Wikileaks.... But where are the leaks?

There is a humourous quote in Telugu that goes “Like the fart of an elephant”. The context of the quote goes thus: There was a time when a village elder was struck by a thought that when an elephant, being colossal, passes air, the sound would be the loudest that had ever been heard; the phenomenon was something he wanted to observe. Word went round and the entire village felt justifiably curious about the sound of an elephant relieving itself of intestinal pressure. After conferring together for a while, the temple elephant was brought to the panchayat. After feeding it till it refused to eat, the villagers got around the elephant, holding their breath (literally and figuratively) for the glorious "breaking wind". The elephant grandly raised its tail and ..... “pssst”, it relieved its flatulence – a grand being whose turgidity releasing mechanism was as silent as a pin drop.

You may be wondering why I, an epitome of good graces, have brought up such a distasteful discussion – the Wikileaks episode draws to itself an imagery that is distinctly similar. Here we are, the peoples of all nations, waiting with a bated breath for muck behind all the grandiloquent statements to be exposed. Two lakh fifty thousand documents, we were told, a thousand years of everyday expose even if one document was released everyday. But what do you have – a measly 2000 documents later, the Wikileaks is sealed tighter than ever. Makes me wonder what kind of a deal went on in the background…

I always had a thing or two against Wikileaks. Don’t get me wrong, I loved them for their expose of Afgan and Iraq war, the video of brutal murder of a set of civilians and journos in Iraq had me rooting for Wikileaks. Those leaks made sense, they could be justified as fight for justice and against crimes perpetuated by an aggressive occupier. The latest round however had me wondering about the justification of the leak. The leaks didn’t serve any purpose, except for self aggrandizement of Wikileaks (and more specifically, Mr. Assange) and embarrassment of various world governments. There was no new information in the leaks; we already knew that diplomats were quasi spies and that honest evaluation of various actors in the world stage is not what is stated in official communiqués. So what did this batch of Wikileaks releases achieve?

I have another qualm, this one relating to the manner of release. Why is it that the releases have been done one document per day? Do not give me the reason that it takes that much time to make the documents comprehensible by the civil society, we all know that its an excuse. It somehow seemed that Wikileaks was out to con governments, and was using this strategy to determine the going price of the information. If that’s not the case, why don’t they release the entire set of documents now and leave it to the public to sift through the material? And the fact that the document release has stopped after the arrest and consequent release of Mr. Assange reinforces the suspicions.

And according to Mr. Assange, there is an internal committee within Wikileaks that determines what to release and what not to release. Questions galore here – Who constituted the committee? What is the jurisprudence and is its jurisprudence proven? What are the criteria based on which decisions are made? As far as I recollect, the documents are a property of the respective governments, Wikileaks being just an accidental receptacle of the documents. How did it acquire the right to filter them and act as a regulator of public information?

Democracy is as much hurt by brazen openness as it is by total rein. There ought to be some things kept under wraps for the common good of all. And I prefer the people who determine what should be revealed and what should be concealed be those who I elected, not some conceited geek with heaven alone knows how many social problems.

An Gastronomical Adventure

So I have come to consider myself a chef, a gourmet of sorts who is also an expert with pots and pans. To those of you who would want to challenge me on this, let me tell you that I have been leading a bachelor’s life for close to four years (duh, one reason to disbelieve you, I hear you say) away from home (but close to eateries you bet, I hear you muse) and most importantly, being meddlesome with the stove, dhals and vegetables (or uppu, pappu, chintapandu as they say in Telugu). Besides satiating my hunger, I have learnt to luxuriate my taste buds and once in a while, thrust the hitherto unidentified yet alluring tastes to my unsuspecting friends. Ok, luxuriate is too big a term; let’s say that I have learnt to at least quell the tongue’s misgivings. And of course, although no boors, all the friends who sample my dishes are bachelors and thus belong to a creed that is known for having been deprived of quality food for long periods of time (very select patrons, you see).

Anyways, this post isn’t about getting myself a place in The Taj kitchens; rest assured, you wouldn’t be subjected to list of my creations and an elucidation as to why I must be considered a culinary genius (you see, I don’t want to lose you, the lone reader of my blog), rather this post would throw some light on the path that I tread to quell the taste-bud rebellion, the big hits (rather few, I guess) and near misses (some of them, the misses, were by more than a mile) of my foray into the world of gastronomy.

My adventure with pot and pans, or more precisely baking powder and ovens, started in my 11th class. Prior to that, although I had been involved in the hostel kitchen to a small extent, I never got my hands dirtied, so to say. A small perspective before I proceed – the hostels that I had the privilege of staying in throughout my life were all run on the principle of self reliance; you had the students take care of the various aspects of the hostel management. Thus a set of boys took care of hostel maintenance, a few others of the audio-visual systems in the hostel, another set the stores etc. I had the privilege of working as a part of the hostel mess management group throughout my student career – that is from my 9th class through my graduation, post graduation and MBA. And the length of association sure gave me myriad opportunities to learn from personal experience, or in other words goof up big time.

My first major learning experience (I would prefer to view every blunder as a lesson) was in my 11th class. It all started on a bright morning maybe a week before Diwali. With half yearly exams done and being high on both energy and idleness quotients, our seniors decided that the time was apt to try out a recently acquired skill, that of baking a cake. It was the first time any of us were trying, the previous endevour by our super seniors resulting in chunks of charred maida, late night baking induced sleep being the culprit. Learning from the experience of the said super seniors, it was planned that we do the baking in the evening and serve the cake hot for dinner, after having rested the whole day. Things seemed fine and everything was going as clockwork. Measurement of quantities of stuff to be mixed together were done with scientific precision, every excess gram added being hotly debated. The final concoction was then poured into the baking trays and the baking started.

Those of you who have an idea of cake making process / have a background in science / have some imagination would be able to recognize the fact that cake gets its puffiness due to release of carbon-di-oxide by baking soda during the baking process. No single tray in the baking history would have got that much attention as the first tray that we baked that day; a set of six eager eyes waiting in anticipation. Minutes went by and there was no perceptible rise in the level of the cake being baked. After 40 minutes of tense pacing, we agreed that with the exception of turning to a charred block, all that could have happened to the tray of cake mix had happened.

Tray after tray and the story remained the same. End of 3 hrs and we had enough “cake” for 300 boys who would categorize it as anything but cake. Desperation kicked in and we decided that icing may make it a tad better. Imagine a sight of six guys covered in maida top to toe running around the streets in search of butter; shopkeepers would have concluded that we had got unhinged. A frantic session of beating the butter and icing sugar together ensued and we started icing the cake in the trays itself. Have you ever placed butter on a hot surface? Even if you haven’t, it wouldn’t need an IQ of 400 to realize that butter would melt. Yet there we were asking ourselves why the icing didn’t stay, why the cake didn’t rise, why the hell we ever thought of baking… The end of day and it was not just the brain (from the shock) and ears (that was some vocabulary that we encountered) that got numb, the feedback from long suffering friends made cushions a must for more than hour.

(The Gastronomical Sojourn during the 3 years of my under graduation would be in the next part)

Death Penalty – Crime or Punishment?

Buried deep in the avalanche of infotainment about Yeddyurappa's histrionics, Ashok Chavan’s shok, A.Raja’s largesse that caused heartburn to the praja, Bigg Boss 4, daily updates regarding the number of teams playing in the next edition of IPL, and Suresh Kalmadi’s evergreen saga of games with the commoner’s wealth, a news items that would have otherwise raised hue and cry escaped our collective notice. India is now a member of a select 38 member club that still continues to insist on the necessity of death penalty. Some other members of this ignominious club are, don’t hold your breath, Saudi Arabia, China, USA and Iran. Some select club, right….

I always had an issue with the death penalty. Only a hypocrite nation could give its assent to death penalty and refuse its consent when it comes to euthanasia. A person wanting to live is denied life, and a person inviting death is forced to live. Life is the most personal of anyone’s possessions; yet isn’t it ridiculous that on one hand the state is allowed to grab at the most precious of my possession take my life while on the other hand I am expressly forbidden from taking it myself. If murder by an individual is a crime, and lynching by a mob is a crime, I do not understand how execution condoned by the state is not a crime.

Many proponents of the death penalty point out at the “rarest of the rare clause”; death by hanging in India is given out only in the rarest of rare circumstance. Now would someone tell me what is a rarest of rare circumstance? How can anyone choose between two murderers and assigns one death and the other, life imprisonment? And what defines whether the circumstances were common, uncommon, rare or “rarest of rare”? My definition of rarest of rare is different from yours, and yours is different from a hundred others. In a nation where the judgments are reversed at every level of hierarchy of the judiciary and new precedents are established by the hour, the “rarest of the rare” definition could change one second after the execution.

