Goodbye, Adios, See ya!

Nikhil and I got invited to a farewell party, the two parties to which being the two classes we happened to teach at one point: hence a slightly paternal feeling (heck! we're only a couple of years elder to these guys). Having had the privilege to work with some rather intelligent people ,as a result of these interactions, we had gained a lot personally. That's why, at the risk of being two old peas in a young pod (Nikhil says this much better in Marathi), we landed up at the (for the Computers dept.) the most unlikely location for such an event: the terrace of the new E&TC dept. for an engaging evening.

Engaging because of the fact that unlike some other classes I knew, most of these guys got on pretty well with each other. There were the usual party games (though the games were not themselves common), the teasing-that-culminates-after-four-years, the reminiscing. Unusually for us, we were disinterested parties, and we had an objective (we thought) take on all that was happening.

Kept my winning streak at farewells (my own and others) intact with a game that as somebody remarked was pretty much graph traversal. Cautiously watched people asking questions to elicit "No" as the answer for another, but in a moment when I let slip my guard, Ankush slipped one through. Bummer! The final game did take the cake: will remember for a long time the sight of people trying their best not to bump into obstacles which weren't there in reality: an illuminating exercise in mindgames.

Thus we were allowed to partake of the goodies at the evening: the food ("is it good?"), the hospitality ("are you feeling bored"?) and the speeches ("and now for N & R"). The last succeeded a marathon personality dissection of each final year computers student by their own peers, an exercise that seemed all cathartic and laudatory and nostalgic. We even saw a couple of people for the first time, the only people to have the sanity to stay away from our classes! It was fun talking to our friends (for that's what they were, more than students) for ocassions like these seem to draw some deeper thoughts than would be normally possible.

Personally speaking, a couple of observations on moi were passed around: my seemingly sarcastic ways and apparent unapproachability. For the former, I plead guilty, for the BC-inspired training has induced a surivival instinct in the matter that doles out sarcasm at the touch of a button. To all those that may not have enjoyed those parts of my speech, I apologise, and reassure that it is not personal. As for unapproachability, well, it is a side-effect of being born shy: introvertedness lends a helping hand to what is often misconstrued as arrogance, seriousness or high-handedness. I don't know what it is, but I have observed this among others of my ilk: the stiffness of face that accompanies such behaviour is probably because we don't want to embarass ourselves and it stems from an inner thought-process that the extroverted will never comprehend.

Here's wishing the best in life to the B.E. folks: you deserve much of it. And to the T.E. folks: Time to check your termwork ;-)

"And in case I don't see you, good afternoon, good evening and good night."
- Truman Burbank, The Truman Show

Some more friends have their blogs here:
Sudarshan with Inside-out Brain & Manish with Scribbles.

Only when I thought the casting couldn't get worse for Sanjay Leela Bhansali's Bajirao Mastani after the announcement that Salman Khan will play the Maratha warrior, I was proved wrong: Kareena Kapoor will flit in and out of the false Mastani gate in the Shaniwar Waada sets. As a Punekar, I feel rather awful. A letter to the Editor in the Times of India (yesterday IIRC) summed it all up (unfortunately, I can't find it online).

Pasting a very well written snippet written by Anu Garg of Wordsmith while introducing the subject of this week's A Word A Day:

After a recent week of words from law, where many of the words are of French origin, I received this email from a reader:

"I propose you no longer feature words which have a base or stem from the French language. I no longer see that as a positive e-mail."

In these times when emotions run high, it's understandable why someone would say that, why US lawmakers would rename French fries and French toast in their cafeteria menus. Or why some German professors think they need to exclude English terms from their vocabulary.

This is not the first time linguistic revisionism is being attempted. During World War I, in the US, some had tried to rename sauerkraut as "liberty cabbage", for example. But we're all so interconnected, as are our languages, that any such attempt quickly falls flat on its face.

"Freedom fries" they say? Well, there's still some French remaining, as the word fry comes from Old French frire. "Freedom toast"? What about toast which comes from Middle French toster. Thinking along these lines, we may even have to rename the US (from Old French estat). Estimates vary, but at least one-quarter of words in the English language have a French influence. In the two lines that the above-mentioned reader sent us, at least six words have French connections (propose, feature, base, language, positive, mail).

A language isn't owned by a country. French belongs as much to Senegal or Canada or anyone else who speaks it as it does to France.

To celebrate the diversity of the English language, this week we'll look at five words that have come into English from five different languages.

-Anu ( anu@wordsmith.org )

All I can say is: Way to go!

And the Word is: F***
Let me say this loud and clear: I'm no swearing person. I don't toss expletives around like frisbees. I don't have to rinse my mouth with profanity-removing wash each night. Yeah, occasionally, I'd let slip something, but that would be considered so bland that even nuns wouldn't really mind. Not to say that I don't know the strong words, but to say that I reserve them, as befits them, for special occasions without diluting their filth.

And yesterday was one such glorious moment. I had to turn in a document, pseudo-HTML saved from Microsoft Word, probably from the Office 2000 family. Because I was working from home, with the ancient 97 MS-Word, I got into such an unparalleled mess with the formatting that the cuss-words came rushing out like bats from a cave trying to frighten the tyro explorer. And at one point Word announced it wanted to show me some hidden characters (which were so hidden that I couldn't see them in the source) and hence changed to some strange gibberish. I'm usually a patient person who believes that any feature in any software can usually be turned off or on: all you need to do is to find the right option or setting. Not this time. And so I sat back and cursed like a Marine released from maun-vrat. I could've landed lead roles in Four Weddings and a Funeral or atleast Platoon, such was the prolific nature of my output. I surprised myself to no end: having always doubted the presence of bad-ass fire in my stomach, this was an unlikely revelation. I spent two hours on the blasted document, needing to send the doc in time to get ready for class. I usually try and substitute the censorious euphemism "blip" but I learnt that on some days, it is best to get the f***ing words out in true expression of what one feels.

These guys are putting up a collection of posts entitled Blog Mela, by Indian bloggers, mirrored here. Finding a few familiar names in the Mela collections.

Caught Vivek's (as in the Tamil comedy actor) ad for Mirinda that does a take-off on Aamir Khan's yaara da tashan. It is quite hilarious. The first time I've seen a spoofy plotline for a Tamil cola ad.

Unfinished business

This was the first time he had set foot in a truly international airport of mega-proportions, and though he had hoped to remain blasé about whatever wonders the Western world had to throw at him, he was suitably impressed. Taking the shuttle coach to Terminal 2C, it seemed to him that the longwinded route eked out by the shuttle was an excuse by the Charles de Gaulle airport authority to show off its massive spread, but he was happy to drink in the large, purposefully-built facilities in the company of the steam-exhaling international traveller who was GOING SOMEWHERE IMPORTANT.

Having settled down in a bucket seat after the routine frisking, he opened his copy of Le Monde, intended to help him recollect his smattering of high-school French. He had gained a few valuable hours travelling ahead of the sun and he wanted to make good use of it of his short descent on French concrete-and-ceramic. A peek-in at Duty-Free, more window than actual shopping was plan B, in case he wanted to exercise his legs. Paris, more than any other city he had seen, seemed to be the epitome of the modern internationalism: with the multi-racial and multi-lingual audio-visual proofs endorsing CDG as a hub of cross-culture. The stereotypical Indian swarm seemed curiously absent, as he panned over the mass of heads filtering for the dark-haired and tan-skinned. It was the earrings that called his attention to her: the dangling kunjalams announcing not just nationality but also offering a narrowing-down in region.

She seemed pretty without sticking out in a crowd; that's what he made of the view from his seat two rows back, of course. Sometimes it was best to leave the notion of prettiness there, too often he had spoilt the sweet sense of imagination by gazing at faces. But he soon realized he wouldn't be disappointed with this sighting as it slowly dawned on him that he was seeing her again after 5 years.

Memories rushing back at him mimicking the frenzy of the last-minute boarders at a nearby terminal: of being paired in college group dances, of hot coffee and shared samosas, of scratching around for the perfect birthday gift. Of measured hope and sceptical aspirations. Of her expressive eyebrows and her quirky collection of jotter pens. She would be feeling rather cold in this air-conditioned airport suite, he realised, their friendship had made him privy to the everyday minutiae that comes from being together for periods just a fraction greater than the average casual acquaintance.

"Here of all the places!" he couldn't help repeating to himself as she smoothed her hair back in that familiar gesture of hers. After he had bid goodbye to her on her birthday with the heavy knowledge that the bonds of their (what do you call it?) relationship would probably not be sustained with the mere glue of an email from an overseas University. He, with his usual sense of un-impeccable timing, had not been able to talk about it. It could not be easily broached in the ephemeralness of an instant message, but the thought would tug away in the recesses of him mind, only to pop in ahead of him now, between him and two rows ahead.

Spontaneity was better in such situations, but having been denied that luxury, he had to decide in cold thought whether he should walk up to her (of course, he should: so what if they had been too busy to keep in contact?) and if pressed by the clock, to introduce without much prelude, the long-pending question? He took a deep, meditative breath: how badly did he want to talk about it? Would he rue the missed chance if she were to hear a call for her destination (god knows where to now) in the next ten minutes, while he ruminated over aspects and summoned his mental faculties? It was probably the setting: given the familiarity of a Puneri restaurant, he wouldn't have seemed so tied up, but that's what he imagined. It could even be easier, they would be paradoxically alone in this mass of suitcase-pulling, sleep-yearning, uninterested voyagers.

He stood up with an abrupt jerk, the Le Monde falling to the floor. Hopping past the legs of his Latin-American looking neighbour, he made his way to the aisle. And hesitated. Thinking of what he had to say, right from the exclamation of surprise to what he would ask about her present state of living. And then perhaps... His demeanour seemed to derive strength from this structure of thoughts and he stepped forward, trying to look nonchalant, and failing at it. As he got to her row, he saw her look in his direction: now there was no turning back from unfinished business.

I just realised: what I'm waiting for is an Epiphany.

What keeps a police dog going?

