Red, Blue and Purple

[For time and the world do not stand still. Change is the law of life. And those who look only to the past or the present are certain to miss the future - John Fitzgerald Kennedy]

Human spirit is a strange thing. Even in the face of the inevitable, when it actually happens, we experience the exhilaration and joy akin to the feeling we have at a surprising turn of events. That was what witnessed across US (and the world!) today.

Indeed, one of the most striking images that will stay with me as a mark of this election is the sight of hundreds of black people celebrating with chairs raised over their heads and screaming with joy. What is it that it is so striking, you may ask, as this image is splattered all across the US of A? The reason is that this was not anywhere in the US but in a remote village in Kenya.

In an unprecedented turn of events, we saw this US election turn into not just an American spectacle but a global event. You had tribes in Kenya supporting him, Democrats Abroad in Chennai having an all night vigil in front of the TV and the largest turnout for Obama, surprisingly turning out to be the 100,000 crowd in Berlin (I can’t emphasize enough on Berlin!)

A lot of euphoria may vanish over the days as the stark realities of recession hits home hard, A lot of grins may turn into scowls as the strict tax reforms are implemented by the man, and Democrats Abroad in Bangalore may start resenting him for the reduction in outsourcing but the fact that one of the most narrow minded (not to mention Paranoid)democracies in the world when it comes to its leaders has elected a African American with a last name that sounds similar to its most dreaded enemy and a middle name same as its erstwhile enemy , is definitely one of the greatest turning points in contemporary history.

As Oprah put it succinctly, "It’s no longer going to be about Red or Blue, It is going to be about Red, Blue or Purple" Away from detractors in the US and at home in India, I feel that finally when a US president says "Us, the United States of America" he means finally the UNITED states of America; Not just the white, but of the Black, Brown, Yellow and Red.

PS: Was it just me or did Bush's congratulatory speech for Obama sound a little condescending?

[This article was published by me first at Desicritics. You can view the original article here]

the day

There are some days, when the weight of history presses on them so heavily that they stretch reality and distort the fabric of space and time. They stand out, among the other 365, because of events that happened, milestones planted on the roads of history, firmly and sometimes, brutally. It is the story of such a day, October 16th. Today.


1781

5:00 PM

"My Lord"

"Yes Sergeant McRowane"

"The Attack failed, The French Battery is still pounding us with their infernal shells. We couldn't over power those ungrateful allies of America"

"Thank You, You are dismissed"

Cornwallis shrugged to himself. It was expected, he thought, with the relief forces from New York held up and with a dwindling supply of Arms, Ammunition and Food, and he would be surprised if he would be able to hold Yorktown longer. There was only one way, he had to get part of his force north across the York River, to Banister Tarleton's position on Gloucester Point. They would be needed there to strengthen the defenses.

"Corporal!" He called out to the sentry outside his quarters.

"Yes, My Lord"

"Tell the Generals of 2nd & 3rd Light Infantry and 32 Cavalry that I want to meet them right now!"

"Yes, My Lord"

Maybe they would be able to hold on at Gloucester Point till Clinton's Forces arrived from New York.

2200 HRS

"Your Lordship, We have news from the forces that were moved to Gloucester Point. They met a torrential downpour and could not proceed. They are awaiting further orders and..."

"I know, Sergeant, You may leave"

Cornwallis felt weary and he knew that it had nothing to do with fatigue of no sleep for 3 days or the tiredness of his body. The weariness was a result of the crushing of his spirit and he knew that it was about to become worse. It always did, after surrender. And he had no
options left.

(The Siege of Yorktown or Battle of Yorktown in 1781 was a decisive victory by a combined assault of American forces led by General George Washington and French forces led by General Comte de Rochambeau over a British Army commanded by General Lord Cornwallis. It proved to be the last major land battle of the American Revolutionary War, as the surrender of Cornwallis’s army (the second major surrender of the war) prompted the British government to eventually negotiate an end to the conflict)

1793

On the morning of 16 October a guard arrived to cut her hair and bind her hands behind her back. She was forced into a common, slow-moving cart and paraded through the streets of Paris for over an hour before reaching the Place de la Révolution where the guillotine stood.

She stepped lightly down from the cart and stared up at the guillotine.

The priest who had accompanied her whispered, "This is the moment, Madame, to arm yourself with courage."

She turned to look at him and smiled, "Courage? The moment when my troubles are going to end is not the moment when my courage is going to fail me."

She climbed up the stairs to the Guillotine and inadvertently stepped on the executioner's foot, "Monsieur, I ask your pardon. I did not do it on purpose,"

(At 12:15 on Wednesday 16 October 1793, Marie Antoinette was executed. Her head was exhibited to a cheering crowd. Her body was then taken and dumped in an unmarked mass grave in the Rue d'Anjou)

1934

"Comrade Commander, we await your orders"

"I am no commander, comrade. Defeated, retreating armies do not need a Commander or a General", Mao replied.

The young captain thought it wise not to reply. He was perplexed by this show of weakness on Mao Zedong's part. Was he not the Scourge of the Kuomintang? The one man whose name invoked both terror and respect in not only the enemy's mind but it was said, even in the annals of the Red Army.

Mao was oblivious to his reaction. His heart dwelt on the herculean task ahead. He had to take his army a thousand miles away to save them from the eventual massacre from the forces of Chiang Kai-Shek. Staying in Jiangxi was not safe and not was surrender. Retreat was the only option.

But the shame! How could he save himself from that? How could he answer his forefather's on the day of reckoning that he engineered the shameful retreat. Where is the silver lining for this dark cloud!

The Communists, under the eventual command of Mao Zedong and Zhou Enlai, escaped in a circling retreat to the west and north, which reportedly traversed some 12,500 kilometers over 370 days. The route passed through some of the most difficult terrain of western China by traveling west, then north, to Shaanxi. Only one tenth of the forces would eventually make it.