And then you have the systemic flaws. Any system, by definition, is prone to faults, more so when the system comprises of humans using their judgment. In a judicial system that has seen impeachment of judges due to lack of probity, transfers because of accusations of corruption and judicial impropriety, can we be so utterly confident of a judicial finding that we dare to snuff out a life? And Presidential pardon remains the cherry on this cake. What is implied by it – that the first citizen has intelligence superior to the collective intelligence of the entire legal fraternity? I am not out to spread calumny, but what if the President is hand in glove with the perpetuator? Isn’t it better to have the life sentence as the ultimate punishment rather than have the death sentence commuted to life, quashing the hopes of the victim’s families that bay for the “severest punishment”?

There is also the recurring issue of the duration between sentence and actual execution. With the party in power queasy to carry out the imposed sentence due to fear of alienating some constituents of its vote bank, the sentence imposed gets postponed indefinitely and the issue assumes a political hue instead of being a strictly legal/law and order issue. Consider the case of Afzal Guru. The apex court awarded him the death penalty 2004 for his involvement, alleged or otherwise, in the Indian Parliament attack. It’s been close to six years now and with the UPA government dilly-dallying, BJP on the war-foot every once in a while and the Govt. in Srinagar clarifying that it cannot and will not take responsibility of any events that would take place if the order is carried, Afzal Guru would die a martyr rather than criminal, when executed.

In most of the debates on this topic, there is one aspect of death sentence that is almost never discussed – the effect it has on those that have to perform this distasteful task, those that are directly involved in the execution. The courts’ view of the case is clinical, the medias’ sensational, the publics’ vengeful. It is only the executioner who would actually feel the weight of snuffing out a life. Imagine the guilt and remorse that would rack the prison officials, the guards, the mandatory witnesses, and the executioner. Does the executioner’s need to feed and clothe himself and his family give the state the right to abuse his conscience?

Death penalty is an act of final retribution, retribution of the state, of the society and of the victims and their families. But what if the so called perpetuator has been wrongly accused, is actually an innocent person; an individual whose ill-luck had him at the wrong place at the wrong time? What if the innocence is discovered and he is exonerated just seconds after the execution? Can the state give back life? As Gandalf states in Lord Of The Rings, “Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgment. For even the very wise cannot see all ends.”

Death as a penalty must be banned because it is cruel, an act of vengeance that satisfies society’s craving for revenge. It must be banned because it cannot be undone; because it is no more or no less effective than other forms of punishment/correction, if it were so, there should have been no crimes after the first hanging. It must be banned because no person, court or jury is infallible; because the “rarest of rare” circumstances are subjective. It must be banned because life cannot be given once its taken away and those who cannot give must not take.

Know Your English - 3

This statement, one of my all time favourite, was made in one of the meetings, “Let’s templatize the offering so that the implementation of the solution and the quality of consulting in new sites is consistent and redundancies are reduced”. Believe me, I was traumatized when I was hit with that statement. The rest of the meeting is a blur and it took me a year to fully understand what was intended. If the statement above caused you consternation, this post is dedicated to you. And if it didn’t, I don’t believe you :)

 

Let me today discuss a very important aspect of modern English language; vocabulary that is a must in anyone’s repertoire of words – (loud symphony of trumpets, drums and cymbals) ladies and gentlemen, hold your breaths for an elucidation on the language of the software industry (orchestra fades). The importance of this language arises from the fact that the composition of any group nowadays consists of software guys atleast to an extent of 50% (if you are unfortunate enough to be in a group of Telugus, in a Telugu marriage for eg, the software dominance could be as high as 90%). And knowing how weird English (software) is firsthand and often being guilty of going overboard in its usage, I deem it my duty to tear the veil and reveal the idiosyncrasies of this latest addition (to be referred to as English-S henceforth) to the babel of existing languages. So without any further ado, lets roll up our sleeves and get ready to get our hands dirty.

 

FYI: This is one combination of letters that figures in the most abused list; if the keys for “F”, “Y”, “I” on the keyboard had a right to legal recourse, the software industry would have been engulfed in an avalanche of litigation on over use and physical abuse. FYI is English-S for “For Your Information”. It is used in multiple ways, sometimes to showoff one’s brilliance, other times to expose someone’s ignorance, still other times to scare people witless. FYI comes with various suffixes: 

• FYIO: For Your Information Only. This is used to make the recipient feel privileged, make him/her feel as though (s)he is being let into a closely guarded state secret.  
• FYIA: For Your Information and Action. This is a pressure tactic of the lazy; the sender has reached that state of inactivity that he delegates with aplomb and does it telegraphically. Pity the poor receiver. 
• FYIIA: For Your Information and Immediate Action. Now this is one term that must be banned by the Geneva Convention. What the sender intends is “I care a damn whether it’s a Sunday or whether you are sick. Better complete it or its your posterior on fire.” The sender is undoubtedly a lazy moron. 

PFA: The next most abused acronym, PFA means “Please Find Attached”. This acronym is usually combined with the first to a devastating effect, a gory image of one’s future if the activity referred is not accomplished is clearly depicted. Imagine a mail whose only content is “PFA FYIIA”. It’s a stout heart that doesn’t stop there and then after a single look at the size of the acromyn .

 

Platform: Next time you are in Hyderabad bus stand on a Sunday night waiting to board a bus to Bangalore, and it happens that a person accosts you asking which platform you are on, don’t look upwards and read out the platform number; you might be rewarded with a look of utter derision for your effort. The software engineer friend of yours (come on now, if you haven’t concluded that it’s a software guy even after reading the first part of the first sentence, you are in an urgent need for a course in demographics) would beam at you if your reply is to the effect that you are on some “J2EE” or “dot net” platform. Now don’t ask me what “dot net” or “J2EE” is; after a deep study running close to 3 years, and mind you I could be totally wrong here, I have concluded that they are some sort of grammar rules for the language that humans and computer use to communicate. Anyway dear reader, its now an accepted fact that platforms are no longer those pieces of land where you could buy chips and popcorn of doubtful quality while waiting to board a bus/train and warming up for the tussle that boarding the bus/train would entail. You can no more meet friends on a platform, you meet only ones and zeros that are out to terrorize you to submission.

 

Dropdown: No, I didn’t tell you to drop down onto the floor or to drop something down. A dropdown in the modern dictionary would be listed as a technique used by the software industry to help you select one (and only one) of the many available options (for eg, either a scotch, whiskey or beer). It’s the computer’s way of saying, “I know you are a moron and that you wouldn’t be able to restrict yourself to only one selection so here I am to enforce and ensure only one selection is made”. You know what, I would love to tell the system, “You moron, you drop down and die!!”

 

Key Takeaways: There were those days when takeaways implied that you went to your favourite hotel and after stuffing yourself with all the good stuff, you ask the hovering waiter to pack the rest of the spread so that you can enjoy it at leisure. If today, you are told at the end of a meeting that there are takeaways, do not repeat DO NOT salivate and look around for containers; the time of takeaways that refer to food is long past. Takeaways now a days are those boring things scribbled on your notepad during that dreary meeting you just attended. And key takeaways are those scribblings against which you drew those caricatures of hangman, vomit etc.

 

Production: This is a very finicky term, yet don’t worry; fickle though it might be, I believe that having come this far, you are adroit enough to deal with this term. Production, in the saner days of yore, meant that there was a factory in which a whole lot of complex machinery and efficient men got together and made stuff that eased many a burden. Cometh software and the word dons a new meaning. On the first day of work, I was told by the VP that our company had live production sites in scores of countries. The list sounded impressive, but I wondered, “Why is it that, when world comes to India/China for cheap labour, we are putting up production sites in other counties? And even bigger question, what would the site do – I mean all that you need to do is write the software code on a CD and the product is ready. A simple desktop setup with a CD writer would do right?” That is when the meaning of production was made clear to me. A production site, in software parlance, is a place where the software is being used. If Tata Motors was a software company, then they would call your house a production site if you happen to use Manza. Production indeed….

 

I have hardly scratched the surface and yet it’s time to close the lesson. English-S mirrors a field after war, there are too many unexploded munitions strewn about; unwary handling could lead to damaged psyche. So with this briefest of briefs, I ardently hope that you would be meet with more that the usual succes when you wade through these tumultuous waters of English-S.

 

Nostalgia - Chennai Blues

An article I had written for D&B TU ADSL weekly letter called "TGIF"

A twig floats by the river. As it makes its way along the bank, it encounters many a sojourn, some for a short while and others lengthier. But whatsoever may be the duration of the stopover, the swirling current nudges the twig forward, snapping its bonds and forming new ones. And yet the twig that moved along isn’t the same as the one that lodged itself; a part of the twig remained entrenched in the bank and a part of the bank floated down the river, an irreversible bond having formed.

As I look back, I realize that the Vamsi who left Chennai was not the same as the one who, three years prior, sought its acceptance and shade. There is more sambar in my blood than RBCs; I detect a tinge of typical humor in my psyche that cannot but be attributed to the Tamil land.