(The opportunity to reflect on the motivations of a canine cop presents itself at the University Circle signal: a representative from the back of a police van ahead of me provokes the question)

Why does he do it? Does he understand the great service he is providing? Or is it pure training, a conditioning of his doggy mind achieved over months of instruction, followed by the meat-bowl? Surely, the timings of the job are not settled or pleasant, so say its human counterparts (not the kutte kameene of the human worlds, but the men suffixed in the police-* ). Nor is the potential criminal-customer-force likely to be appreciative of these working conditions. But does Zanjeer crib while being asked to perform mal-odoriferous tasks at airports at 1.00 a.m. or does he wag his tail to keep his pension benefits intact? If we knew more about what makes them tick and perform their job decently, perhaps we could get more of them to replace the disgruntled parts of the force, and learn how to civilize the savage 21st century working methods. And are they the least corruptible members of any squad, only likely to be derailed by the possible of the juicy bone? I read somewhere that the dog-handlers are encouraged not to get too close to their dogs, for no one knows in the dangerous business of law-and-order, who may fall next.

(The lights decide to switch to green: the van ahead speeds away)

Perhaps, he does it for the view from the back of the open van, with the perk of the air gushing through his collar on a hot sunny day.

All my life, I've usually been put in positions of extreme solitude: it's as if I've been in training for it. One such phase flits through right now. Means less and less human contact, like working in some lab on the moon in an Arthur C Clarke story. And, he comes back to be my biggest companion, floating around, unbanished by any melody-running-from-earphone-to-phone, providing entertainment, asking tough questions and providing the hug after inducing the down-in-the-dumps: my own jetsam-flotsam of thoughts swirling around in an often uncontrollable Molotov cocktail with unpredictable results. My mind. Like Lecter's memory palace or Andy Dufreane's musical retreat, it doubles up as refuge or as instigator.

It tugs at sanity and also reinforces sense. Sticking by me, conjoined as a twin.

Home, Joy, Jug-dish

The tagline for this one should have read:
They've lost their Home. You lose your Joy. (And Jug-dish is just me trying to be clever).

Savouring the pleasures of in-flight entertainment on the Paris-bound flight, I ran into this bland-as-befits-Continental-cuisine film debut-directed, some say, by the same man who made his acting debut in Saaransh though I refuse to believe that. This must have been Anupam Care-not.
The problems with Om Jai Jagdish is that neither is it a good film, but more sadly, nor is it a really bad, awful, despicable film. It just makes no sense at every level: It wants to be something but doesn't know how to apart from dressing like the target. It is so feeble that even passionate criticism is blunted into a sopoforic dismissal. Here are a few reasons to partake of the offerings from the Jug & dish:

- To see how Mahima Chaudhari can go from marrying a well-scrubbed Anil Kapoor (who no doubt buys licensed versions of Windows for his home PC - that nice a man) in frame 33 to playing with her 10(?) year old son in frame 35: the son probably was a wedding gift in frame 34 which I missed when I was reaching out for the orange juice.

- To indulge in Fardeen Khan's dream academic life: heavily subsidised, hence leading to the loss of the Home. Because he brings home foreign-bred bahu (Come in Urmila-jee) who prefers mineral over Municipality in water, he causes the rifts. They do have one enduring quality: They possess white-and-cream colour coordinated clothes just in time to participate in a family ballad.

- To see how one family seems to have run away with Akhand-Bharat's share of sincerety, software and automotible talents: Anil Kapoor forgot to remove the label of "righteous indignation", Baby B even makes an Ursula Andress-like appearance from the waves in his quest to "make a software better than Windows in 100 seconds", and Fardeen Khan's spanner is proof that he built the fastest car ever.

- In trying to lure the software-weaned-masses of the 21st century from Quake to the theatres, Baby-B essays a challenging (and encrypted) role, clanking at his keyboard to break into the college computer to retrieve question papers for his friends (a file named Question-Papers-for-tomorrow's-exam just to help them, of course) and setting up a webcam to show mankind what progress was all about, ultimately resulting in the greatest piece of code in the history of mankind: Om, the eponymously titled intrusion-detection program that succeeds in retrieving the Home directory from venal villains. I was sobbing into my kerchief: QA apparently couldn't find a single bug in it and was hence laid off, a poignant reminder of what Indian software talent can do, especially in 100 seconds.

I can go on singing these odes, but will refrain out of a sense of respect for Waheeda Rehman (did she need the money?). Tara Sharma reportedly used up a lot of sun-lotion and didn't know whether she misplaced her hanky or costume. Urmila Matondkar was the only one, according to me, to get it right: her whiney, stereotypical-I-forgot-how-to-sing-Om-J-J-unlike-Rani-Mukherjee atleast made you want to switch to something else. The rest just induced a strange stupor.

Post-script: Considering that the return journey featured Chor Machaye Shor, OJJ was a stirring example of all that is right with the Hindi Film industry. And last I heard, the Universities of Maharashtra had agreed to include this film in the essential subjects of the computer engineering curriculum.

"Creativity is allowing yourself to make mistakes. Art is knowing which ones to keep" :: Scott Adams
This addition joins my Quote Hanger (on the right sidebar).

It's funny how the same words can evoke different things for different people. Currently on the third leg of the Hannibal trilogy by Thomas Harris, I noticed how he uses the word "steam" to convey a sense of the cold. I have always associated the word with "hot", "piping", even "anger". As in "she lifted the steaming idlis from the cooker". Whereas he invokes it as in "Breath steaming in the cool of the winter air".
Essentially a case of some warm air meeting something cold air, but for me it was usually "very hot meeting normal" against his "lukewarm meeting cold".
Conditioning.

NDTV's future
Since NDTV's contract to provide content for Star News ended on the 31st of March, major developments are starting to happen in the world of the Indian news channels.
NDTV finally cashes in on its extremely valued brandname, with 2 new channels in Hindi & English. More information from this message directly from the horse's mouth i.e Prannoy Roy speaks (seems we'll be seeing more of him in front of the camera again). The big news in that announcement is the return of the extremely popular The World This Week which introduced quality news programming into our lives (even on Doordarshan) on Friday nights. What's not clear to me is when the channels come on air.
Meanwhile, the post-NDTV Star News has a modified logo with the "News" in the logo written in Devanagari and new anchors (some lured away from rival Hindi news channels), in keeping with its almost 100% Hindi broadcasts.
Also, very quietly and lost in all of this, Sahara has launched a news channel of its own (which can be spotted in the inevitable channel surf spray).

Couple of more friends seen with their thoughts in the blog-space:

Pooja Shirolikar talks about You and I.
And Entelechy has a collection of passages and poetry, a theme-based bibliophilic blog.

Suhasini is one of those assertive, capable-of-significant-acting-performances (Sindhu Bhairavi being one of the most noted ones) actresses that you get from time to time: a quality that does restrict their opportunities in the commercial stories universe. And like Shobhana, Suhasini has got films in her family: the daughter of Charuhassan and niece of Kamalhassan and of course, wife to Mani Ratnam. Almost a decade ago, she made her directorial debut with her film Indira, a thoroughly well made film that keeps your faith in film-making alive.

Indira is placed in the rural village setting, more accurately the inter-caste, inter-family ridden-with-strife atmosphere that is unfamiliar to urban-types like me. A more famous and dramatic example of a Tamil film in such a milieu would be Bharathan's Thevar Magan of course. In short, veshtis and aruvals and people rushing through green rice fields dominate the screenplay's more intense moments. Indira features similar components to the frame, but its novelty is about how a woman is thrown into such a traditionally male dominated and usually intimidating setting. The story is optimistic and the denouement is comforting, good and bad are clearly identified, and the movie-experience is very satisfying. If I remember correctly, Santosh Sivan is the cinematographer (In the usual Mani Ratnam crew of that time, only the word "Suhasini" seems prefixed additionally to the Director's name, and rarely has any director, leave alone a lady director, had such ample resources to support her in her debut) and his sweeps over the fields are of an assured quality. The score is one of the best of Rahman's career; a folksy, offbeat set of songs with the standout Nila that gave Harini her first big hit. The cast is very impressive, the ensemble providing excellent company to the lead actress; Nasser, Arvind Swamy, Radha Ravi et al deliver. The eponymous actress was quite a talented find: Anuradha Hassan (a niece of Suhasini's though I still don't know the exact familial connection) performs in a standout performance in what seems to be her debut. Where she disappeared after that, I don't know, but she recently re-appeared in a TV serial made by surprise, surprise, Suhasini. In fact, having watched this, I wondered why many of these naturally talented people don't give us more to cheer these days: where are Arvind Swamy, Anu Hassan and the director Suhasini these days?

Unfortunately, films like Indira will not go down in cinematic history: neither fame nor notoriety will highlight its name in a cinematic encyclopaedia. One more example of the many better-than-average films that won't get seen by too many outside its small region of exhibition. Though it was dubbed into Priyanka for Hindi audiences (a trend of the mid-90s started by Mani Ratnam), there was no way it could do well in a mass release elsewhere: the localized settings would not make into the heads of the populace. But atleast the viewer that can overcome the language barrier and is willing to stretch a little to watch a good film would not be disappointed with Indira.

Repetition, repetition
This has been commented upon in the past and thrashed out at length in different fora, but I felt compelled to talk about it again. (Almost?) Every A.R.Rahman music score seems to have a song in which the lyrics have two repetitions of the first word or principal refrain. The number and consistency of such occurences is quite startling. By way of examples: Chinna Chinna Aasai, Rukmani Rukmani: Roja, Ghanana Ghanana: Lagaan, Humma Humma, Uyire Uyire: Bombay, Tanha Tanha: Rangeela...: the list is large in number.
I wouldn't know if this is a conscious decision between the lyricists working with this music director, or it is an unconscious expression of what works in the world of popular film music. Is it a spillover of the ad jingle making instincts? Does it contribute to a certain degree of lyrical dumbing down that puts forward catchy, syllable repetitions and alliterations? It does not always indicate dumbing down of course, for I wouldn't consider Thamizha Thamizha (Roja) or Kandukondain Kandukondain to have poor quality lyrics. But it is an interesting aspect to the composer's body of work over a decade that does merit thought.

