tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62675927011922412312024-03-16T11:52:25.075-07:00A brick out of the wallThoughts are spontaneous. They need to be either used on the spot or stored for later reference. And my thoughts, mostly scrambled when nascent, need a little bit of re-arrangement to make it perceivable.
So I maintain this blog, I call it a garage of random thoughts. It is a retrospective tool for me, so it is open to suggestions from all.vineetmphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00555408134174384102noreply@blogger.comBlogger32125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267592701192241231.post-6401434642333295252015-11-26T12:57:00.000-08:002016-05-07T19:24:35.632-07:00Game of Thrones, Lord of the Rings, and Mahabharata<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
There could be better things to discuss, in these days of degenerating tolerance or intolerance. However, for the fear of not being able to save this topic for later discussion, I am posting this now. After all, that is what my blog, a thought repository, is all about.<br />
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The Game of Thrones is the cult fiction of the decade, it is such a craze among people. It is not a cult in terms of fashion, however, it is in terms of which series to watch. George R. R. Martin's plot and the script are simply amazing - unpredictable twists and turns in the plot take most of the credits. The characters and their development are amazing too. Each character is detailed in depth in a completely different dimension - this is something that is not seen in many other series, in my opinion. (I have not watched many other series, so my evaluation may not be the best.) I am not picking any character in particular - that is material for another blog post.<br />
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Without much digress, let me present the topic of discussion here - how would the Mahabharata (or the Ramayana - I have not read the Bible or the Koran, so I am not mentioning them here for comparison) fair in terms of literary merits when compared to the Game of Thrones or the Lord of the Rings? This thought occurred recently to me as I was thinking how can creativity be measured, after attending a talk at the University at Buffalo, on '<i>Creativity and decision making in architecture</i>' by <a href="https://www.linkedin.com/in/huming28" target="_blank">Ms. Ming Hu</a>, Director of Academic Engagement at the American Institute of Architects (AIA). I continued my thoughts along the line of creativity and quality in literature, and then ended up on Lord of the Rings, a contemporary classic work of fiction. Not that there are better works - but this one is the best among the contemporaries in terms of creativity - J.R.R Tolkien's imagination and creativity in creating the 'middle earth' is beyond praise. No, the Harry Potter series is not better because J. K. Rowling followed J.R.R Tolkien in many ways. The best possible example is the similarity between Rowling's <i>Dobby</i> and Tolkien's <i>Gollum. </i><br />
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The point is that the Mahabharata has lost its appeal among contemporary youth - the reasons are primarily: (1) westernization: most people prefer western culture to eastern - this trend is seen in fashion, history, mythology, culture, and everything else; and (2) the dragging serials based on mythology which were and are aired in India get no sympathy from youth. I think Mahabharata would be much more popular if it is shot in James Cameron's Avatar-like setting. No, not as powerful as the Game of Thrones, for the Game of Thrones takes advantage of two of the three whims of mankind - sex and violence. The third one, for a consolation, is comedy.<br />
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I stop here by requesting the mankind - to make merry, but live and let live. And picking the Mahabharata was completely random. </div>
vineetmphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00555408134174384102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267592701192241231.post-578123636964077702015-11-09T23:07:00.000-08:002015-11-26T12:59:56.946-08:00 Without a mobile phone - two weeks and counting<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My laziness in buying a new mobile phone (after my old one fell from my hand, and then ceased to switch on) taught me a lesson - that I should never set out for places without a phone in hand.<br />
At first, the idea of not having a phone when I traveled to Philadelphia from Buffalo and back seemed adventurous to me. I felt like I was going back to one of those days we see being cherished for on Facebook walls (I feel not many actually cherish those days anymore) - those days when there were no mobile phones to take away our time. I felt like I was facing the world unarmed - the mobile phone is a weapon of the common man - the weapon which he uses to conquer a world of his own - where he gets to see, listen, speak, and touch - a unique taste of these sensory feelings. Without the phone, I felt weak and depleted; yet I tried to be strong.<br />