Hardly a month has gone by and I seem to ruminate longingly the life I left behind; the friendly chats over coffee, the heated discussions (even over coffee!!), the mind numbing excel sheets, the excitement of Unicraze, every single aspect of the workplace, every moment of iDo, breezy evenings at the beach, the enrapturing tunes in the dusk of the Aadi month, the list could go on endless. And of course, each of us has a special word on the nightmarish experience that goes by the name Chennai Auto Driver (CAD). They say that memories, like wine, get headier with time; it would take eons of fermenting before this bad CAD memory acquires even a passable taste.

So I ask myself, “With this Chennai, with this wonderful people you have had the privilege of knowing, laughing and working with, do you not want to re-establish the link, to stay in touch?” Staying in touch…. who wouldn’t want to. But as the distances get longer and time shorter; deadlines get closer and memories distant, even a hi here and a hello there becomes a big ask. Yet the remorse of not staying in touch must not cloud the happy reminiscences. And with new friends, places and smells, life is too exciting to be lived on a playback mode. Wonderful moments egg us on to create more such moments, a task to be taken up with both the hands and an enthusiastic heart.

If world is really as small as they say, then I look forward to meeting you, the Caribbean beach though it maybe. And if the world is not really that small, then I thank the stars that I had a chance to know, work and laugh with you, even for a short stint.

Uncommon silence about the commonWEALTH Games

I know you are puzzled about lack of any rant on the games being played with commoner's wealth, rant from my side I mean. Let me confess, I am also equally puzzled.

News of falling walkways and artificial roofs (BTW new definition for artificial roof : roof that is actually on the floor) are making me turn beet red from laughter and not shame. Adding to the fun are the hosts of the news shows - looking in equal parts, jubilant and grave - jubilant because of the juicy news and grave because, well you cannot exactly rub your hands in joy while reporting a broken walkway to your audience.

So why am I insensitive to the beating that the nation's image is taking? Maybe I have lost my sense of nationalism all of a sudden; or maybe I have become enlightened - "What is the roof and what is the floor, everything is Maya"; or maybe I am now plain disinterested - you see, Mr Chidambaram is yet to respond to my open letter.

The actual reason why I am not annoyed is that I see a method in the madness that CWG is. Take the toilets, for example. I somehow feel that Mr. Kalmadi, in his sagacious wisdom, wanted the delegates to have a true life experience of the toilets in villages; after all the place they stay is the Games Village. Mr. Kalmadi wants the form to match the name, the facilities to match those that are in the village. And ignorant boors condemn his lofty ideas!

Someone was commenting furiously about dogs sleeping on beds meant for the athletes. Let me tell you, dear members of the Scottish delegation, that as per our scriptures, Dattatreiya (a famous guru of the Hindu religion, one who is believed to the incarnation of the three ultimate godheads) was always surrounded by four dogs - each representing a Veda. Maybe, its come to pass that one of them (the dogs, that is) freed itself of the leash and decided to grace the event. Is it not noble that a representation of the highest philosophy is sharing the bed with the delegates? I think this depicts the merge of philosophy and sport. Of course, philistines that we are, what would we, normal citizens, understand about this?

Finally, the reason why I am not worried about the CWG is that Mr. Jaipal Reddy, Hon. Minister in the Indian Government has declared that everything is up, fine and running. You think I would believe in some visuals of falling walkways and roofs rather than his WORD? No way. Mr. Jaipal Reddy, I am stoutly behind you; you say the stadium is ready, it must be so. Even if land acquisition for the same has not yet started; even if plastering of the walls and swimming competitions progress hand in hand.

Whatever the politicians say is true. It has always been that way and it will remain so.

Know Your English - 2

Enthused by the amazing feedback, I endevour to present the next selection of “Know Your English”. But where is the feedback, you wonder. Look more closely and the absence of comments tells a story more profound than any other in the recent past. After a detailed study of human nature, I have come to a conclusion that lack of feedback is good feedback, people making sure to express themselves when they disagree. So believing in, as they say, “Maunam Ardhangikaram” – “Silence is half assent”, I plod forward.


Before introducing today’s word, I have some words of solace to certain sections of the publishing world. Word has it that a certain set of publishing houses (names like Oxford Press, Webster also figure in the list) are divesting and moving out of the dictionary business. “How can we compete with such work” seems to be the most heard refrain. Let me assure you all that I have left a niche field for these guys, that of semantics and etymology. There is enough space for all, so quit cribbing.

I confess that there has been a lapse on my part since the start of this series. I have titled this work as “Know your English” but I haven’t talked about English. Setting the records straight, here is a detail on English.

English, in the long forgotten time, was the language spoken by a people populating an Isle just off the coast of mainland Europe. A typical people with starched collars, frosted smiles, tight neck ties and accompanied by women dressed in a medieval torture instrument called the corset (a kind of wear that doesn’t allow even a molecule of air for the upper torso but ample ventilation for the lower. Makes me wonder why), you get the idea… Things were fine and the language remained pristine till one cold foggy day when it came upon one of these weird gentlemen that he ought to have a claim on a place bigger than a small isle.

The idea spread, was taken up by others until there came a day when the entire populace, with a chilling determination, set out to conquer the world. The Englishman may be diminutive, frosty and exceedingly formal but he was no mean fighter when it came to battle. With icy cold logic (reminiscent of his homeland weather), he built armies, destroyed armies, made and marred alliances and in the end, called an area that was a million times larger than his isle, his own. The sun wasn’t able to set over the British Empire, but it began its descent over the English language; the abuse and the final decimation of the language had just begun.

While previously the British would lampoon over the idea of any sort of kinship between the Queen and a petty farmer in the wastelands of Sahara, they had to get off the high horse now. All because the Islanders, in their love for their language, imposed it on all and sundry. A random Telugu guy can now pull the Royal backside off the throne just by saying, “So much cholestrolu in my foodu.” And English has become the language of the greatest common denominator, every rustic manipulating the English dictionary as his whims directed.

When last heard, the Queen was so deeply affronted by this assault on the language of her fathers that she has instituted a top secret committee to formulate a brand new language. To prevent its defilement, it would be taught only to her and her progeny and would be called the Queen’s English 2.0. As they say in the Great Britain, God save the Queen - and her language.

Know your English

Of late, I have been gaining confidence regarding my language capabilities, in particular, in the English language. The amount of appreciation from various quarters (secret being the “Get paid for Appreciation” policy which has the following slabs – I think this policy deserves a post by itself, and it would get what it deserves.) has enthused me to venture into the world of lexicography. Let me today discuss some of the words commonly misunderstood by us, Indians.


Note: The list below would not contain any of the phonetic crap, details about which part of speech it is etc. Refer to plentiful of other dictionaries for those.

So here are words for today:

Youth: Now this is one politically loaded word. Don’t get it? Would you consider a 40 year old adult in the prime of his youth? Before you blurt out a big “NO”, let me tell you the 40 year old I am referring to is the Youth Congress leader, the youthful Rahul Gandhi. So I (a lad of 28 summers) may be referred to as an “uncle” by the kids next door, but this guy, whose age is 8 years short of my mother’s, is young. Talk of discrimination!! Now to some frequently asked questions:

Q: What if I am a Gandhi and less than 40 years?


A: Hey, you are a kiddo; go back to your mom’s lap


Q: What if I am a Gandhi aged more greater than 40?


A: Take a picture of yourself today. Once Rahul reaches the age you are today, check out if he is referred to as in “prime of youth”. If he is (which he most probably will be), you can caption the picture “Still Young Mr/Ms Gandhi”


Q: What if I am not a Gandhi?


A: You are Not a Gandhi!!! Who cares whether you are young or not. Buzz of, don’t waste my time. Some nerve these non Gandhis have!!

Conclusion: Meaning of the term "Youth" in India depends on the person you are referrnig to.

News: Anything that a newsmaker does. Example of news:

• Obama bumped into a wall, got a painful bump


• DSP’s dog gone missing


• Mr. Amitab has cold; caught sneezing.

Now don’t ask what makes a person, a newsmaker.

Murder: The act of terminating another human’s life with malafide intentions. However the definition has caveats:

• Caveat 1: If the murder is committed by a cricketer, its termed road rage


• Caveat 2: If the murder is committed by a cop, its an act to protect the sovereignty of the country


• Caveat 3: If the murder is committed by a landlord, its business as usual


• Caveat 4: If the murder is committed by a naxal, its an act of misguided youth that would be pardoned. Further, the said individual would be paid ludicrous amount once he owns up the act.


• Caveat 5: If the murder is committed by a politician …. Hey come on now, what’s new in that!

Terrorism: Defined as a single act that causes multiple murders. Another definition would be – Terrorism is murder that government doesn’t want to bring to book. Of late, this has been getting dyed. Again there are caveats to this definition too.

• Caveat 1: If it is committed by the US, its fight against terror. Can the US ever be wrong?


• Caveat 2: If it is committed by Israel, it’s an act of self defense; even if the threat was a kid waving a twig at an armoured tank. After all, Israel has to extract revenge for 6 million deaths, how can they if they try to be just every time?


• Caveat 3: If it is committed by Kashmiri separatists, it is an expression of self determination.