(While costly, the Long March gave the Communist Party of China (CPC) the isolation it needed, allowing its army to recuperate and rebuild in the north of China. It also was vital in helping the CPC to gain a positive reputation among the peasants due to the determination and dedication of the surviving participants of the Long March)

1981

Harish was born

(Though not in the same magnitude as the events before, this birth and the subsequent life till date proved that there is yet hope for the mankind if someone like me can survive purely based on Luck, Humor Sense and Total Goofiness!)

chacha chaudhary - sabu's revenge

Avid readers of this blog would remember the post about Chacha Chaudhary, a frightening old man with a single set of clothes and a scary, warped sense of vigilante justice. He was "The Old Knight" akin Bruce Wayne for Gotham.

Now, I had ended the last post with this:

Yes, this story had everything... except Sabu. This world would be a better place if all stories had more Sabu in them. In fact, even Sholay could have been made better by simply including Sabu in it. Can't you just see it?

I’ll try to get a clip featuring Sabu. In case you don’t know him, hes from Jupiter, is 60 Feet Tall and every time he gets angry a volcano erupts somewhere in the universe. Do I hear you barfing??

Yes, now the time has come to fulfill my promise. No, No...put that paper bag down..I didn't mean the promise about barfing but to introduce you to one of most rocking sidekicks!

He's not gay like Robin, Dissaparate like Supergirl, irritating like Orko or...well you get the point!

Now, without too much ado, let me get straight to the comic:

(PS: The images are a little blurred, if you are not able to read them properly, click on it to open in a new window)

You might have this strange feeling of Deja Vu while reading the first panel of this story. Well, let's face it...That's because all Chacha Chaudhary stories are pretty much the same. They follow one of three patterns:

1) Chacha Chaudhary outsmarts people
2) Sabu whacks the shit out of people
3) Chacha Chaudhary and Sabu outsmart people by whacking the shit out of them

Moving on, we finally see a female presence in the comic. The angry woman on the right is Chacha Chaudhary's wife. She always has this huge rolling pin in her hand, which I think is supposed to hint at the fact that she beats Chacha Chaudhary into submission (or her Obsessive Compulsive Disorder to make chappathis all day long!)

Now, the setup to this story is simple - Chacha Chaudhary and Sabu need to earn some money or they won't get to eat anything for dinner. It's really impressive the way Chacha Chaudhary manages to set up the plot right in the first page. Actually that's not so impressive when you figure that the stories are just three pages each.

Another thing you have to realize is that being able and efficient crimefighters (for a very generous description of crime and an even more liberal definition of crimefighters) these two have accumulated a horde of enemies who resemble the who's who of shitty comic book villians. One of them is Dagroo, who has a major grouse with Sabu (If I were him, I would have a major grouse with the artist who drew him like a constipated porcupine!)




Can't you feel the sense of impending doom? I could look at that bottom frame forever.




Hah! He didn't even feel it the first time. The stick just cracked and bounced off his shiny bald head. Weren't expecting that, were you, Mr. Shabroo? Undaunted, he picks up an iron box that happens to be full of money. Who the hell puts money in an iron box and then leaves it lying around town? Now you know why Chacha Chaudhary is supposed to be so smart: everybody else in the town is a complete retard.

There's something else very strange about the third frame on this page. Who is that calling "Yes, go ahead." from the left? We know there are only three characters present, two of whom are in the frame. That leaves just the photographer. And his schizophrenic alter ego.

These comics should come with warnings; I'm sure there are kids who've had seizures while reading this.

Did I tell you? Not satisfied with giving us mental diarrhea with such a character, the creator had actually the guts to introduce us to his twin brother?

OK...Calm down..and p-u-t t-h-e g-u-n d-o-w-n!

He he..we'll leave it for another day, shall we?

(You can read the older post here)

rhyme sans reason

He was lying on the base of the mountain. His whole body was bruised and battered, the broken knee cap was sending searing shooters of pain across his whole leg, but his mind was elsewhere.

Thinking about her...he could hear the sounds from up the slope. She was falling too. Tumbling down the slope, like him, a few minutes ago. Her screams were dopplering down to him, in waves. That hurt him more than the leg.

What did they do wrong? They were kids, god-damn it!

All they wanted was some water. In their parched land, it had to be drawn from the last remaining well at the top of the hill. He had tripped on his way up...and now this.

All for a pail of water...

His lasts thoughts were crazy as he was delirious with pain.

He imagined kids like them, millions of them, singing about their fates. Singing like mad demented idiots.

Jack smiled through his pain and lost consciousness. and did not hear Jill's final scream echoing off the hills...

[i was inspired by a random post in a blog which i sadly do not remember...the writer had done a better work (much much better work) than me on the "johnny johnny.." one. sadly, i do not remember who it was. damn, teaches me to fav a site as soon as i decide i like it!!]

black

[this was a tag from pavi who wanted me to write a story based on my favorite color. black is what it is. i have borrowed heavily from myths and maybe twisted a few facts here and there due to ignorance or to fit the story, my apologies]

Shyama was his name.Literally meant black. And so was he.

Born of wealthy if vaishya traders who have been entrenched in their business of precious silks and diamonds since the time of King Raghu. His dad Rakhtahasa was a boisterous man who, legend has it, rode along with King Dasharatha in many of his wars. The king, and certainly lady luck, had heaped fortunes upon him. Only one worry nagged at his soul, of his son Shyama.

Shyama was black and not the fiery and subtle shade of a cloud like their Prince who was in exile ( as told by the bards who always referred to him as dark as a cloud) but literally black as an asura. In a society that measured virtue a lot by the appearance of the person, that meant that he was generally an outcast. Alienated, even though a eleven year old.

Just because he was black.

On that day of Ashadha, he was at the stables, grooming Markasha, his dad's favorite stallion. The horse was his only companion and his adoloescent mind often wondered why black was so prized in a horse while he was shunned for the same. Ah, the quirks of grown-ups!

Shunned would be harsh as the people around him, the dasis, the stable hands and usual coterie of clerks and servants could hardly be disrespectful the young master. Atleast not in an obvious way. But on and off, an ill placed snigger and snatches of conversation reminded him of his color.