After a while, got the chance to listen to Sambo Sambo from Puthiya Mugam once more. Something in it greatly appeals to me, and I cannot put my finger on it. Suits the situation perfectly, a gangster's adda with the molls prancing around. Light percussions, a quick start to the song without the customary lengthy instrumental prelude, a good addition to what we used to call light music about 10 years ago.

Quietly, like a devotee gathering flowers...
--Translated from Tamil
Another appealing simile.

Ullu kahi.n ka

Life is now 180 degrees out of phase.
"Look! There's Ursa Major!" is more of a reality than "It's 37 degrees C today too".
Venus stands transfixed in the morning sky than the Sun glaring into my eyes.
Breaking News happens somewhere in Chicago rather than on a cricket field in Nagpur.
Married to the thought of sweet, uninterrupted sleep.
Counting down to 6.00 a.m...
Coffee at 3.00, 12 hours behind schedule, with the perfect,uninterrupted view of the empty roads.
Caffeine is a delusional attempt at keeping Morpheus at arm's length.
Toothpaste on the brush, twice, at 8 and at 4 like some special news bulletins.
Thursday feeling like Wednesday.
Human contact reduced by 67%.
Staying up all morning to watch a vaunted movie!
Homer at 3.30, Frasier at 5.00, Jerry at 6.30!
Food, like a struggler in entertainment, does not know when it's on next.
No sense of martyrdom or challenge, just conscious of a quiet survival instinct that doesn't know if it is overdoing its bravado or making too much out of an inconvenience.

They beckoned, they enticed. With money in my pocket and a willingness to spend, often lavishly, without the customary caution and comparison that would have permeated purchasing back home, I was pulled into a web: invisible threads luring my attention. "Take me" they cried, and who could resist the glittering temptation? I succumbed. Later, I recovered just in time to re-fasten the grip I had rapidly lost on my money-purse: but the damage had been done.
That's what happens when I go to a new place and find bookstores all around me: garrisons of summoning books, "come-here-to-me" enticers in Dawson Street & O'Connell Street with Eason's & Reads (not as ubiquitous as Burger King outlets, but more than in your average city): The books were not very cheap, but a strange surge of shopping mania swept me and I found myself holding books and wanting to buy so many of them: I would have never dared to contemplate spending so much in normal circumstances. Since, I told myself, I wasn't going home with any Irish-chaap clothes or Japanese electronic goods, might as well splurge on books. After the first binge, I had tasted the sweetly addictive sense of piling up books. At some point, I decided to break free of this very scary mercantile obsession: never having been a "shopping type", the strange gravitation to a store to browse and purchase was novel and even exciting!
But in summary, here's all the stuff I got. I bought them for various reasons: of non-availability back home, of smelling a good bargain (one of the days was World Book Day providing a discount opportunity, also note that "bargain" may not, translated into rupees, seem the right word), of old favourites in a flea market sale and plain "I've got the money, let me buy the book" arrogance.

The books were:

The Satanic Verses: Salman Rushdie
The Hannibal Lecter trilogy: Red Dragon, The Silence of the Lambs, Hannibal: Thomas Harris
Fermat's Last Theorem: Simon Singh
Six Easy Pieces: Richard Feynman
The Salmon of Doubt: Douglas Adams
The Blind Watchmaker: Richard Dawkins
Darwin's Dangerous Idea: Daniel C. Dennett
Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?: Philip K.Dick
Adolf Hitler: My part in his downfall: Spike Milligan
Stanley Kubrick: A Biography: John Baxter
and two more chota-mota books.

But the find of the trip, though not a book, was undoubtedly the Radio version of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Fit One to Fit Six. I didn't get Phantom's in the Brain inspite of some frantic hunting, but will probably need to order it. The only problem is: when will I read all these books...

Post it
Though people have been so unusually forgiving this time, the fact remains that we lost by a large margin, we had more than just can be explained by an off day and there wasn't much left even to pray after the first 10 overs had gone by.
It was easily the biggest match in terms of importance I watched in my life, but for most of the time, it quite didn't seem that way, nor did it turn out that day. This World Cup has been cruelly severe on any weaknesses, fully shorn of any romantic results and the mild, weak and meek had no gifts coming their way. Contrast this to earlier Cups: Pakistan's incredible escape from England thanks to the showers that also unceremoniously dumped the South Africans like an irate schoolmaster mercilessly failing the class dunce not once but twice. Or a fist pumping, "Comm-onnn" yelling, leg break turning Shane Warne getting rid of Gary Kirsten while the Turbanator couldn't believe his eyes on this dual-in-one spinning/seaming wicket at The Wanderers. Or Kapil Dev's unrecorded moment of magic at Tunbridge Wells: contrast it to a well watched Fleming against the South Africans (why are they in every wow-story in the Cups?). Or at least a modern and aging Arjuna late cutting to third man to complete the grudge that began with many allegations involving colours, ancestries and most of all, the saga of the right-elbowed bowler and the right outstreched hand of a portly man: All we got close this time was Ganguly waving goodbye to the Kiwis. Rhodes broken, Donald shaken and stirred, De Silva running out, Warne medicated, Hussain? na-ssir!, What are the memories of this World Cup? Rain teasing millions of Indians threatening to be the saviour in the final? The quickly clearing clouds stamped home the message: expect no freebies.

And for the umpteenth time, yes, we got it dead right by bowling first, for proof, please refer the New Zealand v India match in the Super Sixes. There on a pitch that seemed more placid than at the final, Ganguly called correctly with Zaheer & co. reducing the pre-tourney tormentors to 140-odd. I say this though I believe in big games it is better to bat first and let the opposition chase: it only takes 10 good balls to get 10 wickets, even if the total is 150, but chasing 350+ is going to probably happen only once in the history of the game.
For those who have only watched the final, it would be an abject display of India's past failings, but we believers would have to look at the overall tournament and say: "Not too bad". But even we must remember: "Opportunities like these don't come knocking each day!". Look at Pakistan: 4 years ago, steaming down the pitch and now en masse exiles. Except for New Zealand and India (that too over the last 18 months), every team has gone downhill. Except for Australia, who are increasingly being left out of everyone's thoughts about cricket because they've managed to raise themselves psychologically into a bracket above the rest. Zimbabwe (pardon the unkind pun) de-Flowered after losing Johnson and Goodwin earlier, South Africa mentally disintegrating, so much that for the first time probably since the Nawab of Pataudi, the cricket world sees a young captain, chosen more for his brashness (Aussie-copying?), an admission of empty barrels, England who are great cricketers only in the fertile minds of the English press, the Lankans bumbling their way about, and the Windies trying their best to undo their gains of the last year. It has got so bad for the Pakistanis that even the Indians are feeling sympathetic for them. Will we see the Wasim magic again? Me thinks not.

With all the nosediving of cricketing standards being brutally exposed in the World Cup by upstarts and champions alike, the only happy time was had by the Indian fans. Gone were the days when we would hope to sneak into the next round through the cat-door, hoping to metamorphose into a lion (for one day only) in order to win the finals: we, more than anyone else (barring our immediate Western neighbours) have taken full advantage of the "uncertainties of cricket". This time, we kicked the door open, marched in boldly, much in the vein of Yuvraj Singh leaping over the gates at Lord's under the noses of the snooty gatekeepers that magic day in the Natwest Trophy. And ironically, the one thing that we had harnessed, we chose to leave at the hotel rooms: our strength of mind. Indian teams of the past hardly expected to win: when it happened, there was always something left unexplained, unrepeatable, defying analysis. This time, it was un-miraculous, expected, players saying "kya yaar, Kenya se kyu.n haarenge, mai.n dikhaataa huu.n 40 for 3 se kaise jeetna hai.n". And that's the way it was, hiccups dissolving in measured sips of water. That's why the final baffled. Much in the mould of the mysterious Ronaldo seizures of 1998 afflicting more than a player but a team. But by assigning mystery, one places the defeat outside the scope of analysis. Which is wrong. Say it, we made a big howler. We didn't think. We lost it big time. We didn't say to ourselves "Do we want to let a mere attack of nerves spoil it for us?". We went blank, line-and-length lessons of a lifetime going poof! on the pitch. Srinath's late 90s brand of infuriating bowling re-incarnated. All this on a pitch that was assisting even spin! That's why we had to bowl first. And why did we even think about sledging! Tulsi Bhabi trying to play Bhiku Mhatre. I'm surprised Hayden didn't say "Tum jis school ke vidhyaarthii ho, hum us school ke headmaster reh chuke hai.n". But, giving credit to the Aussies, it was a near perfect batting display. An occasion when the phrase near chanceless innings applies not just to an individual but to the entire team. It was like being in a very, very bad dream, as an Indian spectator. It was too perfect to be real, but it was, it was. I cannot remember anyone getting to 300 plus scores losing only 2 wickets. Heck, they didn't lose wickets even in the slog overs. That batting display was a miracle, too superhuman even for the Aussies. But I saw it happen too.
Interestingly, the Indians fought, so much that probably the only person to take things rashly was Sachin Tendulkar. Even when Pakistan put up 314 in Dhaka (another innings that comes close to the final in terms of its depressingly (for an Indian) merciless innings), arguably, no one except Sachin, Saurav and Robin thought we would make it. The regularity of chasing 300-pluses meant that this team wouldn't mind taking a shot at it, but we've seem to have hit the magic thresholds in the 300 region that will be chipped away at in the manner of the 4-minute mile or the 10 second sprints, there will not be a mega-improvement in the psychological steeliness required for one attempting these Herculean, sporting tasks.