• Over ruling caveat: Any act done by a coloured/bearded/conservatively dressed individual that displaces even an atom of oxygen in a 50 mile radius of an American is an act of terror. This Caveat supersedes all the caveats explicitly mentioned or implied.

Good: You thought anything that is righteous, just and truthful is good, right? Loser!!!

In today’s dictionaries, good is defined as anything that is aligned to the US interest. 5000 Americans killed – that’s terrorism. A million Afgans killed by US to protect its “interests” – that’s an act of extreme goodness. Buckle up dude, you have a lot to learn.

Bad: This is the only word whose definition hasn’t changed over time. Bad still remains defined as the opposite of good. But with Obama stating things like “Outsourcing is bad” when it has really helped the US companies, lexicographers world over are readying themselves to an imminent change in this definition also.

A peep into Peepli Live

The first thing that hits you as the movie starts is the profusion of gaalis. Agreed, the setting is in the Hindi heartland of rural India; agreed also that the period depicted is a stressful one. Still, having members of both genders addressing each other with references to mother and sister, that takes some time to get used to. And the way a daughter in law addresses her mother in law, the mother her sons, the sons their mother, the villagers each other, well its certainly shock and awe. And it elicits more than a respectable share of wolf whistles and hoot calls. The crust is crispy indeed.


As you start acquiescing to them and the gaalis hit less severely on your psyche, you begin to appreciate the wit laced with sarcasm. While the scene with news reader presenting results of an opinion poll for a trite issue has you nodding your head in appreciation, the frame that captures a chance conversation that is overheard by a wannabe reporter and presented as headline news leaves you in splits. There is no subject that’s a holy cow in this movie, a swipe being taken at politicians, bureaucrats, social institutions, and the holiest of holy cows, the media – local, national and international. We are given a ringside view into the business of news manufacturing, and boy, wouldn’t it have been shocking if it weren’t so funny! A juicy mantle indeed.

As the caustic sarcasm begins to wear thin, you start to look for the core, the soul of the movie. And this is where the movie disappoints. With cynicism at every institution know to man, the movie leaves you wondering where to lay your sheet anchor – family, friends, leaders and even parents and siblings portrayed to be fickle as shifting sands. As Dicaprio puts it in the movie Inception, “Everyone wants a catharsis.” This movie denies this very catharsis to its protagonist; and loses its way in the labyrinth of cynicism.

The movie is a must watch, only as long as you choose not to believe in its message.

Give me some Privacy Laws please

I need to get this out of my system. It’s a big grouse, better let out than kept bottled in.

Last night, I was watching a program on Channel V (I refrain from mentioning the name; in times when number of references indicate popularity, I don’t want the said program to appear more popular than it actually is.) The program was supposed to help you get back at your ex boy/girl friend. I do not intend to gripe about the rising trend of live in, ex boy/girl friend, however annoying; who am I to judge the way a person chooses to live.

What has gotten on my nerves, however, is the commercialization of this particular emotion of “love turned to hate”. Boy/girl dumping the partner is common, it has being going on since ages. And the resulting emotional upheaval, the need to take a swipe at the ex is but natural. But what is unacceptable is a TV channel providing the script, conspiring, and telecasting the embarrassing moments for the nation to watch, all the while justifying why they had taken the side they have taken. If this isn’t voyeurism of the worst kind, I wonder what is. I wonder if the girl/boy would ever be able to enter into a healthy relationship again, old scars refusing to heal and new wounds defacing the psyche. And to imagine that you had to take the help of faceless public for your private payback – I think such people would command the least of my esteem, way below spiders and maybe just above phlegm.

I often wonder what makes these boys and girls turn to national media even in shame. Surely, its not the money; the compensation in most of the reality shows is paltry. Maybe fame, but tell me, with the proliferation of reality shows, both in national and regional media, can anyone remain in the public memory for long? And in pursuit of “sparkler-burst” fame (fame that, like sparkler, lights up but for an instant and then lets darkness in), young impressionable minds are being manipulated to exposing their most private moments in the garish glare.

If there is one thing that’s definite, its my feeling that if at all we have a version of “Truman Show” in real life, it would take place in India. And that would be a sad, albeit not too distant day.

So I have ranted and hopefully I will feel better.

Who is the best?

So Tendulkar is not the best batsman in the world (link). I am not here to defend Tendulkar – his achievements speak better, and you would always have a Nirmal Shekar who can fill up the Sports page in the Hindu rubbishing this report. And anyways, who cares if the sun is not the biggest or the brightest stars, it’s only the absence of the sun that we aam earthlings would notice, a missing Alpha Centauri would hardly raise an aam admi’s eyebrows.


I am here to comment on this study, but from the authors’ point of view. Now, just for a moment, imagine you are the author of this study. You have spent a better part of one or two years doing this (useless?) study. And at the end of it, you realize hardly anyone is going to take notice if you state the obvious, that Tendulkar is a priceless gem of cricket. Just as I titled my last post as “Inception – a letdown” to persuade people to read it, so have the authors. Use the oldest sleight in the book, rubbish a venerated icon, set the tongues wagging. But you know what, their efforts seem to have been in vain – I hardly see any talk about this. Come on guys, lets have some jabber, some buzz around this too; poor authors, they must be squirming.

PS: I don’t mean to say that the study was fudged or anything but as my prof used to say, “Given the right input, the result cannot be wrong if the approach is right”. Wonder where the study goofed up.

Inception – A letdown

Inception, to me, was a huge let down. After having spent a better part of the fortnight looking forward to see the movie, I feel cheated. I had even blogged stating my intention to watch it multiple times to understand the plot! Biggest Letdown: I have been denied the opportunity of multiple viewings. I mean, how can anyone portray such a complex concept in such an appealingly simple fashion? Thank Heavens Nolan isn’t Einstein; we would have been learning relativity in 1st grade otherwise.

Inception was a letdown because even at places where exaggeration is accepted, nay expected, it stuck to the laws of physics. Thus you have a scene where the lift “falls” not because the lift cord was cut but because of the explosion that followed. Small detail, but a noteworthy one….. Inception was a letdown because in an age where the best movie is decided by the technology used, it stuck to the old ways – of telling a story right. Inception was a letdown because it didn’t talk about any new concepts; it was the depiction that left you speechless. Inception was a letdown, only because I was forced to scale up my thought as the movie went by; scale up in spite of all the prior warning.

Hardly ever do you get to see a movie that doesn’t need to set the adrenalin pumping to ring in cash counters. Hardly ever do you get to see a movie that doesn’t need the sagging assets of its lead to support it. Hardly ever do you get to see a movie that doesn’t feed on jingoism, chauvinism or any other such “-isms”. Hardly ever do you get to see a movie where cinematic expression is given predominance over the cast. Hardly ever do you get to see a movie like Inception.

Not watched Inception ....

So I have not yet watched ‘Inception’ – and before you castigate me, let me offer my readymade excuse, “I haven’t been able to lay my hands on the tickets”. Hopefully, now you are placated and would deign to read the rest of the random collection of words that form the substance of this article.

If there is one thing that drew me to Inception, it’s the Facebook. No, Facebook has not done a co-branding exercise with Inception (or has it? Someone who has seen Inception, please confirm) nor will you find video snippets of the movie on Facebook (or will you?). The reason that piqued my curiosity about Inception being that all of my friends in Facebook (a number not even straining the second hand if a count were taken) have some or the other comment about it. I feel very lonely in the FBverse, the only one without any update regarding Inception. My favourite comment goes something like “Nolan! Nolan! Nolan! ……”. I was immediately reminded of my 7th class days when we used to chant out the रामा शब्ध in the rhythm of oscillating heads “He Ram!, He Ramou!, He Ramah!”

But I am digressing. Let me see, I was talking about, errrrr, Inception. The actual reason why I haven’t watched Inception is a nagging fear – What if I leave the hall saying “Huh?” I mean, with the whole world is singing its paeans and some of my friends saying that even the dumbest of individuals would appreciate the movie, I don’t want to be THE dumb even in the congregation of dumb.

And if past is any indicator, I would have a big question mark on my face at the end of the movie. Matrix needed six helpings before it penetrated my cranium. And that’s part 1. Part II and III are still a mystery to me (except that I like the “Om Shanthi” at the end). Memento (Ghajini’s “inspiration”), a movie of one and a half hours, took me six hours to watch. Without any breaks. With multiple rewind and fast forwards….and a raging headache to boot. I remain in dark about Dark Knight, another of Nolan’s masterpiece (the only other of the masterpieces that I know being Memento).

Hopefully I will see Inception soon (I am gathering courage and marshalling my resources simultaneously.) If I return blank faced or in stupor, dear world, please don’t brand me a loser. I promise to make all the effort to increase the ken of my understanding. And till then contribute copiously to Sathyam, Inox and various other halls screening the movie.

Before I close, a small plea – If any of you know a hall where Inception is being screened with option to forward/rewind, please give me a heads up, my reputation and image are at stake.