"by Indra! is it true Durasta missed him while he was on his way to light the lamps?"
"our master, shines like lord Surya in the month of Phalguna but look at his son..."
"looks...a..Asura"

They called him an Asura or a demon. That's what irked him the most. More than the fact that his dad never used to act least bit bothered even though he was sure to be tuned to the sea of rumors. Not even during that ghastly episode during the Madira orgy where a rival trader openly questioned his mother's chastity. Rage had boiled inside Shyama but he was an unwelcome visitor feasting on savories from under the table. He was amazed at the self restraint shown by his father.

All because he was black.

He was tired of all this and he sought means to end it all. He had heard about the ill effects of Kartaraasa, the medicine for colic-ridden horses and which was kept in the apothecary's room.

A sudden roar like the ones never heard before interrupted his reverie. He was aware that it was coming from the main street of Ayodhya, which his house overlooked. He left his grooming tools in the stables and ran into the house. There was a generous amount of chaos inside the house and all along, a feverishbluster.

People were running to the front door or to any of the balconies over looking the streets as it seemed to be the cynosure of all activity.

"he's back"
"oh my lord, he has returned to be with us"
"...ruler of all.."
"Ravana is dead?"
"even Vanaras..."
"14 years...so long"

he could not make any sense of anything and he made his way to the main balcony. Surprisingly, it was crowded too, with an array of dasis waiting with thalis laden with flower petals and lamps. He tried in vain to push through the line blocking his view but settled for an audio commentary.

Soon, there was a hush among the crowd. More than a general sense of quiet, Shyama could feel the anticipation building in everyone around him and the air was heavy with it.

A loud collective cheer broke it like a thunder clap and shouts thronged the air.

"Jai ShriRam! Jai Jai ShriRam"

The dasis were showering flowers on the street and there were cries from the older ones in the balcony.

"It has been 14 years, oh god, I thought he would never come back", cried old Duvarya. One of the younger ones interjected,"but, he...he is so...I mean...------"

Shyama, who did not hear the uttered word, wondered what she could find incongruous in the prince.

"be careful about what you speak of, you young imbecile. he is the lord, reincarnate of the Lord Vishnu, heir to the Suryavamsha and true King of Ayodhya. You dare say that about him? So is our young master, isn't he?"

It was evident that they hadn't seen him yet. Else they would not be speaking about him. Still, he wondered what he had in common with the prince that drew that interjection from the dasis.

Curiosity welled up inside him as he resolutely pushed away at the line and finally got a glimpse of the road.

There were throngs of ministers, soldiers, generals, vassals, courtiers and noble men along with the Regent-King Bharata standing in front of the small party of three. The crowd all around them was chanting Rama's name and as in his balcony, all around the street, flower petals were being showered upon him. All the houses were lit up with millions of oil lamps and the whole seen shimmered like an unreal vision of Swarga.

All for Rama, the prince who came back.

Rama, who was as black as him.

He never thought about the Apothecary's room ever.

psychedelic ads from the past - parry's eclairs

Kalia, Suppandi, Shikari Shambu, Kapish, Anwar…

Need I say more? If these names mean something to you than I am sure that you would be among the millions of after-youth’ers whose collective childhood were enriched by the wonderful monthly (later fortnightly and now weekly) Tinkle, has, believe it or not, comic book versions of folk tales from around the world (I realized that Cameroon is a country and not a dish after reading “Ngampa Goes to Market!”), nature documentaries, scientific experiments, do-it-yourself craft projects... and still have time to devote to regular features like the adventures of talking crows and flat-headed domestic servants.

It was edited by Anant Pai known to us only as "Uncle Pai", and he had the status of a demigod to us kids. Even when you grew a little older and it wasn't "cool" to read it anymore, you still had a stash hidden under your bed that you read when no-one was looking.

Now, as luck would have it, most of my stash was freely distributed to kids of relatives' (or they were just pawns in a major laundering operation and the books ultimately reached the different uncles and aunts!). It was fortunate that I happened to stumble upon some of them while attempting to stash my cigarettes clean the attic.

The characters and story lines haven't changed much from the past now but what has changed are the advertisements. Simple advertisements from a simpler time. A happier, more innocent decade. A happier, more innocent, and incredibly weird fucking decade.

I am starting this series to give you a glimpse of that decades because I have no work to do I am too lazy to write a fully fledged blog and would rather copy-paste what’s more wonderful than a crazy trip without LSD?

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

Starting with one of the trippiest ones ever; The Parry’s Éclairs! It was the poor cousin of the more famous Cadbury’s Éclairs, who had the cute girl from some movie or shit endorsing it. Much like Ashlee Simpson baring all to grab more attention than her better (WTF!) sounding sister, Parry’s decided to attack from the flank and produced this wonderful ad:


That is one stoned kid. Check out the amazing psychedelic vision you can experience by just dropping a couple of Parry's Éclairs. God damn I love the '80s. It was rumored that this one single ad managed to wean away all the future potheads and LSD fans from Cadbury's; who took a major hit in sales. Last seen, the Cadbury's girl was selling Vada-Pav in Churchgate and she still shudders on seeing anything remotely dark-brown.

dream fall

in life sometimes, despair clouds eyes and chokes me in a silent hold
way ahead seems so foggy and lays upon me, a funeral wreathe
complaining seems easy and so is giving up, but what i do instead
i never let my dreams fall, i hold them up with all my strength

what transpires is a silent fight, with me as the only witness
one side is sorrow with the wings of fate and the bad dreams dreamt
and on the other side a still feeble resolve that has left its hearth
but i never let my dreams fall, i hold them up with all my strength

the opponents are crafty and have in their arsenal so numerous
of weapons, that makes my soul bleed and my eyes vent
the lance of parting and the sword of sorrow mightily clash down
but i never let my dreams fall, i hold them up with all my strength

triumph is a long way away and so is the clear blue sky of joy
so is a life that turns to normal and victories and joyful warmth
but i take pleasure in little things and battle on with the dark forces
and i never let my dreams fall, i hold them up with all my strength

[i reserve my poetry to the scratch of a waterman nib on paper, but this blog has been long neglected so decided to post one here, after permission from mr waterman, of course!]

the drifter chronicles - episode 2 - the fountains of youth

Prologue

"who is this guy? jayaprakash....come here you idiot!"

