with a ton of sulphuric acid by the time I am in it.

Traffic slows to a standstill and the taxi makes its way through the potholed roads. Need to hurry up. The potholes are just about filling up. I would give it an hour before the drains choke up and start spewing their dirtiness onto the roads.

In a semi-slumber state, I dream of hills, the inescapable mist, the fresh breeze mating with the fragrance of wet Earth, the waterfalls, gushing down, fair and sparkling, the rivers; red in their fierceness and the green, most of all, the green. The evergreen forests strike up a lush green that no painter, no computer or image processor, but only your mind can recreate.

It seems like no time before I reach my destination. A great colony with a quaint garden (A rarity in this part of town) in a not so good area. I live in Everdale Apartments at Sewri in Central Mumbai a few kilometers away from Dadar. I didn’t board the train at Dadar as I intended to buy a few gift CD’s for a couple of friends; which never materialized thanks to the traffic.

I share digs with a classmate of mine, Rufus the Roof Pus. Commuting to my engineering college all the way in New Bombay is a pain everyday but easily compensated by the charm of staying in a central area. Another reason is it belongs to an uncle of Rufus’s who’s settled in the USA and its free. A 15 grand a month apartment for free. Sewri also happens to be almost centrally located, being 20 minutes from Mondy’s or Leopold’s and 25 minutes from Toto’s. We measure distances in terms of the time required to the best watering holes of the city!

Rufus is going to have a gala time laughing at me. He warned me about the traffic, said a friend of his had informed him that there was some major pre-monsoon digging work going around near Dockyard Road. Needless to say, I ignored his warning.

I stumble my way through the stairs onto our first floor apartment. The bugger ain’t home. He must have gone to the Sports Bar at Phoenix Mills to watch the ongoing Euro Cup match.

I take a shower, a cozy warm water bath that instantly rejuvenates my battered ego. Supper is a packet of instant Maggi noodles with a hot cup of lemon tea.

The rains are pouring outside. I can only hear the ceaseless thudding as all windows are closed. I hope Rufus returns before the outpour worsens and the Lower Parel area floods over.

I am dog-tired, yet can’t muster any semblance of a sleep. I pick some unknown author’s book from Rufus’s table. One that I haven’t read (A rare occurrence that). It takes precisely one page of benevolent bullshit before I slip into a coma.