Random Thoughts while on Road

Last Saturday, I made a trip to Pondicherry. Some impressions that stuck on from the trip: 

• People spend so much time capturing memories that the only memory they would have of an outing would be of capturing memories. 
• Heaven alone knows why girls wear sleeveless dresses and then put on arm length gloves 
• A Punjabi mother-in-law would put her daughter-in-law in place, irrespective of the surroundings and the audience. 
• If Auroville is pitched as a tourist destination, I wonder why there is no public transport connecting it to the main town. 
• Success has only a limited bearing on happiness – my trip was unsuccessful and yet I returned home happy 
• A lone tree in a stretch of grass can hold your attention for better part of an hour. 
• People guard “sanctuaries of peace” so zealously, they remain the only perturbed ones around; a typical case of thorns guarding the rose. 
• Rs. 120 for 8 km ride – I think Pondicherry is as bad as Chennai  
• Kids are fun to watch – if you are not the parent.

 

Dear Mr Home Minister

Dear Mr Home Minister,

I am an ordinary Indian. I have had no training in battle strategy; planning and maneuvering are skills alien to me. And yet, my bloated self image is forcing this open letter upon you.

For sure, I would understand if you claim total ignorance of my existence – after all you are the Home Minister for a billion people; a few lesser now, seeing the rate at which Maoist guns consume the CRPF jawans. If I were to caricature the Maoist guns, it would be a gluttonous overlord ever on prowl for the skinny, underfed CRPF guns. Fortunately, I am no caricaturist, my mental imagery would remain with me till my deathbed.

However, I have been an avid reader and listener of tales, even from my childhood. One of my favourite childhood bedtime stories was the alleged encounter between Shivaji and an old matron in the early days of his campaign to establish a Maratha stronghold (Of course, I have heard the same story with Chandragupta, Timur Lang etc taking the place of Shivaji as the central character). Although I am sure you heard the story, let me briefly recapture it for you (afterall, weighty issues and lengthy strategy sessions could drive away commensense from the head). Shivaji, after a string of defeats, is on the run. One evening, his hunger drives him into the hovel of an elderly matron. The kind lady, seeing the pitiful state of a compatriot, offers him a share in her fare for the night – a bowl of Kichdi. Shivaji, in his haste and extreme hunger, thrusts his fingers to the centre of the mould. Hot Kichdi does its work, the burnt fingers are instinctively withdrawn, spilling a portion of the food on to the ground. The old lady in the worn-down ramshackle then discourses to Shivaji his greatest military lesson - start from the fringes, the heart would be yours eventually.

I have not narrated this story to prove my claim to a good repertoire of tales, rather I believe the old lady’s lesson holds true even today and is the most apt to you. What, in the name of all that is sane, made you think that you could start your campaign against a well entrenched guerilla movement from their home ground. With men having stout hearts but minimal training. And antiquated firearms. With constant media spotlight. And no clear strategy. If only you had encountered the old lady, she would have surely told you to starve the great Maoist of popular support, recapture local villagers' hearts in the fringe areas and over a period of three to five years, tame the Maoist beast. Converting the Red belt into red islands and shrinking the size of each isolated island till the life breath is constricted out of red ideology would have been the slow, sane, safe and workable strategy. Alas, no one listens to old ladies now-a-days.

And the old lady would have rapped your knuckles for the grandiloquous announcements to the media. Wars cannot be fought in public glare. It puts enormous strain on the fighters besides providing an easy source of intelligence to the enemy. I hoped you learned from the mistakes of the Mumbai carnage. My hope is sadly belied. I do not believe the media speculation that there is a leak in the CRPF camp; I believe the Maoists have purchased TV sets and are closely monitoring NDTV, CNN-IBN and the motley host of channels who believe that their reporting does society the greatest good, who believe that each of us in India are eternally indebted to them for the cause they cliam to espouse, the news they bring and the stories they expose.

As I mentioned in the beginning, I am no general; yet I am sure you have a host of them advising you. Please listen to them, the Greyhounds of AP, the RRs from the Army, the CoBRAS, and the BSF.

And keep in mind the advice of the old woman.

Yours Sincerely

65 ways of being jobless in office without appearing to be so

This article is a must read for everyone who is just making it into the software industry. The genesis of this project goes back to one weary afternoon when I was discussing my latest project with an ex-colleague over phone. This was a time when I was twiddling my thumbs between two projects (as I obviously am now). In reply to her curiosity, I said, “I am researching on 65 ways of being jobless in office without appearing to be so” to her great hilarity. That was the seed that has resulted in this libelous (hope it is not!!!) article. While, as is usual in the industry, I will not be meeting the required number by a huge margin (I do not want to disclose all my patented techniques, otherwise my salary would be contested), I am endeavoring to list down some of the chartbusters among the said techniques. Most of you will have a lot to add to the techniques – please feel free to do so.

1) e-Books – For one who has a passion for reading, things don’t get any better. The best part of having this as your prime task is that people would assume the book you are reading is a tome required by all working professionals in the field. As no one does actually come close to your monitor to read what you are reading, this façade can be sustained for a very long time.

2) Training sessions – These are dream come true for the “bench-sitters”. In case you are one of them, my advice would be, “take all the training you can lay your hands on.” The advantages are manifold. Besides helping in the building of your CV, the training would also help in the interview stage. It would also help you keep sharp and up-to-date. Ok, now for the honest reasons – it gives you good chance to sleep while still giving the appearance of being busy. It is these facades that are important. If you are not invited to training, no problem; organize some of your own – call any senior to talk (everyone loves the sound of their voice); this would also give the impression that you are a go-getter (another corporate term whose meaning is foggy at best).

3) Networking-I (Moving across to various workstations) – I have heard that companies in the Western countries provide 2 hrs of every 8 to the employee for networking. Their Indian counterparts have gone a step forward – they provide the entire day sometimes. Use this time optimally. No problem if you are the most seen guy in the office. Only ensure that you are not perceived to be gossiping, and gossiping to the same set of people. Diversification is the corporate mantra and you are expected to talk on diverse topics to the entire cross section of people.

4) Networking-II (Breaks at different places and with different people) – This is another side to the coin for which the above was one side. Going around in the office would make it obvious to the more observant (I mean those guys who are as jobless as you), so you are advised this every once in a while. Besides satiating your taste buds, you might also end up with a feast for your eyes; this should be high on the priority list on a lazy afternoon.

5) Improving communication skills (read as reading/writing blogs) – With networking being the fad of this season, this would be a good way to exhaust the time in your hands. Features such as Google Reader allow you to follow your fav blogs in spite of restrictions on the blogging sites.

6) Increasing the breadth of knowledge (read web browsing) – There is no need for any comment on this. It is the obvious act of an idle mind in the current sedentary lifestyle.

7) Wealth multiplier (playing in the stock market/day trading) – Although I have titled it as wealth multiplier, it could as well turn out to be the wealth diminisher. Playing in stocks, options etc gives a high though and sets you up as the in-house wealth manager. Not a bad position to be; in a rising market, that is.

8) The power of Re- (Better Documentation) – If a picture is worth a thousand words, then the strip below is worth a thousand pictures. Thank you Mr. Scott

9) Time management – And here is the key skill to master – be it in days you are snowed with work or those dry days when even a hint of dew brings raptures in your mind and hectic work becomes stuff of dreams. While you have tomes after hefty tomes dealing with the former phenomenon, the world has left it to me to fill up the vacuum in literature regarding the latter. What I have to offer to you is, by any standards, a meager helping of advice, most of it plain commonsense. Aspects of time management like coming an hour late to the office, leaving an hour early, long lunch breaks, periodic half day leave and at times of agonizingly long week, a full day leave are present commonly in our collective psyche. I restrict myself to these (hey, let me have material for further posts!!!).

10) Knowledge upgrade – And I didn’t mean anything remotely caustic here. I mean, all of us need to keep working on our knowledge levels right? For once why don’t you stop reading this post and GET BACK TO DOING SOME USEFUL WORK :)

The School

As promised, I will veer away from governed, government and governance, at least for this post. I remember stating previously that this post would be about my grandma or the color of rose. So let me write about the rose….. The rose is clearly non political entity, or is it? Don’t the leftists claim the rose for their own, deep red being their birthright (red as a rose, red as blood, red as their flag)? And wait, so do the rightists (whether rose or lotus what’s the difference.What’s in the category; a lotus, even if garbed in the mantle of a rose, still smells right) and the centrists (the hand that holds the rose rules the nation). Err…. I think I better stick with talking about my grandma.

I have a grandma, actually I had two (what’s new, you may ask; give me a minute, patience pays) but one passed away. She is old (as are all grandmas), the one who is alive I mean, and pious (as they better be)…. Looks like this endeavor is also turning out to be a squib; I better write something else before I lose you, the lone audience that I have.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. Dark clouds of ignominy threaten to engulf my already subdued writing. And in these times of desperation, let me turn to my age old favorite – to appear sophisticated through snide comments about passable works in the world of cinema. Let me talk about one such tryst that I had with mediocrity over the weekend.