As I was used to having a battery-drained mobile phone, I didn't miss anything much during the flight to Philly except for some selfies that could have been taken at the airport. The difficulties started when at Philly airport, for every single word of communication with my cousin who would pick me up from the airport, I had to open my laptop, check for free wifi at the airport, and headaches of that sort. None of these difficulties were unexpected - I deserved all that.<br />
Another interesting part was that in Philadelphia city, for free wifi I crashed into the nearest Starbucks coffee. This happened 3-4 times during my 5-day stint in Philly, and each time I ordered a Frappuccino, which I would term as luxury-turned-necessity. Philly happened last week and since then I have not been using a mobile. I would this month pay a mobile bill for mobile services I never used, and I spend now a good amount on hangout calls to India. It might seem weird to account each penny saved or lost, however, I felt that all the extra money that I spent due to not having a phone could have, if saved, been used to add a 50$ to the budget I have set aside to buy a new phone. I find this very interesting because of the monetary quantification of the disutility of not having a mobile phone.<br />
Another upward jump in my learning curve was related to the taking-on-the-world-unarmed adventure. This whole idea was revolutionary, but it was not as pleasant as I thought because without the mobile phone, navigation became difficult and taking advice from random passers-by, I often ended up taking long walking tunnels from one subway station to the next. Those tunnels and even the stations were so vacant that I got scared at times. The fright that creeps in at such times are really chilly. I was of the idea that having a little bit of courage is good. However, as a friend of mine pointed out, people who want to attack others for various reasons would have nothing to lose, whereas we have a lot to lose. I had to agree - all my strength and courage felt suddenly out of place when my friend said that.<br />
I admit that the adventurous in me got the better of myself, but I would never take the risk again of making important travels without a mobile phone. Nevertheless, I would recommend everyone to experience a short stint without a mobile phone. You would lose many things but after all "you win when you lose" is a philosophy to be experienced. An analogy that I can think of is taken from a random Facebook post - that "silence can sometimes be addictive". </div>
vineetmphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00555408134174384102noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267592701192241231.post-52493948082866396672015-11-05T12:35:00.004-08:002015-11-05T12:36:43.031-08:00Why do Indian names tend to be longer than Western names?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQBMjSud25zX_VTSYn2_uJYYX0YcGGDdM42U0LkD5FICYJUKyrpUq2mWTOhuu3EFYTiPuWkPvgx5zdFxZF1wRneaWUFhAB_e0suNwQh1iutAF25m4xY7d-eJy3GMTy2DcTBTZxTdgBTn4/s1600/what%2527s+in+a+name.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQBMjSud25zX_VTSYn2_uJYYX0YcGGDdM42U0LkD5FICYJUKyrpUq2mWTOhuu3EFYTiPuWkPvgx5zdFxZF1wRneaWUFhAB_e0suNwQh1iutAF25m4xY7d-eJy3GMTy2DcTBTZxTdgBTn4/s400/what%2527s+in+a+name.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture courtesy: www.pinterest.com</td></tr>
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This is a follow-up on a discussion I had with an American friend, after he asked me the question why do Indians have longer names. I didn't have an answer ready, however, as I went on to beat around the bush and to give a vague explanation, this thought came into my mind. It makes sense to me, although I am not very confident partly because of I am not proficient in any Indian language, including my mother tongue, Malayalam. Let me try to explain for this lack of proficiency before you judge me - I have had no formal training in Malayalam, because my school never had Malayalam as a course. I know to speak very well, and to write well, and to listen very well. However, my literary skills are poor.<br />
Getting back to the topic of interest here - I feel that the reason why Indians have longer names and Westerners have shorter names is due to differences in what I would call the "<i>letters-to-syllables ratio</i>". I would illustrate this in an example here. In Malayalam, my name "Vineet" has 3 main letters (forms of the English letters "v", "n", and "t", pronouced "va", "na", and "tta" respectively) and 3 syllables (pronounced "vi", "nee", and "tt" respectively). In contrast, you already know that the same name in English has 6 letters (v, i, n, e, e, and t) and 2 syllables ("vi" and "neet". note that the final "t" is not emphasized). In this example, Malayalam has a <i>letters-to-syllables ratio</i> of 3/3 = 1, whereas English has a <i>letters-to-syllables ratio</i> of 6/2 = 3. This is a form of compression ratio, as it is evident from the example. In a general sense, the English language is able to compress more letters, and hence the information content (information density) is higher for an English name when compared to that of an Indian name.<br />