JayaPrakash or JP, one of the few crossbreeds between a nerd and a drifter (yeah, they do exist) walks slowly up the dais to meet Zach Sir (fake name, of course!)

"you wrote this answer? what are you made of? poop?"

JP stands silent, ever mindful of the giggles and titters behind him. Rage slowly simmers in him but he knows he can't bait him anymore than necessary.

"you should be named parajay andhakar not Jayaprakash!!"

Zach sniggered and the frontbenchers duly joined in...Well, to be fair, so did some of us. It was not a bad effort by Zach sir as the funniest thing he ever did was flatulence!

Part I - The Plan

To say we hated him would have been an understatement. He was a jerk (to us adolescents) and always on the lookout for the slightest of vagrancy which he punished heavily. Girls alone escaped his wrath, though the price they had to pay was to see his slobbery girth planted on their desktops (the wooden one not PCs!) while he delivered sermons on mitochondria. Among the guys only Chandu was spared as his dad was an influential PWD Contractor and this slob had some underhand dealings with him (or so we heard)

I was a scapegoat to his mid-class heroics a lot and have come close to being his bete-noire after JP. Did not bother me much as being BN to all other teachers, it was a refreshing change not to be one. Like Dhoni sitting out at Colombo test.

Soon we decided that we had to deal a blow back to him. Not explicitly of course. The Gilt Attack fracas (or rumpus or whateva!) has actually made us lie low for a while.

We decided that our blow would be subtle, dark and blackly funny...like the horses head on your bed when you wake up in the morning. I had been recently struck by the lightning called God father and my brain usually worked in a very Sicilian way. I had gone so far as to respond to my moms questions about wasted dinner by saying "its not personal, is business"

Anyway, the horses head idea was wildly cheered upon but the problem was:

a. Zach did not own even a dog let alone a horse
b Who would cut whatsoever head and deposit it in his bed?

Finally, me and nub hit upon a brilliant idea...far more subtle...more jolt per drop (pun intended and you'll know why, later...) and classy!!

We will spray his shirt with something stinky and smelly so that he stinks the whole day. By the way, he had acute sinusitis and was stone smell blind. So our revenge would be a double blow to him. To anoint him with stink and also humiliate him by making him stink all day and not realizing it.

We had decided on the delivery medium to be a 15 ml syringe with a needle attached which would give us the precision surgical (pun!!) strike at our target viz; the lower left back of Zach's shirt. The problem was to decide on what to spray. There were no intense juvenile delinquents in history like us who could solve any problems of general mischief-mongery in a flash but this had us stumped. What to get? Where to get? How to get?

The solution was given by Sandy and unlike most of his other ideas this was simple and easy to acquire. Three simple words: "Use Your Pee"

Part II - The Preparation

[a minute of silence for you to let out that gasp of shock and also to assimilate the degree of evil that pre-pubescent are capable of]

To cut a long story short, the plan was approved and we proceeded to utilize the hour before his class to put it into action. It was a SUPW class and well, treated with mild disdain by us.

We three, long before Al Qaeda or Mossad we had perfected the idea of small independent cells working on a specific attack, so that's why there were only 3, went to implement the plan which was simplicity in itself. We had the syringe, the needle and a plastic bottle as the reactor cascade (ahem!) for the bio weapon (ahem!)

Barring the fact that it is a tough task to direct the discharge of the weapon from the reactor to the cascade is a tricky one (ahem, i prefer talking in terms of nuclear science rather than anatomy so that the modesty of my readers is not affronted) and that performance anxiety prevented the other two members in an effective transfer and I had to step in, all went well. We soon had the liquid in all its golden glow en consed in the syringe.

Part III - The Execution

We had already selected the suitable point of deployment and when Zach, his usual obnoxious self, was lecturing in full flow to the female side of the class, I released the liquid and saw it as it made a satisfying patch on the designated area. The team members gave me silent nods of appreciation as the target was unaware.

Words fail to explain the warmth that spread in our hearts seeing that warm yellow spread over his cotton off-white shirt. The sarcastic jokes, caustic comments and various forms of torture we had been subjected to disappeared like the yellow fluid from the syringe.

We were soon struck out of our reverie by this exclamation from D, one of the girls who was close to being labeled class enemy by us were it not for the fact that she was really cute and most of the drifters had crushes on her.

"Sirrrrr.....there is something on your shirt"

Zach was nonplussed and he touched and rubbed the spot to feel the change in texture. We waited with bated breath as the inevitable happened. Any member of human race have some distinguishing traits that mark them different from other mammals. I mean, a chimp would never, ever proceed to do what Zach proceeded to do. He slowly rubbed the insulting wetness between his fingers and smelled it in a long drag.

There are limits to sinusitis as there are limits to a mosquito coil in stopping a velociraptor attack. Same thing happened here as his the pungent ammoniac compound that forms a major part of urine attacked his nasal system. The first wave of casualties were the dense growth of Zach's nasal hair which either proceeded to do two things. The least brave of them were charred beyond recognition while the more robust ones curled in distaste into small furry balls into the roof. The next wave happened when his unsuspecting mucus membrane was exposed to it. Years of smoking and a penchant for snuff would have desensitized it to a point of indifference, you think? Well no, the flinch of his upper nose was evidence enough for that. Soon, his brain registered the inevitable and the 4 gene sequences, Messers. Shame, Embarrassment, Incredulity and to a small part, Rage swung to work and there were fleeting glimpses of their handiwork in his face.

The warm glow blazed into fire of retribution and slowly into dread. The gilt incident had kind of exhausted our already meager bank balance of repute and if this got out we would be doomed. What happened next is engraved in our collective minds.