Paathshaala. The school. When I was told that the cast ensemble included Nana Patekar and Shahid Kapoor, I expected the experience to be memorable. And with Ayesha Takia as the female lead, the male audience is bound to be satiated, or so I thought.

It started off well enough – a close up shot of Shahid’s smiling eyes, a “Krantikari” dialogue and you thought you had a sure one. But the movie turned out to be good only in promises. It was a promising theme, a promising cast, and might have turned out to be a promising act. But it fell flat. Leaving me wondering, what is it that went wrong? For at the heart of the answer lies the answer to one of my favorite questions “What makes a classic?” The cast was good; the acting insipid. The theme was noble; the scripting was by a moron. The intention was altruistic; the direction was pedestrian.

Worst of all, there was no storyline. Cinema is a nuanced form of storytelling, and to tell a story you need to have one. No amount of ad spend, eye-candy and star power can replace a story – however flimsy it may be. Yet this seems to have been neglected. Did the director want to highlight the crass commercialization of education? Or was it his intention to show the nobility of the profession? Did he intend to highlight the importance of individual character? Some questions are meant to remain unanswered.

The plot meandered about so aimlessly that the director was forced to reiterate the roles of the characters time and again. Except for that, I see no other reason why a geography teacher should be shown walking around the school lobby with a globe, all alone. And for a movie that claims to portray education, heaven alone knows why there was no depiction of teacher teaching the taught. Going by the movie, one would believe that all that the profession of teaching involves is jostling with fellow teachers, principal and management.

One supposes that the think-tank behind this movie consists of a bunch of socialist bigots. Commercialization of education, in itself, is an ugly can of worms; there are so many real issues that dog such ventures that you do not have to show the pseudo-"educators" as misanthropes. By trying to convert varying shades of grey to distinct black and white, the movie does injustice to the theme it claims to support. You can take your self righteous pedestal and castigate your capitalistic opponents to eternal damnation even without showing them as people who profit openly from a child’s misery; no sane human will do that, more so because it would hurt him (I meant financially) more than anyone else.

Despite all its shortcomings, the movie had good intentions; and that counts for a lot now a days. It may not have been realistic, yet there were a few moments where you got nostalgic, where the nobility of the teaching profession uplifts you…. And before you get carried away, the movie, with a jarringly awkward narration, moves forward, and you once again curse the stars, sun and moon.

My take on the movie – do not watch it, even if it comes for free. I think its time for the cast and crew of the movie to go to a Pathshaala – a real one this time. However, if you have to watch some movie or the other, choose it over Phoonk 2; I have heard people refuse to believe that the movie they just slept through belonged to the horror genre. Dear makers of Phoonk and its successors, do not go to any sort of gatherings, I am forever scared witless by the thought that ideas could be contagious.

Another groaner, the last one I promise...

Last evening, I was keenly watching the proceedings of what the eponymous Maoists called “pigsty” in action. Let me first place on record my concurrence with Mr. Chidambaram, his anger at being referred to as a pig is justified, I would call it necropolis rather than pigsty most of the time. But characterization of the once great institution is not the objective of this effort and I digress as usual. What caught my attention, the root cause of this article and you pain thereof, was one point made by Mr. Laluji towards the end of the debate. He said, and although I don’t quote, I am trying not to misquote, he said “As I have asked Mr. Home Minister before, he must call an all party meet and discuss this issue. There are a lot of things that we cannot state openly here.” To this Mr. Chidambaram replied without missing a beat, “I will discuss with the Prime Minister and get back to you.”

What shocked me was the brazenness and utter callousness with which the statement was made, received and replied to. On one hand you had a debate whose cornerstone was the sanctity of democracy and transparency and on the other you had politicians clearly and unabashedly wanting to hide discussions and information from the public. It’s an open secret that there is a lot hidden from public eyes, what is distressing is that the modern day legislators are not willing to give the opacity in public administration even a semblance of a secret. Would you like to know the biggest threats to the Indian democracy? – its biggest benefactors, the politicians.

Until yesterday, whenever I heard Mr. Chidambaram use his “Us Vs Them” rhetoric, I considered myself to be a part of the “us”; that by the “us”, he referred to the entire fed up/disillusioned/not yet disillusioned but still horrified Indian populace. Yet if you read through Chidambaram “Us vs Them” statement presented in the Parliament, you realize there are now three section where previously there were two – the “Us”(Hon. Parliamentarians and their ilk), the “Them”(Hon. Maoists and their loyal fans) and a third “neither us nor them” (typically you and me - plz note there is no Hon. for this category). And all of sudden I am wondering that if I am not a stakeholder in the conflict, why is it that I should be the worst affected? Mr. Chidambaram says he is not afraid of the Maoists. I wouldn’t be too, if I had a battalion of the best trained men armed to teeth protecting my sorry posterior. Mr. Chidambaram, I am sorry to say, but you ought to be saying “We Indians are not afraid of facing the Maoists”.

I had, in all my ignorance, assumed that Maoist presented a danger to the concept of India; it is now clear that they too believe in the concept of India, only India with a different system of governance. I ask you, Is that too bad? What I mean is that as a system of governance, democracy needn’t be the best. And that too in a day and time when people are openly speculating that one Mr. Tharoor Tweet will not be pressurized too badly to come open with his dealings in the murky world of IPL; the reason being too many of his brethren have “innocent” dealings in the same arena. If these are the gladiators, why don’t we abandon the sport?

Let me clarify and I state this with my hand held against my heart, I am against Maoism. But this doesn’t mean I root for democracy. I now wonder if we wouldn’t be better off minding our affairs for the most part, a division of populace into rulers and ruled-overs clearly isn’t working.

Going through my recent posts would convince you that you could lay your hands on a potential Maoist. Let your mind be at ease, because all said and done, I am a typical Indian, an insufferable know it all who is ready to provide a cynical snide for anything under the sun but unwilling to move even a finger towards changing what he detests. Yet I think there is one change that I ought to bring about - I think its time I change the distinctly political nature of recent posts. The blog now seems more like a propaganda machine than humorous expression of candid thoughts of an overly cynical mind. I would, from now on, prefer apolitical expression, like essays on my grandma and the color of rose. If any of you find political leanings in that, please do indicate the same; I would, as usual, bend backwards to accommodate all your views.

What next?

Running up a hill.....
Chased by a tiger......
I lose a foothold. Falling, falling, blindly falling with eyes closed …..

On the ground with a thud.
Bright light pierces through the tightly shut eyelids.
Eyes open, painful bump on the head.
But where are the hill, the tiger and the foothold?
All dissolve, feared will-o-wisps.

Chasing dreams. Chased by dreams. Societal dictums.....
Where is the slippery foothold that will jerk me out of slumber.

Of Sleepy Days and Sleepless Nights

A persistent plonking. But this is not how my wake up call should sound. The plonking turns into an insistent wail. Eyes flutter open. The cuff directs itself to clear the slowly forming drool. Panicky fingers reach out for nearest switch to snuff the life out of the annoying device. Eyes frantically seek for familiar objects to latch on.

Curious eyes. Angry Eyes. Amused Eyes. All looking into my embarrassed eyes. A weak smile here, a muttered apology there and I make my dazed way into the restroom. The first splash of cold water, and I realize that I am in office; second splash – the horror of my disheveled clothes; the third splash leaves me begging for avoiding another splash – each splash unwrapping a new horror. My day in the office has started.

Before I proceed any further, a disclaimer: This article does not refer to anything even remotely explicit; the sensor board of any country would be more than glad to give it a U/A rating. Rather the article would endeavor to educate (the few, lucky) non IT guys about the grime beneath the shine in IT industry.

Let me confess, I am a reluctant participant in the IT revolution, an unseen cog in an untraceable component of the IT juggernaut. I had even selected my streams in collage to minimize the risk of me being sucked into this seemingly enormous black hole. But paraphrasing an ancient Vedic saying “Like all the rain water finally flows to the ocean, all modern day graduates depend on IT”.

I left the portals of my college (after a solid 7 year stint) a blue eyed, eager individual ready to make a dent in the universe. Unafraid of a hard days’ toil and eager to roll my sleeves, I looked forward to satisfying work, hectic though it may be. That was when I was introduced to the concept of “honeymoon period”. People tell me that, in the days of old, a new student/recruit was, in his initial days, literally ground on the stone. The intent was to test the commitment and endurance; if a tight rope walk is achieved, a walk on an expressway later on would be no big feat. The modern companies have another version of the same – give you all the time in the world; so much time that you begin to repeat every thought twice – and check out your levels of enthusiasm. A non brain dead individual at the end of the period is an achievement.

What is worse, its not as though you have no work, oh no dude, there is lots of it to go around. But the entire day going in contesting for pieces of work, in loops of mails and counter mails – between client and team, between team members and of course between you and your buddies. And suddenly you hear people politely smiling and wishing each other good night and reality hits you that the juicy piece of work you grabbed for yourself has remained just so – a juicy piece of work to be done. And your night and day merge in the twilight.