Messrs. John Wright & Co. came close but failed by a distance. In the process, they taught us interesting lessons: never take your eyes of the ball, go for your opportunities when they come because the rivers don't part to make way for you every time. They were right in talking about the final as just another game, thus hoping to rein in the monster, but failed to pull it off in reality. Little did Sandy Berger know that the threads would come loose after withstanding one buffet after another. We are the real story of the 2003 World Cup: we made the conversations interesting and in our loss, we have provoked more thought. But where will we go from here? I don't believe (unless we have an Australia-like 4 years, going from strength to strength) we'll have a super team again in the next Cup, but seeing that the Sehwags & Nehras emerged from the hinterland in the last 2 years, why not? Srinath won't be there and no Kumble too, maybe no Ganguly, Dravid won't be peaking again. And what does fate really have in store for Sachin Tendulkar? Only 5 digit aggregates and "arguably the best since..." arguments on the trophy cabinet? Will he have a peak or will it be a more spaced out mountain range? Will he get increasingly insecure about his place in the pantheons of gods (for the un-believers will start chirping soon)? The mental battles rage fascinatingly.

Post-script: Can't the people who vigorously slammed Dravid and waited for him to make a major mistake stand up and admit that he did pull off an almost unbelievable effort: no major messups (and what about Boucher & Sangakkara!) while maintaining a high average. This, for me, will be the most cherished memory of this underrated cricketer's, one of India's finest ever, contributions to his country's cricket. Hopefully, they will go back to dropping the seventh batsman and let Parthiv Patel, well, flower Flower-like.

Whatever be the result tomorrow, in my opinion the Indian cricket team has gone farther than any other team before it: drawing whoops of pleasure from the lay cricket watcher, but a quiet I-told-you-so from the serious Indian fan.
I've considered my loyal following of the team and I have to permit a sense of euphoria that I can share with some of my friends, Gaurav & Harish in particular, our belief has been vindicated to a large degree, I'm sure a feeling we share with not too many prior to the Cup. The reasons for our optimism were simple: the talent was too impressive to ignore. This has been the team that has achieved the most: Test matches won abroad (no great feat, but compared to the non-achievements of the past, a big change in fortunes), some great turnaround wins that will go down in collective cricket memory. They have just seemed to break with the past, and I'm happy Sachin Tendulkar, Rahul Dravid, Saurav Ganguly and John Wright have found themselves a team that can punctuate instead of puncturing their aspirations to cricketing greatness in their own chosen way. And for doing it without needing to be too ruffian-like like some other *aggressive* teams: not flinching in the face of the sledger but with no need to resort to the same behaviour.
That's why I still find it extremely shameful how people trashed the same team after the Australian loss: so what if they lose, badly at that? Who gives us the right to throw tar at a young cricketer's house? Don't people make mistakes in their own lives? These idiots surrendered their sense of worth to a game of cricket and derive their so-called national pride from a six over third man. No one asked them to, but they did. How difficult is it to take a skier staring into a pack of high-watted lights while a mob is ready to judge your sincerety on whether you can hold it in your sweaty palms, do we know? And when you consider this team has hardly gone about shouting down journalists' mikes claiming to be the "best" (and then getting a pasting from the very next day). So what if they appear in endorsements? Isn't it their right to make a living for themselves, to exploit their own skills for their own economic reasons: don't we try and use our own academic training to attempt pretty much the same. And no cricketer asks his ad to be aired the ironic & annoying moment after he has been dismissed. Still we gun for them. How consistent is our performance in our own lives?
Of late, I've been able to invest less emotionally in the game of cricket and India's performances in it. It has made it more easier to watch the game. Remember, our generation grew up with the cricket boom, and endured the many disappointments of Sharjah & World Cup fiascos & idols-turned-ordinary-men & the crassness of crowds and cricketers and administrators alike. Finally, we have a chance to legitimately claim we're among the top three nations in this beloved sport of ours, let's not spoil it by yo-yoing with the unpredictable results.
And hopefully, by about 9.30 pm on the 23rd of March, 2003, the xxx3 year trend ('83: World cup, '93: Hero Cup) will have found more takers and Sachin Tendulkar will not have one notable fact attached to his valiant name: of being the greatest player never to win a World Cup.
While it hasn't been the most thrilling Cup, it has given us a great deal already. And if we simply seem destined to win, even the Indian team can't help but fulfil that?

Possibility:
Kenya beats India.
The final between Kenya & Australia (including the reserve day) is rained off.
Kenya are joint World Champions.

At 23, sitting at a desk 2 continents away from home, this is not the best thing to read right now: brings me back to all those questions that continue to whirr away just out of focus in the back of my mind-frame.
Was led into it by this Slashdot story.

And while on the subject:
COUNTER GIRL
(zombie like)
Smile, you're at Smiley's would
you like to try our new bacon and
egg fajita, just a dollar twenty-
nine for a limited time only?

LESTER
Actually, I'd like to fill out an
application.

She stares at him, confused by his age and attire.

COUNTER GIRL
There's not jobs for manager, it's
just for counter.

LESTER
Good. I'm looking for the least
possible amount of responsibility.

:: American Beauty

In response to Anu Garg's appeal on his successful mailing list, A Word A Day, to spread the word on his book.

.........................................................................
Here are details about the book:

A Word A Day: A Romp Through Some of the Most Unusual and Intriguing Words
ISBN: 0471230324
http://amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0471230324/ws00-20/

"A delightful, quirky collection."
-The New York Times, Nov 28, 2002

"Indefatigably jaunty hilarity."
-The Observer, Jan 19, 2003

"Part reference work, part entertainment, English teachers, addicts of
Scrabble, solvers of crossword puzzles, and other bibliophages will enjoy
this book."
-Times Literary Supplement, Jan 21, 2003

"Triggers the kind of passionate reaction that actors, authors and
memoirists would die for."
-USA Today, Jan 1, 2003

See all reviews at http://wordsmith.org/awad/book.html

Get the book at your local bookshop or online at:
http://amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0471230324/ws00-20/

.........................................................................

Hopefully coming soon:

Lo mei.n aa gayaa!
Home, Joy, Jug-dish
The Booktaker
8 hours
Catch me if you can
Tipsy Irishmen
The Glaze
Crib-Brit
Documentaries

The biggest days in the COEPian social calendar are here. The college's annual gathering begins today (I think).
And Sunday is the biggest day with Chakravyuh, COEP's own quiz, now in its Third Edition (little khushi ke aa.nsuu here). The Sabyasachi trophy will go out to the winner of this Open Quiz. The Abhimanyu trophy will be claimed by the best COEPian quizzer in a Mastermind style intra-COEPian event. I won't be there (boo-hoo), and I'm sure to miss a great show. The organizers have promised a super show and a little peek under the tent has revealed a special format, but my lips are sealed...

And to round it all off: The 75th Annual Regatta of the COEP Boat Club will literally light up the Mula river the same evening. Will miss the Kayaks, Arrow Formation & the glorious Punt Formation (here's hoping this year's show will be better than before).
Awaaz COEPcha!

Convertibility
Nothing to do with the budget, but with the workings of the mind of an Indian abroad. I've heard it said that when we Indians go vidhesh, we tend to convert every monetary price into the Rupee equivalent. Usually, the dollar/euro rate is much in demand, as gharwaale are stupefied by the fact that you might have to pay 50 rupees for a burger or so.
I'm worried my Indian-ness is in question, as I have not tried to convert money back into the Rupee at every price tag that came my way. Instead, I apply conversions for time.

I don't know why, but I keep converting into IST. Come to office at 8.30 GMT, and I instantly convert to 2.00 pm IST and wonder "The folks at work must have just come back from their after-dinner walk.". Get up at six in the morning to think "my parents would watching such-and-such programme". 12.30 here on Wednesday had me biting my nails as to who won the toss, Ganguly would know whether he was a lucky man. I keep doing it. Right now, seeing a mail from a colleague made me shoot a reply his way: "What are you doing so late! Go home...". While I plod home in the persistent pitter-patter that is Dublin's contribution to the inches of rainfall (quite like Pune), I know people back home will be in zzz-land. Most of them at any rate.

I'm mindful of the fact that I've been credited five and a half hours of time but would gladly lose the same when faced with the turn to board the swades-bound flight. Home is where the heart is, but my sense of time is strictly GMT + 5.30.

No cops on the streets (so far!), motorists who obey traffic rules, at night, shops (all having glass windows) are locked up & completely lit up showing what's inside, no water in the hotel rooms: like obelix might say, tapping his forehead, these Irish are crazy...

Dublin,Ireland is cold (but not too much: 10 deg C), not crowded even on sundays, not very cosmopolitan, not too many young people, wrapped up in woollens, lotsa pubs and to-let signs. Very unchanging in architecture, doors of different colours, cobbled streets.

Anbé Sivam is Kamalhassan's latest offering and also stars Madhavan. The story is supposed to be quite interesting. For the first time, local multiplex Inox will be screening a regional film (at reasonable rates too!). That's the aforementioned film. From next week. And I will not be there. Damn.

Iyer to Eire

In a couple of days time, I'll be taking a flight out with the ultimate destination of Dublin, Ireland. Ireland isn't the traditional venue for software engineers, but I will be heading there anyway. Things have changed around, but the travelling monkey hasn't really got off my back. I'm never too enthused about travelling in general, but in the last 8 months, I've travelled to 6 cities and now this. For a lot of software types, going abroad is a huge incentive and they expect a visit soon in their short professional careers. That, sadly, doesn't apply in my case: I can always find a few things to worry about and get upset that it spoils whatever plans I've been making for the next two months. It has never mattered to me that I've not gone abroad unlike many others.

The litany of woes (okay, I'm being unnecessarily miserable and fussy, but that's who I am: I prefer the smaller pleasures of daily life rather than the grand ocassions) includes my apprehensions about the climate. It is likely to be extremely cold right now and my long, chequered career with sniffles is likely to be faced with its most challenging phase. That really worries me and I don't know how I'll cope with that. Food isn't that big a worry, I'm not a fussy eater and will hopefully manage. I can only hope there will be some channel that shows the cricket World Cup, otherwise it will be Rugby for me. Three weeks means that, inshallah, I will be back by the semis & final. Will be missing my classes at COEP (Nikhil has a bigger burden), my quizzing, especially Chakravyuh (I desperately wanted to try and win this time) and the this and that of daily life that still keeps me sane. Hopefully will get the opportunity to blog.