Zach regains his composure in a flick, swats off his hands in a gesture of exaggerated nonchalance, flicks imaginary lint from his sleeves and says:

Part IV - The Escape

"it must be the sulphuric acid from the chemistry lab"

bangalore mudde update

its a puzzle...
there has been an update to the status of the pack who made the pact....
answer these questions and you have the answer...
actually, answer any one and you have the answer...
oops...you already have the answer!!

1. The tragic and true story of a family dealing with AIDS is re-told in this heart-wrenching made-for-cable drama. Amy Madigan and Dennis Boutsikaris star as Roxy and Vinnie Ventola, a successful television screenwriting couple.

2. In some versions the seventeenth and eighteenth lines read Two little Soldier boys playing with a gun; / One shot the other and _____________

3. Organized into several chapters of two-column text and complemented by attractive full-page charcoal drawings, the book is similar in style and format to the author's recent volumes on hibernation and symbiosis. Facklam is adept at raising questions and providing clear, smoothly paced, interesting narrative. Her well-crafted blend of information and ideas makes for pleasant read-aloud material--a rare feat for nonfiction. Which book?

....finally!!!

xkcd

Megha and I first met at a party at her friend's. We hit it off with a bang, right away, opened up to each other, shared secrets, and talked about everything. Around us, the party waxed, but we hid from sleep together, talking through the deepest hours of the night. The dawn found us curled up on a couch, asleep but still together.

That experience, connecting with a stranger and falling recklessly in love is one of life's greatest joys...And now that you're married, you'll never experience it again. It's the price you pay for everlasting love. It's a small one, but I hope it stings a little. Anyway, I wish you and Megha best. ...Hey, man, you ASKED me to do a toast!

bangalore mudde

in remembrance of the pact...
sep 2004...



church street, bangalore

me, mush, guldu.....because:

One Bro makes a solo attack, A second Bro provides a crutch, A third Bro rounds out the pack, But a fourth Bro is one too much

droolevoltion

[a drool is a wet curve that sets almost everything straight...er..maybe not - harish]

As a polished, suave individual, how many times have you been stuck at the keyboard while trying to convey that expression over to your attractive, hot and chic friend/coworker/girlfriend/random chick from orkut/facebook/myspace??

the expression of utmost dignity and the epitome of compliments...the drool!!



If the medium is AIM window, Walls, Scrapbooks or SMS...you're stumped! Coz none of the emoticons have anything for this expression of utmost flattery!

Fear not, Anymore, My friend...I have in front of you the ultimate solution: THE DROOL SMILEY

:)) ~ ~ ~

Notice the calculated smile of faint disinterest and the slight curve of the lips along with strategically placed droplets of the saliva on the chin...Enough to make any hot drool-worthy woman go wobbly kneed!!

Use at it will and give credit where its due!!

Happy drooling!!

Credits: Dee deserves partial credit for it as this was a bolt of innovation that came through while on chat with her.

iphonofilia

[I wanna take you home, I wont do you no harm, no...You've got to be all mine, all mine...Ooh, foxy lady - Jimi Hendrix]

Yeah...She's MINE!!!!

migration

temperature: 38-40 c
conditions: humid
smell: stinks!!

mood: commie ci commie ca

work: great
people: awesome
---------------------------------------
Balance Sheets got enough to hold me here for a while...lets have a closer look next quarter :-)
---------------------------------------

-
Posted from Chennai

Paranoia, Transformers, & the Free State

[Thies was published before at Desi Critic which is also one of the places I write in]

Recently at the Heathrow airport, there was this incident of an airline traveler who was asked to change his t-shirt because it featured a Transformer robot carrying a gun — a robot with a gun that apparently posed a threat to flight safety.

So the long list that includes safety razors and toothpicks (“Stop! Take this plane to Libya or…er…we’ll shave your brains off!!”) has been updated to include items as innocuous as T-Shirts and (heaven forbid!) chequered lungis.

Now seriously, how exactly do they rationalize adding printed tees into the list of items banned during air travel? What to they think? That mid-air, Megatron would metamorphose from the T-Shirt, hijacking them away in search of the Cube or would he demand destruction of all hard detergents? I am sure some bloke with a wild imagination and an overdose of Transformers can be blamed for it.

The actions of the free world (read the U.S.) since 9/11 have been predicable, disturbing and laced generously with paranoia. Patriot Acts and War for Democracies, Aggressive Diplomacy and extensive Bipolarization…Above all; the transformation of even mundane tasks that transverse across borders into something that makes even the seasoned partisan shudder. Let it be airline travel, visa interviews, IRC, Blogging or Freedom to wear a T-Shirt.

The fat cats fail to realize that what their actions based on an overzealous protectiveness is fulfilling the terrorists’ agenda more than their own. What they achieve with one tiny blast is realized tenfold or hundred fold (depending on the location, Indians shrug it off and Americans respond with fixing the third shotgun in their cars gun rack) by the seismic waves of restrictions, gagging, acts that inevitably follow. What they need is not blanket bombing of these into the unsuspecting populace. Indeed, it would well serve them to remember that even the actual blanket bombing was a ridiculous failure. They need to craft precision surgical strikes based on the strong core of intelligence gathering and extensive cooperation among the countries of the free world. Alas, the power-hungry politicos across the globe know that these do not work as well as their scare tactics in filling up their ballot boxes and hence try to disregard them.

Only Israel, secure in its Jewish nationalism and having (almost) selfless democratic machinery managed to do this successfully. Spiriting away Nazi war criminals from Argentina and demolishing the whole terror apparatus behind the Munich attacks using kidon teams. This resoluteness and ruthlessness, which Goda Meier possessed, needs to be imbibed in our leaders for them to react constructively.

Till then let us keep our Batman underwear and Shaktimaan Parle G biscuit packs at home while travelling.

....and be damned!!

published!!!

Click on the pic for a larger view
Link: http://desicritics.org/2008/05/30/154057.php

the untold feminine

[ah, women. they make the highs higher and the lows more frequent…- Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche]

It's an odd sensation, watching your feelings slowly change over time, seeing your strong positions erode as events batter down on them. My conversation with one of my aunts recently made me think parallel on something that’s been nibbling at my mind.