If anyone were to ask me what the biggest enablers of the Indian IT revolution are, even increased internet bandwidth would take a second place (we guys would have found ways to send the software by carrier pigeons, if need be). To me, the single biggest catalyst that enabled the miracle of IT is modern day office architecture. Kudos to the architect tribe, you now cannot differentiate between night and day, rain and shine, swelter and freeze; its al a plain dry office climate, as predictable as Chennai heat, and equally annoying.

But why am I complaining? A small (ok, a small but tending towards huge) belly, a thick pair of soda glass are small sacrifices against the handsome salary and a chance to retain my not-so-fair complexion. Or are they?

India - The Largest Democratic Nation on Earth. Really?

I find I have a huge bee in my bonnet, I would rather qualify it as much bigger, maybe an ostrich in my bonnet when it comes claims that we are a democratic nation. I find myself, once again, ready to render a didactic exposition on democracy. The “why” of this essay is not hard to guess – a heated exchange with some colleagues and a recent read which had the author gushing about the so called greatest achievement of India – democracy.

I reiterate that I am not prejudiced for or against any particular system of governance, democracy or any other. That said, I find myself clinging on to the seams of my seat whenever an enthusiast gushes forth proclaiming the superiority of democracy. Going physical wouldn’t solve problems and no amount of logic and reason can convince a believer. Let me therefore rant out in the air; I don’t need another source of bottled up frustration. I only hope that the shrill wail of mine doesn’t convince you that I am a basket case.

Let me put one argument to rest straight away – most of the people whom I hear rooting for democracy root for it since they feel only democracy grants freedom of press. Free press in any place is a myth – especially so in India. And I am convinced of this because free press sources itself from freedom of expression; I don’t think lack of executive supervision qualifies any institution to be termed "free" - if one cannot express his opinion freely, free press is just a slogan. The funny part is that democratic principles (terms like public good, sentiments of the majority etc etc) are used to curtail individual expression when it is contrary to mob opinion. Ask Hussian – not that I am a big fan of his, but hounding a person out of his home just because his opinion is different from another’s cannot be condoned. So much for freedom of speech and expression, so much for freedom of press. You can have a truly free press in a dictatorial regime and a horribly shackled one in the biggest of democracies.

My next pet hate is reservation. To me, it represents the perfect case of misallocation – of manpower, of resources and of energies. Reservations were intended as a short term remedy for social inequities, not to create newer and more long lasting ones. The architect of the constitution and dalit champion, Shri Ambedkar, had intended the reservation to be done with in 10 to 15 years. And yet somehow everyone bats for the “downtrodden” while a deserving top achiever, many times with as much as 20% difference, is denied a job posting, a seat in a stream in the college of his choice. Social backwardness is a reality but it cannot be done away with by reservation, at too at levels such as IAS. And with women now getting 33%, the odds against a male in general category are so highly stacked that brain drain remains the only option.

Democracy is but a system of governance, the principal need of governance being the need for a single authority; one person to look to incase of conflicts and at times of doubt. The governing person must be like the biggest bully on the school field, his writ running large and unquestioned. Whether the system is just or not is a different question, it must be effective. An effective bad system can be made an effective good system with some change of heart and strength of mind but an ineffectual system remains just so. Maoism would have failed in a true democracy or a total authoritarian state. A true democracy would have ensured that the complaints of the weak and the meek were heard before they were forced to arms and an autocrat would have made a Tiananmen Square of the Maoist movement.

Here I am struggling with a million words portray the true picture of our pseudo-democracy, and I have just realized that a picture is worth thousand words. As I struggle for the suitable pictures (again the struggle is due to profusion rather than paucity), the doyen amongst our legislators and executive have come forward to present me with the best of the pictures to substantiate my claims.

Thank you Ms. Mayawati andMr. Narendra Tomar – such an ostentatious show of opulence would be derided even in a monarchy. Its easy to end my rantings - all I request, my dear fellow citizens, all I need is an acknowledgement from you that 1) we claim to be a democracy but we are not and 2) We have much bigger and greater achievements to our credit than our system of governance. Acknowledge this and I would rest my case.

The Toolkit

My life has been most heavily influenced by one particular practice, which I later learned is one of the most important tools in any MBA’s analytical toolkit, the 5-Ys tool. Veterans in management field tell us in grave voices that any problem gives you the right solution when you ask it 5 whys – like why is the problem a problem? Why is the why of your problem, a problem and so on… By the time you reach the 5th why, the problem would be so bugged up that it would unravel itself to you. You see, the 5-Y test was never designed as a test of reason; it was designed as a test of endurance, something similar to the eternal war between the eroding water and resisting rock. But why am I rambling? Let me narrate my story now.

When I was young (you can include sentences like the world was green, the grass smelt new etc etc), I was driven by the thought that I must pursue the path of scientific discovery all my life. Nothing in my imagination could be more romantic than spending the entire day in abstruse discussions and finger tingling experimentation. To be a scientist seemed to be the pinnacle of existence. And then came along this weird habit of mine. I didn’t know then that it had been christened 5-Y, nor did I know that it was the favored practice of the management profession; had I known, I would have gone to the exorcist.

I committed the blunder, I asked the first why – Why do I want to be on the path of scientific discovery? I asked myself. Its only now I realise that there was a meek little voice in my head that said, “Is it necessary to know why you are interested in something? Isn’t the fact that you are interested a sufficient reason to pursue the chosen path?” But what was a meek voice against the roar of the 5-Y that deafened my ears? Not even aware of any dissention in my intellectual ranks, I honestly answered the first why – “I want to pursue science because it gives me the quickest path to my dream – awards, and maybe even the Nobel Prize.” And glad that my objective was clear I continued on the path, now no longer looking at the path but eying the goal.

What I wanted was distant, and I didn’t notice what was nearby – the glorious path that I was traversing; a path beautified by the devout hands of the greatest minds. The lack of joy, of wonder and rapture caused the second why to spring forth – “Why is it I want the Nobel Prize?” I asked myself. A lot of rumination on the said question led me to an uncertain reply – Nobel Prize and such awards are the door wardens to the realm of fame and wealth. The answer did not appeal to me, I had never thought of money and fame to be my primary drivers; but the chain of reasoning was unquestionable, the methodology universally accepted and practiced. “Further”, I said to myself, “this is an objective, scientific evaluation. It must be better than any subjective analysis I can undertake.” Taking the result of the analysis to be true (against my better judgment), and considering this in context with the fact that the goal was too distant, I began looking for alternatives and shortcuts.

Imagine, when to my consternation, the first image to rattle in my head was the image of a successful management graduate; the effect of noticing too many a career discussion was evident. I fought against this idea tooth and nail, but the intersection of the result of the 5-Y test and my newly discovered disillusionment with science was too narrow to fit any other idea. So off I went in search of greener pastures in the management domain.

Money entered, but the disquiet didn’t make an exit. That’s when I asked the fourth why – “Why do I want money and fame?” Pat came the answer this time – “Happiness”. And I started looking for what makes me happy. Now you know the reason why I am blogging with vigour, why I am reading with renewed vengeance (of course you don’t know that I read, let me take this opportunity to tell you that currently I spend a lot of time reading).

And you know what; I now greatly fear the fifth why. If four whys could change me from a man of science to a man of literature, wonder where a fifth one will take me.
I presume it is the application of the wrong tool that has me in these straits; a five force model rather than 5-Y would have set me firmly on track.
There was a time when I had all the tools, but didn’t know the application. Now I know the application, but my toolkit is lost. And the few tools I managed to retrieve are rusted due to disuse.

Indian Industry in peril?

You know what I would like to be? Not a captain of industry, not a professional, not even a minister (however prime it may be). I would like to be a Maoist guerilla. And I do not say this out of principles, convictions, beliefs or disillusionment with system (these would be a good reason to put forth for the consumption of Medha Patkar and her ilk). Rather, its because I see scores of benefits in that profession which are unimaginable in any other.

Now let me justify my contention. The Sabse Bada advantage – profusion of clean air, water and other environs at workplace. Just look around your workplace – re-circulated a/c air, artificial lighting, a workstyle that rewards you with paunches, backaches and soda glasses; I am already green with envy, no pun intended.

Next, lets say you are totally peeved with someone – irritated to such an extent that on any given day, you would give your right arm to strangle him. Now what can you and I do? Well nothing more than gnash our teeth, use a select vocabulary (that would cause even a longshoreman to blush) and then bottle up the anger; or maybe dissipate it over many days and people (poor siblings, offsprings and spouse). But the mighty Maoist, well he can swagger down the road, break a bone or two, and if time and mood permits, snuffle out a life; and then merrily go the green way back to his work place. As a line in a movie goes “Even the police and army has to produce an account of spent bullets; they (Maoists) need answer to no one”.

Not yet ready for conversion? Let me give you still more reasons. How many of us have spoken with our representative (MLA/MP) on equal terms? Forget the equal terms part, how many of us have spoken to “our” representative, exchanged our contact numbers etc? Do I hear shuffling of feet and uncomfortable silence? But if you are a Maoist, you can, safely ensconced in your forest refuge, exchange phone numbers with the Home Minister of the country; maybe even make a fuss about bad reception in the forest and have the service providers erect a separate tower for your communications.