Plan to carry The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich so that in the absence of any competing literature, I should be able to complete it. Will also carry the first 4 parts of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy in case I need some light and reliable fare. I should probably take Ulysses or Dubliners to make it all very appropriate, but I want to read for fun not for display.

Am trying to think of all the things I need to take to keep me feeling fine. Am sure to miss a few, but let's see. Seeing that it took a series of extremely well-timed coincidences to set me on this trip, I'll wait for some more of the same.

The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich, Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl, Metamagical Themas, Algorithmics: The Spirit of Computing, Understanding Directory Services, Good for a laugh: Bennet Cerf: too much round-robin may not be a good idea.

My project has changed, the building in which I sit has changed and as a result lots of other things have changed. I've got to work on Windows now instead of Linux, which housed me for the last couple of years. In honour of this quantum leap, I have had to restart my machine at work for quite a few times already. I feel I have mastered the biggest troubleshooting tool of the Windows life.

My first acquaintance with the idyllic world happened when I was about 10 and feeling, not unusually, bored. Venue this time was in the Bangalore house of my aunt where I was spending the vacation. When asked for something to read, my uncle said he had a lot of those books. Until then, I had never read any of those, and I never minded taking a chance. So I did. I don't remember which one it was, but I didn't quite like it. Probably it was the language, too incomprehensible then. Maybe I didn't quite get the large dollops of slang. I didn't progress beyond a few pages and that was it.

If I had allowed that first impression to linger later in life, it would pretty much have been a big mistake.

I don't know how (this happened many a time: my discovery of Desmond Bagley is in a similar category), but somehow I had a couple of those books myself. I was pretty lucky to have lots of cousins who read a great deal and didn't mind passing on their collections to the younger ones who liked to do so too. A large number of books thus came my way, and probably these ones came through that route too. The back cover featured an actor called Ian Carmichael with a large monocle, and one word leapt out of the description of the book Imbroglio. I read with an open mind, and by the time I had closed The Code of the Woosters, I guess I was part of the legion of fans that loved Pelham Grenville Wodehouse.

The other book I had was completely different from the British aristocracy settings that infest (in a nice way, of course) the Blandings or Wooster stories, and nor do is it like the middle-class musings of the Mulliners or Ukridge or Psmith. Set in Greenwich Village, New York, it reflects, in my opinion, the life that Wodehouse led during his successful stay in America while creating musicals, and contains delicate pokes at the then prevalent Prohibition policy among others. The Small Bachelor is very funny, and those fans who complain about a certain fundamental similarity in the plots of some of the other Wodehouse stories will enjoy the zara hatke setting and American slang. Watch out for Mr. Hamilton Beamish in it!

I haven't read enough Wodehouse yet and there's a lot of books that I hope to read in the future. I think I've managed to touch the various flavours of the plots, including some of the Golfing stories of which The Clicking of Cuthbert will be a personal favourite for years to come. I'm not going to say anything about Wodehouse in terms of what a genius he was at his art, because Evelyn Waugh said all that needs to be said ages ago. What interests me is that Wodehouse wasn't apparently the kind that went through a lot of trauma to produce his output, and in a foreword to one of the Wooster stories, he describes how easily it flowed out, probably like treacle from a jar.

Let me pause here to ask one question that I absolutely love and is the kind of question that gives quizzing a good name:

What sauce provides the colour in the special "pick-me-up" drink of Jeeves, valet to Bertie Wooster in the P.G.Wodehouse stories?

Answer: Worcestershire sauce. Now, I spent a lot of time in life not knowing how to pronounce "Worcestershire". Thanks to Wodehouse, I know it is "Woostershire". Those were also the days when I called "Colonel" like it was spelt, Col-O-nel, but we digress.

All this Wodehouse-talk was sparked off by an event at the local British Library which promised a presentation (note this carefully, it acquired greater significance later in the evening), a quiz and most importantly from my view, a screening of some episode of a TV series based on Jeeves & Wooster. Presumably this was from the same series starring Hugh Laurie as the bemused Bertie and Stephen Fry as the dignified Jeeves. Having loved their exploits in Blackadder, I was hoping to catch a glimpse of their act one day.
The "presentation" was underway by the time I got to the venue, with some stuff about Wodehouse's collaborators like the illustrator Ionicus and some basic stuff about some of the characters. It did dwell on Wodehouse's Berlin internment which was a controversial period in his life; his speeches & broadcasts were not well received in a Britain where the war's misery had supplanted the traditional English humour leaving it without a place to call home. The "facilitator" of the BCL evening was a seemingly dapper young man (who shall remain unnamed but will be abbreviated as HMC). The quiz had 10 questions and about 5 people cracked it to make it to the final. Then the fun began (as it usually does in quizzes done by people who haven't really quizzed before, a fair assumption to make considering HMC's attitude).
I may be biased against the slick HMC, but his habit of announcing one minute breaks after every round (of 5 questions) to "let the participants get their breath back" was getting a bit on everyone's nerves. It lead me to another paraphrased observation, using the bit about every unhappy family being unhappy in its own way. Every good quiz is probably like every other good quiz, but every bad quiz is usually bad in its own way. Which is good for those who fall off their chairs in laughter, and prevents quizzing from becoming too serious. HMC brought some of the common irritants to the party: passing with the 10/5 system, mixing very easy questions with incredibly tough ones while continuing to exhort all to keep trying even if the question was the "either-you-know-it-or-you-don't" kind and not giving out answers, especially for the elims. But he also had his own unique quirk: after almost every question, he would say with childish glee: "It was there in the presentation". Oh shoot! The syllabus was being paraded all the time. That probably explains my peeves: I didn't try memorising the slides. And if I was a pal of HMC, I might correct him of his notion that you can spell "junior" as "Juniour" everywhere, but on the evidence presented so far, I am not likely to be his pal. The mandatory fox paws came about with HMC (I still can't believe I heard this) saying: "... Yes, fish is good for the brain, especially for the red blood corpuscles...". He was quick to correct it to "grey cells", but I am prepared to swear I heard him say RBCs instead of GCs. Too much...
I signed a muster that I thought merely stood for what we call presentii, but it turned out to be a call up for a Wodehouse club: the supposed aims being to indulge in readings and screenings. When the proposition also included the performance of plays and the fact that HMC was the likely Prometheus who would lead the charge, I started to feel a little uneasy. But the last straw came from the fact that there was no screening that day! There was no explanation offered too, with HMC (having gracefully accepted a presentation from the BCL chaps, no doubt for his "presentation") announcing a huddle for the prospective club members in one corner and that the others could leave summarily, for it was all over. Like the 2003 Verve quiz, there was a veil of secrecy surrounding the events. Though I had been tricked into parting with my phone number on the muster, I took to my heels promptly before I could be marked down for a future "Gussie Fink-Nottle a.k.a Mephistopheles at the party" role.

Though my contribution to the popularisation of the Wodehouse canon seems to be rather circumscribed right now, I promise to atleast acquaint myself with the ones that I haven't had the pleasure of reading. The same about my Pu La mp3s. I don't know if a morning listening to the mp3s and an evening of Wodehouse would leave my funny bones exhausted, but it is a happy thought. I've always felt a twinge of envy for the characters in Wodehouse stories, especially people like Bertie Wooster, the Hon. Galahad Threepwood and Anatole: their lives are not threatened by the dire side of life, and they can be as cool as some cucumbers as Anatole would say. An enviable life with them rolling in the money and having faithfuls like Jeeves bailing them out when it gets hot under the collar. And the best life of them all? Without a doubt, that of the Empress of Blandings. All it takes the royal sow to be contented is a trough full of the best pig-food and her favourite keeper going Pig-hoooo-eey!. Sheer bliss...

The reassuring thing about most Wodehouse stories is that the ending is pretty predictable. So the fun is in seeing how the characters, or rather how Wodehouse extricates them from the mess in which he gets them in the early parts of the story. Much like an exciting sporting match in which the awful beginning and the then unlikely spectacular end are known. The journey of joining the dots between those two points is as fascinating as the conclusion. The service of such men to mankind is immeasurable.

"When you cannot make up your mind which of two evenly balanced courses of action you should take - choose the bolder."
William Joseph Slim

Why do we have to kow-tow? Even when we are not at the receiving end.

After finishing the final exams of my 7th standard in Madras, I attended a summer camp for about 4 weeks, a move ostensibly to prevent my chronic boredom. All the other kids were about the same age, and soon the main attraction became football, so much so that we even had coaching on it. The camp had a couple of foreign kids, definitely Nordic, most probably Danish. Brothers they were, with the elder in my age-group, and both were quite athletic befitting the European physical stereotype. The elder played great football, and the rest of us, who just enjoyed kicking the ball around and screaming when we got anywhere near goal were quite awed by his rather physical and intense game, not something we were used to. Just being blond will turn heads and attract attention in India, and the kids were no different. I soon realized one thing: many of the other kids would put on an accent while speaking to him, probably so that the Dane would understand them. I don't think they were trying on a Western accent or were aping that alient intonation, but I genuinely think they were trying to speak in his way. It might be a manifestation of our much touted athithi devo bhava concept, but frankly I didn't agree much. Some of us would continue to speak to him like we normally did with each other, in fact exaggerate our Indian accents; why should we care if he could understand us with difficulty or not. I wasn't going out of my way or changing my speech to make him feel better. I reasoned he could jolly well make the effort to understand us instead of the other way round. Why should we change ourselves artificially just to accomodate some other guy? (Mind you, this kid was brash, rich, prone to acting tough and so on, and didn't deserve any special attention: he was just an oddity there, but the kind we seem to fawn over.)

I don't know if this constitutes pop-patriotism or silly jingoism, but it just seems the right thing to do. If you go to any decent nation, the onus is on you to behave the way their people do, and you make all the adjustments necessary. But, dislike as I do that thought, somehow, it seems borne out of observations that many of us behave in servile manners when confronted with Westerners in India. One may argue that most Westerners are clients for the Indians that deal with them and so it is worthwhile for us to make the changes. But how do kids (as in my experience) learn to behave in such a way? Is it ingrained in them to do so or do they pick it up from the elders around them?