Now that you have seen the difference using an Indian name ("Vineet") as an example, I will explain the same concept using an English name as an example. The English name Shakespeare has 11 letters and 2 syllables, whereas when written in Malayalam, the same name has 6 letters (the main letters are pronounced "sha", "ka", "sa", "pa", "ya", and "ra") and 4 syllables (pronounced as "shay", "kku", "spee", and "yer"). The <i>letters-to-syllables ratio</i> for this example is 11/2 = 5.5 in English and 6/4 = 1.5 in Malayalam.<br />
The key point that you would see from these two examples is that the higher is <i>letters-to-syllables ratio</i> (the information density), the less is the number of syllables that needs to be used; and the number of syllables is what decides the length of a name.<br />
However, there are two other important notes to be made before concluding this article. First, it should be noted that new-generation Indian names are shorter than older names. Hence Westerners would not find many young Indians who have shorter names. Second, there are Westerners with longer names. For example Arnold Schwarzenegger!<br />
So I believe it is not the length of the name that bothers the Westerners; instead, it is the structure of the Indian names that makes those hard for the Westerners to pronounce. In any case, what's in a name?<br />
PS: This idea is only an opinion. Any reader who feels has different thoughts or who has suggestions, please feel free to comment. Thanks! </div>
vineetmphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00555408134174384102noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267592701192241231.post-24755604124105186922015-10-27T16:07:00.000-07:002015-10-27T16:07:56.293-07:00Presents of mind<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Presence of mind is the fuel to a man's development. Sow this presence and reap the presents, soon or later. In some moments I find myself searching for this presence, and by the time it is found, the moment is no more. The moment is past.<br />
However, in some moments, the very realization of the vibrant and joyful soul brings about a smile on my lips, a shine on my face. This is not lost in romance; this is a rendezvous between the soul and mind. <br />
That tormenting bug causes these momentary absences of mind. The bug shows up less, especially after I became conscious. Nevertheless, the hunt is very much on, very much present!</div>
vineetmphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00555408134174384102noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267592701192241231.post-90254499255712566452015-09-21T20:42:00.001-07:002015-09-21T21:47:01.985-07:00Kill - the bug!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Alright. I am back after quite a long recluse. Thanks to a very happening part of my life, there has not been much time to write. Moreover, I had lost that spark which used to instigate the desire to pen down thoughts. My writing would have had a silent decline, one that I dreaded, if not for a recent thought that occurred to me - the thought that the sole purpose of my blog's existence is to have a collection of thoughts to retrospect - and that can happen only if translation of thoughts to e-ink continues. And hence here I am.<br />
I am here to write about a bug. To write, and then to hunt the bug down. The bug is in my brain. A bug that lurks around most of the time, but comes out when it is the most unwelcome. It creeps out slowly into nascent thoughts, and then grows in proportion to thoughts, and sometimes, it diffuses thoughts, as easily as fumes from a candle vanish into thin air. The extent of alertness and calm when this bug is not around makes it hard to believe that such a bug could, ever, infest such a pristine brain.<br />
This bug has to be rooted out. This bug has to be killed. Or thoughts would die young, and the brain would soon become a lump of tissues and some neurons to reminisce the memorable past.<br />
I guess the bug is active again now. This thought too, might die here. </div>
vineetmphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00555408134174384102noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267592701192241231.post-38344071216548804112015-04-21T06:45:00.000-07:002015-04-21T22:33:06.758-07:00Migrant Labor and Self-Sufficiency in Kerala <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwI_VK_ltW2UtBtRxMedUdKx1iXZWj1UJt_1tzotq2ExwnSfFhYi-0enymdNoYznV_vKIVfh_EB8sw73S3OzJDOuavocJ5LlOuNT6j1vLrlRevvKkEFZLqclMcGSU7mJez7GxjV4XUAbc/s1600/migrant_labor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwI_VK_ltW2UtBtRxMedUdKx1iXZWj1UJt_1tzotq2ExwnSfFhYi-0enymdNoYznV_vKIVfh_EB8sw73S3OzJDOuavocJ5LlOuNT6j1vLrlRevvKkEFZLqclMcGSU7mJez7GxjV4XUAbc/s1600/migrant_labor.jpg" height="216" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Migrant laborers in a railway station in Kerala</i></div>
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<i>Image courtesy: <a href="http://www.mathrubhumi.com/english/articles/we-can-go-ahead-together-151298.html" target="_blank">www.mathrubhumi.com</a></i></div>