She was the one who initiated me into the wonderful world of Malayalam literature populated with authors who seduces the reader into a world where they play around by shifting your preconceived ideas and notions. One of the best works I had ever read was Randamoozham by MT Vasudevan Nair. It showed the Mahabharata or some events from it from the eyes of Bheema. The title literally translates as “The Second Turn” and it explores the events from the angst ridden view point of Bhima who has to wait for the second turn always. Be it for the love of his parents, conjugation with Draupadi, the throne. He is sometimes literally reduced to a pawn in the hands of wily politicians like Krishna, Vidura and Shakuni.

Ah…I diverted and dwelled into what might be a separate post. So we ended up on the topic of Draupadi, who was forced to divide everything between her five husbands and slowly to the topic of strong women in literature, mythology, history, politics or even art.

What appeared as a lurking shadow at that moment at the back of my mind slowly crystallized into a solid realization: “where have all the strong women gone?”

Where have the Margaret Thatchers, Magdalene Marys, Anna Kareninas, Drupadis et al…

Is it because that there are no more devotees to put them in their pedestal? The strong feminine evolved and was envisaged by equally fervent admirers, mainly male. Tolstoys, Heaths, Vyasas…

Why don’t men project women in that light anymore? Why have women in print and media diminished in size or being constantly chipped at?

I believe that it has got to do nothing with women being smaller. The problem is that men have shrunk-withered by complexity-and men are so busy trying to grow up with women that they no longer have time to sing of them.

ephiphany

"Cause all this time
I've just been too blind to understand
What should matter to me
My friend,
This life we live is not what we have
It's what we believe in "

-It's Not My Time, by 3 Doors Down

the one you feed

One evening an old Cherokee Indian told his grandson about a "battle" that goes on inside people.
He said, "My son, the battle is between 2 "wolves" inside us all.

One is Evil. It is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.

The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith."

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather:
"Which wolf wins?"
The old Cherokee simply replied, "The one you feed."

Chacha Chaudhary and Gabbar Singh

Dusting up my old book collection is one of my favorite past times when I’m home. For two reasons, One, Mom’s constant complaint that I don’t keep my stuff organized kinda tones down and most importantly..it throws up some of the gems and dregs that used to occupy my collective readingscape.

One such gem (?) that I stumbled upon today was an old issue of … (hold your breath) Chacha Chaudhary!!!

If you don’t know it by now, Chacha Chaudhary is the absolute king of shitty comics. But this is no regular, everyday shittyness... Chacha Chaudhary is so shitty that it is actually fun to read! How many other comics do you know that are the centre of their own cosmic paradox?

Its not easy to say what makes Chacha Chaudhary a classic: Bad Grammar, Plots with more holes than a slice of cheddar cheese, Crappiest drawings, illogical stories….the list goes on! I could try to explain more but it would make it much easier if you saw it for yourself.

The strip here is one of the classics and has none other than the quintessential villain of bollywood India, Gabbar Singh featuring in it. Yeah, the flights of fancy the comic took were unfathomable!

So if you've ever asked yourself, "Who would win in a fight - Chacha Chaudhary or Gabbar Singh?" you're about to find out. Come on; don't say you've never thought about it.

Chacha Chaudhary and Gabbar Singh

What strikes you immediately is the incredible amount of story they've compressed into one page. In five frames, they've gone from Chacha Chaudhary aimlessly leading a horse around town to Gabbar Singh sitting astride said horse, trying to get it to move. But that's short-lived, as he gets pissed off again because the horse doesn't move.

Whoa!!! Hasn't he heard of the SPCA? I guess he gets his kicks tying crackers to horses' tails! "Now it will run". Is that how he starts his horse up every morning? I don't know how many years after Sholay this story is set, but obviously Gabbar Singh is no longer the cunning murderous dacoit we know and love. Just look at how foolishly he sits there while Chacha Chaudhary ties crackers - crackers! - to the horse's butt.

Did you get it now? Did you? Did you?

The horse was trained by Chacha Chaudhary! Do you realize what that means?

The sick fuck actually trained the horse to gallop to the police station every time he set firecrackers to his tail. He could have trained him to do exactly the same thing after just a pat on the back. But no, the senile bastard has to go with the bloody firecrackers.

And in case you haven't figured out why Chacha Chaudhary was suddenly walking around with a horse, why he went though all the trouble orchestrating this weird twisted plan, it's spelled out for you right there:

For an old man with basically just one set of clothes, he's frighteningly greedy.

This story has everything you need to enjoy a Chacha Chaudhary comic - weird translations, screwed up drawings, and a form of logic that could fry any child's mental faculties. Plus... it has Gabbar Singh. Yes, this story had everything... except Sabu. This world would be a better place if all stories had more Sabu in them. In fact, even Sholay could have been made better by simply including Sabu in it. Can't you just see it?

I’ll try to get a clip featuring Sabu. In case you don’t know him, hes from Jupiter, is 60 Feet Tall and every time he gets angry a volcano erupts somewhere in the universe. Do I hear you barfing??

fever, heat, lazy, cold/rockin', trippin', partayy, bored

[a vacation is like love - anticipated with pleasure, experienced with discomfort and remembered with nostalgia]

its been a month in gods own country and things have been peaceful so far. Unless you count the countless bandhs and hartals dotting the collective calends of an average mallu. Well, we have got used to it and online sites and local hallmark cards have started to come out with cards to wish people on the occassion.

See it went like this. Monday the BJP called a bandh because of inflation. Tuesday early morning one of the students got roughed up in a bus, so the Communist students wing went on immediate strike. Wednesday the private bus operators went on strike state-wide over rising petrol prices. Thursday was actually peaceful, but by 11 in the morning the govt staff went on strike over alleged retirement age changes. Friday “Kuruvi” was released at Priya Theatre, so noone turned up for work/study.