When one joins software firms that deal with Western customers, one is instructed while using email communication to make hajaar spellchecks, ensure the tone is friendly yet businesslike, informal though not casual and so on, to make sure one doesn't offend the other person. When one receives a mail from the other side of the seven seas, one finds that those chaps write in the manner that would send Grammar teachers rushing to send their resignations. Not to say that we should be as lax as them, but why should we exercise such extreme care and try to present ourselves as highly pativrata wives from soap operas, who take a lot of nonsense from many?

I got into a session the other day where the speaker was instructing many with the intricacies of American slang versus their British equivalents. I'm not sure that is very high priority for Indians right now or what message that sends out, but it seems just the kind of things we seem to do. Learning English is fine, but putting on fake accents is a bit too much, and saying faucet is not really required.

Can this not be an aspect of national pride, where one doesn't give up one's daily manner in a vain attempt to impress a firang ? Why talk of grandiose plans to revive national honour when there are so many leaks among us? Or am I being simply impractical? Whatever be the case, I would hope I will be able to stick on to saying "schedule" instead of "skedule" and not drawl over a "sem-eye" final. I've never lived among foreigners, so I don't know if there is a sub-conscious impact to alter the accent, but I always try to notice changes in that direction among friends and relatives who've been abroad a considerable length of time, to see if they've changed in that respect. I somehow seem to have a little more pride in the ones that have held on to their little Indian accents, retaining whatever regional twists they had before. I don't know if it is tough, but their example seems to suggest it can be done. The analysis, from aye to zee? :-)

If great artistry in poetry, literature, painting et al is borne out of some amounts of suffering, well I may create a artistic masterpiece someday!

If my blog did not revolve around me, who would it revolve around?

Jonathan Neil Rhodes deserves a lot more luck than he's getting right now. The news is that he goes out for three weeks. South Africa lost probably their only flair player (it is debatable of course, but according to me he is).

One must learn to say "NO" effectively. The "NO" feeling usually springs out of the recesses of one's spirit, a nagging gut feeling that something somewhere is not quite right for one. One must be able to draw that feeling out and understand it in its entirety, so that it can be articulated and expressed, often in defence of one's stand. This can help one avoid the pitfalls later, an unpleasant situation needs to be nipped in the bud. Of course, it takes courage to say the N-word, but for that, one needs to convince oneself. Having done that and the reason being worthy of holding onto, one needs to stick to it. One will get challenged hugely by the tools of coercion, emotion, threat, sympathy and so on, but one needs to be steadfast in the stand. At least, extract the pound of flesh if possible. The repercussions will be a factor of course, but having calculated them, one needs to stick to the decision come what may. Difficult of course, but indecision is worse. Take the left or right handed paths at the fork, don't stand there wondering.

If discontent and frustration and depression were an energy source, we might have solved the world's energy crisis!

The Others starring Nicole Kidman as the only well-known face but backed up with an excellent supporting cast, especially the two children is a spook story with a fine twist at the end. Quite impressive story, the mandatory dark and dreary settings supplied with a decent explanation, and a quite taut script I thought. An example for movie makers, it doesn't have any digressions and is quite riveting.

Some people seem to have a lot of time. I, on the other hand, don't seem to have much time. I base my inferences of the former on the fact that I see many of these time-rich people lounging about, chatting inanely and even giggling while I trot about from meeting to meeting, squashing bugs all around and with not too many moments to, as the poet said, to stand and stare.

Of course, I have some spare time. Curiously, it is just about sufficient to spend in lamenting over the time that I think I do not have (SOS to Douglas Hofstadter to help me get out of that self-referential eddy). Of course, if instead of lamenting the fact I do not have any time (I should qualify it as spare or free time instead of plain vanilla "time") and thus using up all my spare time in it, I had spent it lounging about, chatting inanely and even giggling, I might have considered that I had indeed a decent amount of free time.

Having spent most of my free time in yearning for more, I wonder what I would do if I indeed had more free time. Parkinson and his contribution to the workplace spring to mind to assure me that I would probably not be faced by that practical problem, but in the theoretical realm, it serves as a knotty riddle. It seems that each moment that I spend in thought of unravelling it and in recording those thoughts, each keystroke that produces all these alphabets that made up these paragraphs and the ones to follow and the 'o' in this one... and the one in the next occurence of 'one' (if you get my drift) seems to fill out my spare time, thus further deepening my great envy and glacial emotions towards those who I see lounging about, chatting inanely and even giggling.

So many people see great virtue in depriving themselves of sleep in order to extend the waking hours (not time, as we all know that is a fixed resource) and the associated free time. A Robin Hood like gesture it may seem to them, stealing from sleep which can in concept do with less of it and give it to the that part of the 24 hours that keeps the eyelids open. I disagree. I don't oversleep, but I do like my 8 hours. I don't like to think that I may lose my daily ration, nor do I, if I can help it, take a loan from the eight units, even in the face of the next day's exam. Humans would've benefited if they could retain a sense of time even while sleeping, so that it seems like an essential activity (which it is, but like the backstage technician, doesn't recieve its due and is considered dispensable with the inevitable results) that deserves its fair share of planning and allocation (in manager-ese). "When can you submit this code? I'd like it to be done by tomorrow morning." "Can't. I have some work this night. I have to sleep for 8 hours and I'll mention it in the project plan." When that sort of explanation will start to be accepted would we be a more congenial and accomodative civilization.

Sleep tight!

One aspect that seems to have escaped Dr. Ali Bacher's efforts to present the 2003 World Cup in a favourable and multidimensional light are the rather dull and boring team uniforms doled out to the cricketers. The team colours and patterns resemble the usual uniform sets that teams wear round the year, thus denying this World Cup to visually stand out and be differentiated. If one were to catch a glimpse from any match years later, one would not be able to immediately identify it as a match from this Cup, unlike from the earlier Cups (since coloured clothing was introduced from '92). I quite liked the outfits of the '99 Cup. The designers of the 2003 WC don't seem to have any new patterns in mind, going for the mundane designs. The colours of Pakistan & Bangladesh, Canada & Zimbabwe seem all too similar and so on. Not a Cup to remember if you're sartorially inclined.

Harish had the funda that the World Cup is likely to be the swansong for many a champion cricketer, which may see them provide a sensational performance. And 3 days into it is proving him to be a semi-prescient being: Lara, Jayasuriya and now the great Wasim. Warne may not but who knows what more is in store in this already spell-binding Cup?

Let's face it: some people can't teach. It's not much of a skill that you can keep practise in the vain hope that it will dawn upon one. No amount of instructing from under the Bodhi tree will light the bulbs behind one's head if one doesn't have some amount of inherent ability. Of course, communication can be improved but the ability to empathise with one's audience, to percieve their moods, to be strict & flexible, to know what one is doing is not so easy to imbibe.

One should probably keep the book & pen ready for such contingencies. You may run the risk of being called a "schol" by your unappreciative classmates/co-inmates, but at least you will have something to do while seemingly making notes. You will find your sketching, poetic, orthographical skills improve. Even your ability to keep the straight face while guffawing behing those set jaws. I remember writing a few poems in Systems Programming classes (the ones I attended, not the ones I take ;-) ) and composing an alternative quiz in Multimedia Techniques. More of those and I'd have been able to take a better career decision.

Ishtori: (My cousin swears he did this)
My cousin is a Ph.D in Dentistry, something that doesn't happen everyday apparently. As a working student, he had to take a class some day. It had the usual compliment(sic) of sleeping students. At the end of this lecture, he apparently woke Rip V. W. and thanked him for not snoring and hence disturbing the others who were soundly off to the land of nod-nod.

Not as bad as the story in which there was one guy who dozed off in the middle of the lecture... which he himself was conducting. Kuch bhi kya!

I got out of work at 6.30 p.m. today. On a weekday. The world seems completely different. And alien. A sense of bewildered wonderment fills me. All I'm used to is the streetlights while going back home shining specks on traffic snarls below. Finding that people can find their way back home with natural light during weekdays is a re-discovery I make. A colleague mentioned how strange it seemed when he left at 8.00 p.m. a couple of months ago after we had spent the earlier weeks in the midst of some strange deadlines that meant we would leave in the wee hours. Spending time, nay doing time in closed confines induces surroundings that are beyond the chronological sense: it seems the same all the time, as long as you are inside.

Kashii hii avastha aaplii!

I've noticed that sometimes I, as do many others, use a great deal of adjectives & epithets very flippantly and loosely, at the drop of every hat and helmet. "Amazing!" or "brilliant" or "fantastic" when all it was catering to was the need to express an exclamation or to say "that was nice" or "quite interesting, haven't seen that before". It wouldn't have caused amazement or didn't shine in any exceptional manner or wasn't out of a fantasy, but I did call them that. What to do if something really outstanding happened? Would need to expand the lexicon to describe that. Need to be more careful in description and composition in future!

India is going to do rather well at the World Cup. I've just received an indication of that. Or maybe I need a trip to the Total Perspective Vortex.

(Pardon the cryptic messages, but I absolutely need to output all this somewhere.)

loves me, loves me not. loves me, loves me not. loves me, loves me not. loves me, loves me not. loves me, loves me not. loves me, loves me not. loves me, loves me not. loves me, loves me not. loves me, loves me not. loves me, loves me not. loves me, loves me not. loves me, loves me not. loves me, loves me not.

Sometimes I feel God can't decide. is this all for my good?

Back to BCJ (with a difference this time)

The General B.C.Joshi quiz or BCJ, as it is more popularly known,is back (though the organizers have been most uncharacteristically lax in publicising that fact yet). One of the top quizzes in Pune, IMHO, it was pretty much the best organized quiz around, though I would say that that crown was probably wrested by Chakravyuh last year. But the first 4 editions were great successes, creating a fount of goodwill that the present organizers can bank on.