I am sure there must be many converts now, but most of you would have some misgivings – what when we want to “hop the job”? What if we want to settle down, marry and get elected into the assembly and parliament; in short go the next logical step in our career? Do not worry, the GoI, in its enthusiasm to reduce unemployment and make Maoism a viable job provider, has instituted periodic “pardoning sessions”. The sessions are conducted the following way – You and your family (come on, equal representation and gender neutrality was first embraced by the Maoists; when you can have couples in the same company, why not couples in the Maoist movement?) and a smattering of your friends contact the local authorities, con the local MLA/DGP/Collector to meet you at a conference hall, get hold of the ever eager media, make loud announcements and presto, your slate is wiped clean and the society is presented another model citizen to emulate by the powers that be. If only Houdini acts were this good. And the best part of this meeting, the Maoists can also clear their warehouse of all the old guns and ammunition that is so antiquated that only the Indian Police would use it. I challenge anyone to beat, forget beating, atleast match such a customer-centric offer.

I am pretty sure no bigwig reads my blog, but incase this post somehow reaches the right ears, and if those ears have some grey matter between them, may I present to you that even if you are not able to crush the Maoist movement, atleast do not make it so appealing. The software industry could soon take a big hit.

Why do I blog?

This is one question I keep asking myself everytime I set forth on the task to group letters and express ideas, especially if the task results in considerable use of time and effort. What do I expect to achieve – or do I expect to achieve anything at all?

Do I believe that through my writing, I can make a difference? I would love to believe so – that the world is hanging on every word I write and that my articles are all the catalyst that this weary world needs. However, I find evidence to the contrary. If the world were to be converted into godliness by a book, post the scripting of Ramayana, the world should have emptied itself of men (metamorphosis of humans into divinity is the event I am hinting at here) and no further word would have been penned on paper. No, I am not looking for converts.

Or is it that I am looking for a bestseller somewhere down the line – something in the likes of “Letters of Vamsi – a compilation from the best of the blogs”? Come on guys, I may be a conceited megalomaniac (you may notice that I do not deny that I write bestseller material) but I am not a total idiot (when anyone can access my blog and read it, why would anyone buy such a book, even if it is published. I think apologies are due to my grandchildren – sorry guys, you lost out on a big chunk of patrimony, all because your dumb grand-dad decided to blog).

So why is it that I blog? On one of the first weekends after I joined my job, I decided to go home. It was a long weekend; a festival in conjuncture with the weekend gave a total of 4 day holiday. As I got off the local and directed myself towards the main station, I realized with a shocking suddenness how utterly indistinctive I was – surrounded on all sides by people in the same age group, with same or similar profile, income and sophistication and in some cases, even the same mobile. I could be replaced in an instant with anyone in those thousand and no one would even notice the change. “What is it in me that I consider unique, that I believe would help me stand out from the crowd?” I asked myself. One, I could claim my pedigree (oh, and I flaunt it with great pride, being with The Master is no banality by any extent of imagination) but that was bestowed rather than earned. And two, I had my voice – I don’t mean I am a singer, not in my wildest dreams would I imagine myself drumming up soulful tunes – I mean I believe I have a way with words. “Meri Awaaz Hi Mera Pehchan” I would say.

Writing the blog indicate those moments when my “excel-agnostic” part of the brain is in ascendance; those moments when the dull grey of pure math succumbs to multitude of colours of language; moments that are few, hard to come by, non remunerative and yet they represent my effort to reach out towards sunshine from the sterile atmosphere that today’s office is.

The blog is independent of me; it doesn’t matter to it whether I post daily or yearly, elation and depression are unknown immeasurables for it. But to me, writing the blog makes me whole; publishing it gives me added joy.

I do not write to exist; I write to prove my existence

Emergence of Dr.Watson

What a misnomer, the name of the movie “Sherlock Holmes” I mean – the caption of this post would better describe it. That it took better part of a century for anyone to appreciably tweak the characters of the most renowned detective piece is an ode to Arthur Conan Doyle. Oh, I love Arthur Conan Doyle, and I do not mean the Abhishek – Vivek Dostana kind (even if it were, this would be a new genre, one involving a man aged 27 and a man dead for close to a century). He is the one, who has almost single handedly, scripted the contours of an entire genre of literature.

Sherlock Holmes, as we knew him from Doyle, was a bit of a quirk. Quirk he remains in the modern version too, but the similarities are limited to that. Sherlock Holmes of the old is a strong willed individual, a quintessential chauvinist who believed that the female species is a capricious, dangerous and of lower intelligence in that succession. And Watson of old had a bumbling persona, good natured but a duffer, a sort of court jester for Sherlock Holmes. In the latest avatar though, Sherlock Holmes has had his edges rubbed and Watson, his sides filled. Thus you find Sherlock Holmes romancing (with the only lady known to have bettered him!! And whose looks are killing; this would not have mattered to Sherlock Holmes though) and Watson appearing as a savior of sorts at times of duress. Sometimes I worry that this modern pastime of sizing down the genius and hyping up the ordinary would soon result in our intellectual space being as dreary as the physical landscape; the mountains pounded, valleys filled, rivers dammed and all you have left is a vast undulating featureless plains – predictable but boring, a communist haven of perfect equality.

And once again I find that I am back with philosophy. It’s my belief that what we lack with facts, we make up with pseudo-wisdom. It’s been a while since I have watched the movie and I cannot recall the plot and protagonists even if my life were at stake. What is distinct in my memory, however, is the environs in which I watched the movie. So let me stick to facts (coloured though the lens of memories; even the worse of the moments look passable in “memory view”) and elucidate on the cinema hall scene in Chennai.

For those of you whose knowledge of movie halls in Chennai is recollections the of doyens of the yore, let me inform you that your memories are defunct; they are as good a guidepost to fine movie viewing as a tour guidebook published during Asoka’s reign. I have heard people with fond memories of Casino, Woodlands and Melony; rave about them in front of me and you stand a high chance of being murdered – flea infested, rickety chaired, groaning fanned hellholes, I would call them. Devi (I watched Sherlock Holmes there) was a part of this also-ran crowd till recently someone at the top (management) sat under the Bodhi tree and realized patron comfort is a priority in service sector. And so you had a massive changeover; the new look is seen to be believed.

The feel good factor starts with the booking – unlike Sathyam (THE new destination for movie buffs of Chennai) that believes that it caters only to high end populace and relegates the booking of Rs 10 ticket to an unseen cranny, Devi allows for tickets for all price ranges to be booked online. Go to the theatre and the happy state of mind is reinforced; ample parking, helpful staff and cheery demeanor is in air. Devi has metamorphosed into a multiplex and while I heard people go over the board in their enthusiasm to compliment the main theatre, I will be talking about Devi Bala. The minute you make your grand entrance, you are hit by a blast of cold air, the management’s way of clarifying that the a/c mentioned next to the theatre name made its inroads into the hall. The next thing that strikes you is the chairs – no more the rickety metallic variety with an ultra thin layer of foam that pretends to be a cushion; the chairs might have seen better days, but there is no denying the fact that they are not past their prime. And then you look up – a huge disappointment stares at you by the way of the screen – why I remember the screen in our hostel open air theatre was bigger. And this set off a chain of reminiscences, fact that I was in the movie with some other friends who had passed through the same hallowed open air theatre might be partially to blame. So here we were (by we, I don’t mean just the set of us friends but all the audience, predominantly youth, in general) in a largely empty, freezing theatre, mega on sound but mini on screen. Part of the unique experience was that the constitutionally guaranteed freedom to movement was not curtailed and the availability of wide selection of seats was used to the optimal advantage. The experience took me back to the good old college days when space was never a constraint.

The hostel days – yes the good old hostel days. It’s Saturday and you are back from the mandir. You eagerly rush to the quadrangle and look upwards towards the terrace; a speaker being set up there and your joy reaches the heavens. Dinner is then an eagerly awaited affair, if only to get it out of the way. And then, under the starry sky (Parthi being what it is, you can, clouds willing, get more than the fair share of 3000 stars that are supposed to be visible to the naked eye. On the grace of rustic environs….), with a filled belly, a packet of munches for accompaniment, gentle evening breeze caressing your face you get to see the movie. And it gets better, for you are surrounded by your buddies; to laugh with the movie or at it, you end up enjoying no matter what. What wouldn’t I give for those days (don’t take me literally, I want my job and refuse to part with my salary except if you offer me one better:) )

I have meandered quite a bit and people tell me it shows bad narration skills if the starting and ending thoughts are not cogent. A conformist that I am, let me close the loop, loop the hoop and skip the rope. Well, I think I must end by asking the director (or the producer?) to change the name of a movie that is already released, analyzed and commented on by better brains than me. It seems kind of dumb to do so, so let me close by, well, closing (I wanted to put something awesomely humourous here but my tired neurons refuse to co-operate. Next time I promise that I’ll pen a humourous ending first)