Have been tasting the wonderful cuisine back home for a month now so much that the novelty has kind of worn off. Nothing compared to the day when I landed bleary eyed at 9:00 AM at home and proceeded to demolish an entire casserole of Appams and a basin filled with stew like LokSabha MPs voting on the Women's Reservation Bill.

Thank god for providence (is that redundant?) which made sure Sujay and Ajay were here for the last whole month and I was never deprived of company (or beer, for that matter!) Also, Sandy, Dillon and Rohit dropped in and so did a slew of other school friends.

Got sick too. Last few days, what started of as a sore throat developed into a cold and fever. The upside? lot of my friends (mainly of the feminine gender) seem to think i sound a really sexy. Hmmm...researching on google to keep the voice and chase the cold away...

The heat has started to drive me crazy though. The mercury constantly touches 40 and the humidity is too much to bear. Have taken more cold showers than a prison inmate in for life.

My dreams of staying at home peacefully in the company of friends, beer, PSP and Internet were shattered by mom. She had planned a plethora of visits...grand mom's, relatives, temples...phew...along with that, managed quite a no: of trips with friends too. Keep watching this space for more updates.

To come to the last part...well...bored is what the general feeling is. I am not a workaholic but when your mind starts to think nostalgically about that period in 3rd semester when I was planning CIP, Getting the Forecast designed, Compeering for the Seminar and Creating the Grandmasters quiz at the same time (Ah! h ever so humble me!)...I seriously doubt if I am turning into one

Sum it up to Eight!

Pavi! Tagged me with this….and well, like everything else with her, I didn’t have an option of refusing to do it. So, here it goes…

8 Things I’m Passionate About

• Infusing fun in whatever I do!
• Reading
• Daydreaming
• Food
• Gaming
• Cricket
• Designing
• The Net

8 Things I want to do before I die

• Skydiving
• Lick the Liberty Bell
• Rafting at Mpumalanga, SA (Supposedly the toughest rapids in the world)
• Work as a volunteer for Peace Corps (or WHO)
• Write a bestseller
• Have a space vacation
• Direct a movie
• Own a Ford Mustang

8 Words I say often

• F**K
• Seriously!
• What the F***k
• Whateva!
• “Aliyo!!”
• “Haan Bhai!”
• One More ;-)

8 Songs I could listen to over n over again

• Wake Me Up – Greenday
• Wonderwall – Oasis
• Paved Paradise – Counting Crows
• Somewhere I Belong – Linkin Park
• Clocks – Coldplay
• Human Clay – Creed
• Highway To Hell – ACDC
• Hotel California - Eagles

8 Books I’ve Read recently

• Lord of the Flies – William Golding
• Eye of the Needle – Ken Follett
• World is Flat
• Sacred Games
• Shantaram
• Thud!
• The Night Watch
• Sandman

8 Things that attract me to my Dear Friends

• Ready to do the wildest things possible, drunk or sober
• Stay by me like a rock
• Laugh uproariously at the silliest of things
• Be the brunt of my sarcasm and still love me
• Supporting me with whatever I need at my darkest hour
• Get caught for me and never give me up
• The rib-tickling, brain-bombing fun we have
• Loving me in spite of my unreliability

life...redux!

[everyone has a george carlin moment in their life....everyone. i detail mine...]

most unfair thing in life is the way it ends. I mean, life is tough. It takes up a lot of your time. What do you get at the end of it? A death! What's that, A Bonus?! I think the life cycle is all backwards. You should die first, get it out of the way. Then you go live in an old age home. You get kicked out for being too healthy, go collect your pension, then, when you start work, you get a gold watch on your first day. You work forty years until you're young enough to enjoy your retirement. You drink alcohol, you party, and you get ready for High School. You go to primary school, you become a kid, you play, you have no responsibilities, you become a little baby, you go back, you spend your last months floating with luxuries like central heating, spa, room service on tap, then you finish off as an orgasm!! Amen.

revamp

the last post and the revamp and upload of the new theme took the last vestiges of my energy...
just to say that the blog was up for a new look....

hope you liked it as much as i enjoyed making it..

cheers,

harish

the drifter chronicles - episode 1 - the gilt attack

[The inspiration for this post came from two places. Me inadvertently stumbling on the ever funny SImpu Singh clips on You Tube. It used to feature the simple school teacher Simpu Singh Sodhi and his antics. The phonetically challenged guy had his way of shouting “Pankazzzzzz” to my eternal amusement. I still roll on the floor laughing watching them and find it more amusing the one track demented antics of Lola Kutty fare that they dish out in Channel [V]. Believe me, they have stretched the “zimbly” and “temble” more than a stressed mallu’s lungi!

[If you don’t remember any of the Simpu clips refresh your memory here]

Anyway, if you had noticed closely, you would realize that the school that featured as Simpu’s haunt was Kendriya Vidyalaya, my alma mater! Indeed, in this clip, they actually have the school song featuring in it. The translation goes like this “India’s golden honor will be lifted up further by us KVians…” I remember hearing this bleated out by the school choir while tasting my first cigarette and feeling a (slight) pang of guilt.

And the second inspiration was from Pavi, who would never say die till I became a regular blogger, as regular as her. So I dedicate this to you Pavi!

We learn the lessons late in life that nostalgia is woken up more by the dulcet tones of mundane stuff we did back more than the blaring beats of all the supposedly awesome stuff we did. Those clips and the subtle hints of KV life hit me harder than a two ton truck and the memories came flooding back.

Well, enough of nostalgia and tear stained sighs….let me get back to my groove and take you through some of my memories of those days.]

Episode 1 – The “Gilt” Attack!

It was one of those god send weeks at KV where all we had to do was make exhibits for the upcoming Natioanl Level Science Exhibition. Classes were going on at a lackluster pace and as usual, our class, VIIIB, was abuzz with activity. At these times, you see the caste system in full force there. No the one that makes Arjun Singh drool and dole out quotas like extras in a Sreesanth over, but the sects and subsects of the adolescent group dynamics (phew!). Briefly, you had:

Nerds – Wasting valuable time sitting and trying to find out the 17^th root of irrational numbers.Conversations with them usually turned out to be like this:

Me: Me: So what was your score in the Class test?
Nerd: … my marks are equal to the 4^th root of killers’ coefficient minus the irrational l part
Me: (Nervous Laugh) talk about being lucky!