BCJ is essentially a tribute to the man instrumental in setting up the Army Institute of Technology, an engineering college in which are enrolled children of armymen from all over India. General B.C.Joshi also was the first Chief of Army Staff to die in harness, and the quiz has been an excellent memory to his honoured name. The first edition began in 1998, in my First Year, and enjoyed a fair amount of participation despite what is AIT's greatest obstacle: their distance from the city. But the excellent organizational skills resulted in them providing transportation to the venue. Though sometimes the transportation did not extend to the reverse journey, it soon became quite apparent that it would be worth the bus/motorbike/van ride back.

They obviously had a lot of juniors in hostels at their disposal, who were put to work in various hospitality departments: the welcome, registration, paper distribution, even filling in empty seats if required! And they're still the only quiz that gives good refreshments, albeit only for the finalists!

BCJ's USP was the three-member team, all other quizzes here are usually for two members. Sadly, they've had to refrain from that since last year, which is quite a shame, but the declining numbers have forced that move. BCJ were also the first to introduce (at least in the local circuit) the use of computers to present the questions, in their inaugural year. They also heralded Owl-in-the-Bowl, a solo quizzing contest, that still continues to be an important sideshow to the main quiz.

Anand, Swap & Pandit from BVP won the inaugural year; Sujay & me made it to the final despite no third partner, and ended up 5th I think. The second year ended better with Sujay, Kunal & me (the three-member concept can help come up with new teams!) ending 2nd behind AFMC. George, Jitu & Salil came in third after us, putting a lot of COEP names on certificates. But that year's quiz was almost hijacked by events in Chennai where Sachin was threatening to pull it off against the Pakistanis despite all his back troubles. George boasted of a pager then, which would broadcast scores, and because of his complete apathy towards the game, we 5 (incidentally all us COEPians were sitting adjacent) were more worried about getting him to tell us the ever-intriguing score. Year 3 and the rules were modified to enable corporates,in particular, one person to qualify. George was no longer under the "student" column and now could get in with a team from Pspl. Whatever hopes Sujay, Salil & I harboured of winning against a seemingly weakened George & co. were put to rest when an unknown entity combined with George to pluck some unbelievable answers from nowhere. That unknown entity was Amit Gardé and Pspl won. Although they beat us by the smallest margin, the manner in which they did so was stunning. The fourth year turned out to be the ones in which we would stop being bridesmaids, in what would have been one of the toughest teams to turn out for BCJ (insert IMHOs here): Sujay, Harish & me. Unfortunately, a schedule mixup meant very little audience and an unnecessary (and painful) drama-cum-musical non-extravaganza. Swap, in his final year like us, made a last ditch effort worthy of his inagural champion status, but it proved a tad short. Harish became the first quizzer on the Pune circuit (since I've known it) to retain a quiz title, teaming up with Sammy (who won on home turf) in the first quiz in the new 2 member format last year. Just reiterating that it is a quiz worth the distance even if one wasn't participating: I did that last time, so I can say that.

A lot of credit must go to the AIT quizzers who conducted BCJ: in particular, Akshay Johar, The Big Four (Kapil Dahiya, Navneet Bal, Srikant Chander & Samrat Sengupta), Nikhil Lasrado and the new guard: Nitin Nair, Roshan et al. (Pardon if've left out anyone). They always strived to do the BCJ quiz in a manner befitting the occasion, and despite a few hiccups, have usually `managed to put up a good show. Here's to hoping this will carry on.

The General B.C.Joshi quiz will be conducted on the 9th of February at the Persistent Systems premises. The Owl-in-the-Bowl quiz is a part of the events this year too. Teams of two members. And I'm sure, good prizes as usual.

World Cup vignettes from The Guardian

*A ready (and lighthearted) reckoner to the elite panel of ICC umpires : here

*Old Mother Cricket is charged for sabotage

I like Aamir Khan's performances (I'm not a gushing fan, but I have come to expect a certain standard from him), so the following is just aimed to be a small criticism, not an accusation. Just thinking about the different (and acclaimed) performances he has given over the last few years, I felt the basic personality of the characters he was playing in them was pretty identical. Add to these, the different ad-spots he does for Coca Cola, which seem an extension of the same personality. I can grant him that maybe he has not received the roles that would defeat my criticisms, but I'm just basing this on the majority of the roles he has done so far. I may not be able to explain the crux of my argument well, the blame is entirely mine.

I have not watched Raja Hindustani, which I don't plan to unless I have to watch a double bill of that and Hum Aapke Hain Kaun?, if you get my drift. Nor have I watched Raakh, which I hopefully will some day.

The kind of characterization that Aamir Khan has had in many of his roles usually have him as the pro-active protagonist, not one who is introspective or brooding or reactive to situations. He usually is a smart-alec or atleast one who has the ripostes in the film. His character is usually overbearing, over others in the film. Even in his one role that had dark shades (1947-Earth), the role fits in more or less with the above descriptions. In short, he has not enjoyed the variety that he probably deserves. It doesn't matter if the role was a success or not, but the drastically different role has yet to happen to him. In that sense, his "much awaited" Mann (Current BC-ians would get that) was his only risky venture for it showed how much he would bend over to help his brother! Of course, he has shown flashes of emoting different emotions in the many films he has done, but nothing substantially different on the whole. Perhaps, with his productions, he might have more choice.

I've always maintained that it was a shame that stars like Amitabh didn't have the guts or perhaps the inclination to experiment with roles. But atleast in Amitabh's early years, he had the fortune of obtaining meaty or diverse roles from Hrishikesh Mukherjee in Anand, Abhimaan, Namak Haraam and even, for those who remember, Alaap. He could've made a difference in the 80s when his word was gospel, but didn't exercise that power. Much like Rajnikant these days. These supermegaultra stars seemed locked into a self-perpetuating cycle of the same plots that got them to the top. Hopefully, Aamir Khan will enjoy more dare-devilry in roles.

On a related note, I still find it hard to believe that Lagaan's Bhuvan was first offered to Shah Rukh Khan. Perhaps the other great friendship of Gowarikar led to that rather intriguing casting call, which Shah Rukh Khan declined then. Anyway, Shah Rukh & Gowarikar have their opportunity to show how it might've been with their newly announced Swades.

I've been a great TV watcher, much to the annoyance of a few people at times, but of late my TV watching seems to have been rather restricted; apart from movie-on-TV watching, I don't seem to have too many regular serials or other programming on my list these days. All of this in context of a little list I was making on my current most watched programmes: I wanted to come up with 10 and barely managed to do so. A decade ago, I would not have struggled so. Even though Doordarshan crashed out of our minds with the advent of cable TV, the decade before 1993 did have some rather good (in hindsight, sadly) serials to boast of. DD somehow tried to imitate cable TV offerings and lost its traditional strengths in conjunction with coming up with poor copies of countdown shows, film premieres etc. Anyway, a little list of my current I-try-and-view-if-I-can shows, not in any particular order:

1. Frasier : Star World - The travails of radio-psychiatrist Frasier Crane, brother Niles, father Martin, Daphne Moon, the invisible Maris, the hormonally-challenged Roz and a canine comic expert called Eddie. Shares directors with Seinfeld (Andy Ackerman for example), features celebrity voices (Chakravyuh 2001!) and has IMHO, the wittiest jokes on TV.
2. Harsha Online : ESPN/Star Sports - Hosted by the guy who, I think, has the best job in India. Harsha Bhogle knows a great deal not just about cricket but sport in general, and has a most interesting lineup of guests, the latest being Syed Kirmani. His guests seem most comfortable talking to him and the hour-long show is well-structured with no unnecessary frills.
3. Kondattam/Meendum Meendum Sirippu : Sun TV - I would've chosen Comedy Time if it still aired, I thought Mayilsami could teach a thing or two to all those cosmetic disasters they call hosts. Sun TV, as do most Tamil channels, air these shows that have comedy scenes (they can range from the sublime to the absolutely crude, but somehow the hope of watching a good one draws me back) from Tamil films: Goundamani & Senthil dominating. A post on this someday.
4. Trendmill, Storyboard : CNBC India - Good production values, excellent presentation even for people like me with little knowledge of business news. The programmes primarily focus on the Ad and media aspects of Indian business.
5. Seinfeld : Zee English - I still don't know why I like it (on a broad level). Sometimes, it's pretty childish, but sometimes one will get a gem. And that's worth waiting for. I even have a book on the Seinfeld episodes of the 1st 8 years. Jerry, Elaine, Cosmo & George beam at primetime into my house on weekends. And you too, Nuuu-mann.
6. Sportsline : Star Sports - Filled a long standing need to have a show dedicated to sporting news of the day. The show features a decent set of hosts who know their business well.
7. Mastermind India : BBC World - Probably not much of a surprise, but it is pretty much the only decent Indian quiz show on TV. Even if you're only watching reruns of two years before, because there is always the chance you might spot someone you know. Of course, there is always the danger of seeing me, but that's only 3 out of the 101 shows.
8. Shrimaan Shrimati : Sabe TV - This is probably another infra-dig choice, but I just like its manic madness. The reruns still appear and I watch them whenever I can. Keshav "Keku" Kulkarni (RIP), Kokila "Koki" Kulkarni, Prema Shalini, Dilruba "Dilbura" Jarnail Singh Khurana, Chintu, Sharmaji, Ganga "Gangaaa" Mausi and the ever reliable Gokhale have been a source of great amusement.
9. Ikke Pe Ikka : Zee Cinema - Must be one of the longest running shows on Indian TV. I've got a bit tired of Sajid Khan (and it's not a patch on Kehne me Kya Harz Hai), but the interest is more out of familiarity and a lack of anything else to watch.
10. Talking Movies : BBC World - Anchored by Peter Brook from New York, this is probably the only decent film discussion programme in the Indian satellite TV space. A substitute for Barry Norman's long running show, it still does feature a wide sweep of film reviews and related items eschewing the tabloid or fawning approach most Indian film shows seem to adopt.

Even a few years earlier, I've would been able to name some more names: Murder Call, the Australian crime series, springs to mind. The Balaji model has unfortunately made extinct the alternative programme space, or atleast pushed them to difficult viewing spots. Need a change soon.

A week ago, ESPN-Star Sports launched their Super Selector game for the World Cup. The show was anchored by Harsha Bhogle and had a unique touch: the presentation was in the original manner that Naseeruddin Shah used to host (The current show is anchored by Darain Shahidi & Poonam Sharma and has a vastly different look). It also was an excuse to bring back some of the original suspects: Naseeruddin Shah walked onto the sets after Sudhir Mishra's Apple Singh dialogues. More nostalgia with the addition of Sebi (Sabi? Sebby? Sabby?) and his band who were always exhorted by Shah to Take it away!. Navjot Singh Sidhu appeared do his bombastic bit as ever and Joy Bhattacharya had more defending to do of the statistics as usual. The biggest and most notable absentee was Pandit Ajay Bhambi, a big favourite among some of us. To give discredit where it is due, ESS were far more prescient about SET MAX's hobnobbing with Ma Prem Rithambara and her legerdemain with her tarot cards: Pt. Bhambi (enjoys more footage on Jain TV) would make predictions about which players would be likely to do well. How accurate he was with his marksmanship was evident in the ranking he achieved among the celebrity lists, he was quite consistently at the bottom. Apple Singh Mishra, to my mind, must be one of the luckiest guys (along with Gautam Bhimani): free trips to South Africa beckon. (Of course, it might not be all that rosy, but at least they're being offered a ride there!)

Right now, the only beautiful thing in my life is listening to the slower version of Sarfaroshi ki Tamanna from The Legend of Bhagat Singh. Sonu Nigam also sang the faster version that is gung-ho, combative and spirited. By contrast, the slower version appears (IIRC) during the hunger strike that Bhagat Singh & his comrades have launched in jail. It is in a sad tone, but it still carries the spark of defiance in it. But towards the end of this long song (almost 7 minutes), the tempo picks up, the mood changes to one of hope, that the struggle will be carried on by others in the years to come. These words continue to ring on:

khushboo banke mehka karenge hum lehlahati har faslo.n mei.n
saa.ns banke hum gungunayenge aanewali har naslo.n mei.n
snip
sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mei.n hai
dekhna hai zor kitna bazu-ae-kaatil mei.n hai
waqt aane pe bataa denge tujhe ae aasmaa.n
kya batayei.n hum junoon-ae-shokh kis manzil mei.n hai
(some of the transliterations are obviously wrong, so correct me!)

"When things are not going the way you want them to, you think of all those adages, those stories, those experiences of things having got better even after more serious problems and put up a brave face. Then something comes along and breaks that composure, and the dyke gives way. At such times, it is probably better to let the flow remain unchecked, let the pressure subside. Questions to which there are no answers, the same questions that one has asked before in the same despairing rhetoric, rear their head: a lot of Whys preceding each one. Sometimes, it is too much and the hope of "all for the best" seems too fantastic to be true presently. I shouldn't have exhausted my stock of luck, and sadly I'm not nice enough not to be envious of those that are in places I want to be. Not because I know that is a great place to be, but because it seems to be a great place. Take the bull by the horns, do something about it, screams a part of me, but there are too many timid neurons afraid to relay the message. The train approacheth, albeit in slow-motion, but that is still too fast for me to pull my leg out from where it is stuck in the rails. A yank in the right manner, or divine intervention? who will make it first? or will they even bother? do I have it to will the pull?
Whatever the case, right now is not a good time to be me."
-The not-so-secret canon of B. Wisenheimer

So far so good...

Today is my country's Republic Day. I chide myself for not being excited by that fact any more. About 6 to 8 years ago, I would find some way of commemorating this event, like making my own paper flag to fly on our balcony, or singing alto, contralto, bass and all that at the ceremonial flag hoisting even without the customary sweet. I would write these passionate essays about the definiton of Indianness and consider Indian sporting achievements to be the best days of my short life. But somewhere, somehow, I've experienced a loss of that feeling. I'm not sure if it is anything to do with the fact that most of my opinions and views now center around how an event or occurence affects specific individuals and not caring how the statistical picture of the effect on the populace. Like statements like "my city is a safe place", which does not guarantee the fact that I will not be robbed tomorrow: it is a statistic that enjoys the curse of probability. The idea of a nation which ought to be a mental projection hemmed by physical boundaries has somehow eased out from my psyche. I don't know how it will come back, but I've not really suffered by being an Indian yet, and this is the only country I know, so I will continue to hope that my own feeling of Indianness (which is not as strong right now as it used to be, which is different from being an India-basher) will gain a new strength, hopefully aided by all those events that soothsayers have been predicting for us in all the year-end astrological columns.

Lots of harks-back-to-the-past: running into Nagaraj Shankar (Naga was the "Best Outgoing Student" fromy our COEPian batch of '01), meeting Nirmal Vora from Adarsh back from my Madras days and getting from him an egroup that features intermittent keep-alive packets from some classmates that I haven't heard from in a while and teachers from my 12th. Nirmal & I went over some funny things that that happened, like amateur spying, paper-ball cricket, school elections, class plays, The Great Pen-game (which involved lotsa Reynolds pens on a desk, at which Nim was pretty good): what stood out was the immense intensity we invested in all of those activities. Closer to my current life were the days in 12th and the talk was about different things, my teachers spoke how things have changed (no surprise, this is the top point of conversations in most reunions!) as they thought kids were being more hedonistic in life. Naga was a typical Mech guy, the kind of guy that fitted the COEP mould of versatility in its students, and the kind of guy one would want to have in one's team no matter what the contest was. One event typified him: the occasion during the Punt Formation practice when he jumped off the punt in a daring rescue act (daring because of the state of the Mula river) only to discover that the drowners were urchins having a game.

"Assume your brother does something stupid (he doesn't have a reputation for it, and isn't too good at it, but this time he pulled it off). When you hear someone giving him the flak, how can you not be affected? Granted you ought to be objective to either side, but can it be done? Will it put you, the seemingly disinterested but actually sliced-in-a-sandwich, in conflict, with all sides? How do you reconcile (they don't need it, but you do)? Now you know why a "complicated life" can be a repetition of words."
The not-so-secret canon of B. Wisenheimer

Something about Sammy
Finally, time to start doing something that I was planning for a while: to write about people around me. Starting off with the inimitable Samrat Sengupta because there a few things that I was to blog about him. Samrat can be considered the Sidhu (in the kindliest sense!) of the BC, with his talent for the pithy and sometimes incomprehensible statements. His "good guess, yaar" has passed into BC vocabulary. He sealed his reputation at an AFMC quiz in a certain X-Rated qn and has been content to add the associated dimension to future events.

I was pretty impressed with Sammy's demeanour when he learnt that he would not be able to attend his Mastermind semi final, and the fact that he didn't make a show of his (obvious) disappointment: I would have been visibly depressed for a long while. Samrat is more of a Punjjabee in spirit than the usual stereotype of a stiff Bangla. He has a blog here, but he doesn't display his great vocab too often there.

Sammy made a recent addition to his resolutions: to watch 52 films that he's never watched before in the coming year. It seemed ambitious to me at first, but appealing. Inspired by that, I decided that before coming to a such a conclusion myself, I would note down how many I would watch in 365 days: I have 6 till today. A practice that Samrat has with books as well.

Samrat has a completely different temperament and nature from me, and I don't think (and here I invoke my by now boring BC spiel) I would have had such company but for the great BC quizzes.

Samrat saab: thanks for the entertainment.

One of the aforementioned 6 included a long awaited viewing of Mani Ratnam's Alaipayuthey, thanks to a generous lending of CDs by Haripriya. I would call it a movie that is competently made in all departments, excelling in some, but never slipping below a threshold. There was no dilly-dallying, no unwanted digressions in the form of unrelated comedy tracks, no macha-machi talk that gets on to my nerves and nobody once went over the top! And it still did well, which proves that films with such unwanted stuff display a poor understanding of the craft. The acting was good and I thought Shalini's performance stood out. The dialogues had that quality of not being out of the ordinary, and the reactions to situations were not unbelievable.

A mention of the choreography (credited to Farah Khan), usually something that one looks out for in Mani Ratnam movies to see what he comes up with. Though one raves about Pachai Niramé, it was a typical Farah Khan song with Madhavan executing Pehla Nasha type leaps (both slow-motion songs). One may add that Pehla Nasha's breakthrough slow-motion choreography was itself inspired by Mani Ratnam's Dalapathi.
Snehithane seemed rather disappointing, reminding one of some songs from Thiruda Thiruda.
I would give the this-was-new award to Kadhal Sadhugudu, with its delightful fluttering of Shalini's tresses (long enough to be noticed!), her dupattas and other "wavy" items, lending a new meaning to Alaipayuthey perhaps. I would have loved to be on the sets during this song to learn how they did it.

On an associated note, one of my colleagues remarked this about Saathiya (I haven't seen that, but the comment was about the story, which is by all accounts unchanged from the original): "Where was the story? They fall in love, get married, have a fight, then get back together". Agreed, it wasn't a thriller and the end was never in question, but I'm sorry for him that he missed the story in this. Aren't incidents in life (even as common as this) worth a story? In fact, I believe that real life is much more interesting than a lot of stories that make it to the pages of a book or to celluloid. I bet I could make at least three movies based on events in my life! Also, most moviegoers unfortunately do not possess the tolerance for a more wider set of plots & themes. They are quick to dismiss based on past assumptions and one line plots heard secondhand from prejudiced observers. I agree that a large percentage of movies are worth the derision, but I have seen so many good movies being dismissed lightly without basis. Give 'em a chance, mateys.

I don't usually set out the red-carpet for change, which could be influenced or influencing the fact that change usually happens to me after large durations of 2 or 4 years. I'm sensing change is about to say boo from the next corner. In fact, in the last 2 weeks, there have been pointers to that, which does no good to my unsettled frame of mind: I wish I had some clues to my questions. Give me a sign, the one-who-knows-all!