Ass Kissers – The ones with the most displayed enthusiasm fighting it out in the classrooms to make the most profligate displays just to get a good word in with the teacher. They have their heads so far up the teachers backside that most of the do resemble colonoscopes

c. Jocks – For want of a better name, Jocks run of to the stadium at the drop of a hat to engage in their favorite sports all of them which involved hitting harder, running faster or stretching more with macho grunts at the closest proximity of any member of the female species. (Actually, the scientists have discovered that the shortest measured unit of time is the jock second or the amount of time lapsed between the teacher announcing recess and the jock reaching the tracks/stadium/gym)

d. Drifters – These were the dregs of the class. The members of ABBA (All BackBenchers Association) and various other entirely ineffective gangs who had one thing in common sheer abhorrence to any mental or physical activity and united by the cult motto having fun in the most wackiest way possible. Ah, I see you smirking and mouthing the word “LOSER”. Nay, usually, the toppers, athletes, school captains and the people who achieve the best in their life comes from this group. True Story!

Now, yours truly was a member of the drifters (obviously) and lingering around the class watching various groups battling it out. A sight that would put the building site of an Egyptian Pyramid to shame! Seats pouring over brows that are tightened while applying fevicol to cardboard, hands moving in unison to cut thermocol in the right possible shape (that of the roof of a garbage plant, what a waste!)

At that time, we were engaged in building the easiest of things to make in a science project, The Ecosystem! Cut thermocol, make shapes of mountains and rivers (go wild here!) and fix some figures of animals, PRESTO! Your ecosystem model is ready. You see, being a drifter did not mean shirking from work but trying to achieve maximum gain in the least possible amount of effort and with the major part of time left for trivial pursuits. The above mentioned thermocol pieces were juxtaposed between the wild raging bull figure and a 2 inch tall hyena (well, in our defense if the continents hadn’t drifted the world WOULD have been witness to such marvels in our ecosystem)

The effort had tired us and we were glancing around and commenting generously on our esteemed classmates work. I looked at what looked like the model of an Oil Rig and commented to the nerd – ass kisser hybrid (of the mutations in these species are too many) next to me,

“Nice Work, so you building an Oil Refinery?”

(Gnashing teeth) “No, it’s the Eiffel Tower”

“Oh, speaking of which, the Video Library guy asked me to remind you that you haven’t yet returned Rebecca in Paris cassette”

Loud guffaws from my partners in crime and giggles from the girls around made him look like the Pope at an IPL Cheerleader concert.

I was piling it on. He wanted to punch me. But how to with one hand! (His other holding one small card board strip precariously perched on a slice of thermocol)

While passing time like this, Sarun’s eyes fell on a shiny packet in the class store cupboard. The protagonist of this pots a nice thick packet of Gilt Powder

Gilt Powder (Scientific Name: Giltifera Nevagonnawashoff) One of the most sticky and potent material known to man available in different colors and luminescent in nature. It has been known to attach itself to the human body and nothing short of one of those laser hair removal treatments would take it of (The ones by Alana of New York…or is it Rebecca in Paris?)

Anyway, it used to be an unavoidable part of any science project in KV. In its various forms, it was gold in ornaments, metals in mines, sparkling sea, oil spills. In effect, it was the Aamir Khan of stationery; Versatile, Handles any kind of roles and Interferes too much!

The word he said after that to me still sends a shiver down my spine, even after 10 years:

“Ten bucks says I can throw this pack through the blades of the fan”

The scene after ten seconds of this statement was utterly chaotic. It was like the end of space and time and gilt was ll that had survived. Thank fully the fan had a slight tilt and the whole pack had been carpet bombed into one corner of the class and its occupants, the nerds where now looking like the entire cast of Ramanand Sagar’s Alif Laila.

Unfortunately, the perpetrators, us, where right in front of them (a grave deviation from our usual modus operandi wherein we are far away from the scene of crime when it happens and enjoying the view from a previously decided vantage point) and more so unfortunate was the fact that it wasn’t the only pack of gilt in the wardrobe!

(The author of this post would like to draw a curtain on the proceedings for the next 15 minutes so as not to offend the readers with a display of primal attack instincts and brutual violence)

The bedlam ended when the gilt was evenly distributed as per the laws of demand, supply and rage and everyone settled back into their seats. Like Sunil Joshi missing any catch higher than 3 feet, what missed our view was the sparkling state of affairs. Soon, the hour ended and the next one was Physics taken by Ms BM. This business like lady would never miss a class and rumor has it that she actually delivered her baby a week late so as not to miss the extra lectures for the clas XII board exams.

She breezed in and started to take attendance. Unmindful of the fact that the whole class was now covered evenly in a thin layer of guilt and thinking only of converting the potential energy of a trapped stone in a tower to kinetic energy. It would have entirely escaped her notice had it not been for SK (I cant take his real name here coz he is a well respected surgeon now!) or to be more exact his complexion.

He used to put Curtly Ambrose to shame with his dark toned skin and on him, the gilt was having a field day. It was like the international consumer exhibition of gilt and they were basking in the glory and sparkling away to glory on his ebony skin. The speechless expression in her face was one to behold and soon, like a patient detective ( Hercle Poirot with a touch of Isaac Newton, if you will) she unraveled this whole episode and needless to say, we 4 of the Drifters were found guilty as charged.

The punishment meted out (16 rounds across the athletic track in hot sun) was totally worth for the fact that we could see the “shining” visages of our class for the next whole month. More than 4 guys from our class could not walk together due to the blinding glare the synergy of gilt produced and even, it was said, ten of standing together for assembly prayer resulted in ruptured corneas for 6 of the senior staff.

(Next: Episode 2 – The Cracker Menace)

(PS: Apologies for the over use of cricket metaphors as I have been watching too many IPL matches)