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The inundation of Kerala's labor market with "<i>bengalis</i>" (no offense intended to anybody - this has become a vernacular term in Kerala and probably south India for migrant laborers from the north-east) is reflected in every nook an corner of Kerala. So is in Padinjattummuri, a humble town in Malappuram district, north Kerala. By 6:30 or 7:00 A.M., the town is crowded with migrant laborers waiting to be picked up for that day's work by local contractors. Overall, this mass influx of laborers has increased the social status of an average Keralite - <i>bengalis </i>demand cheaper wages, and they are ready to do any work. Some important points to be noted here are:</div>
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<li style="text-align: justify;">The migrant workers might be lifting the social status of an average Keralite, however, might not be so generous to the the economy of Kerala. The Department of Labor reveals in it's <a href="http://www.minister-labour.kerala.gov.in/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=120:study-on-the-domestic-migrant-labour-in-kerala&catid=34:frontslider" target="_blank">Domestic Migrant Labor (DML) Report (2013)</a> that the remittance of these laborers to their home states amount to Rs. 17,500 crores. The report also suggests that the then welfare schemes for such laborers are not sufficient. Although it could be argued that welfare of immigrants should not be prioritized above the welfare of Keralites, welfare schemes for migrant laborers which ensure their investment and spending in Kerala, will boost Kerala's economy. Not to be neglected are the side-effects such as increased settling of immigrants in Kerala, which will bring in new issues such as population explosion, etc. </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">The situation that Kerala needs <i>bengalis </i>for every work underlines the need for increasing the self-sufficiency of households in Kerala. Self-sufficiency here means being able to fix minor electric and plumbing problems, being able to grow vegetables in gardens, etc.<i> </i></li>
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<li style="text-align: justify;">It may be that a good percentage of Keralite households is self-sufficient, if not in farming, but the tendency might be prevalent predominantly in lower class households, and diminishes up the economic status scale. The enrollment in engineering colleges in Kerala is about <a href="http://www.cds.edu/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/WP448.pdf" target="_blank">28,000 a year in 2012</a>, a majority of which are from the middle or the upper class. There would be numerous households familiar with the common complaint that the kid here is/ was an engineering student, and yet he/ she does not know how to change a bulb! This poses questions on the quality of technical education imparted to students, right from the school level. This state will continue if students are forced to learn only theorems and proofs, and not experiments and vocational aspects. It is a popular belief that CBSE and English-medium schools train students for only quizzes and olympiads and not innovative practical competitions. This, if true, only worsens the situation that these days, more and more parents want their children to study in these types of schools, and not in the Malayalam-medium schools. The governments and schools could come up with joint ventures with industrial institutions - ventures which inculcate and develop competitive and innovative industrial ideas in students. </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">With respect to farming, self-sufficiency could be possible even in apartments, using rooftop farming as shown in the Malayalam movie <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt3734466/" target="_blank">How Old Are You</a>.</i> Although the Kerala State Horticulture Mission launched a <a href="http://www.thehindu.com/todays-paper/tp-national/tp-kerala/eden-on-the-roof-full-of-greens/article5396093.ece" target="_blank">rooftop farming drive in 2011</a>, there are no reports of progress. As a relief come the news of individuals and groups who have resorted to household and small-scale farming, reaping success and becoming role-models for others. I personally know people who have been farming on rooftops and backyards for years, and reap excellent yield, enough to cover the vegetable requirements of theirs and their neighbors' families.</li>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpNXjIMRVr6XhcHtX0VVLD5y7GznF855Vt-QRkoZNGAtbQ5CqmvL8PGkDqi6wlZS_16aJs0K06ZarNu_Fq8Uu1BMFv357z6FXNncvtomzj98_2Zhopu2M89kN23ieW7hI6tisi3N4W5G8/s1600/rooftop+garden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpNXjIMRVr6XhcHtX0VVLD5y7GznF855Vt-QRkoZNGAtbQ5CqmvL8PGkDqi6wlZS_16aJs0K06ZarNu_Fq8Uu1BMFv357z6FXNncvtomzj98_2Zhopu2M89kN23ieW7hI6tisi3N4W5G8/s1600/rooftop+garden.jpg" height="289" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>A rooftop garden in Kochi, 2011 photo.</i></div>
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<i>Image courtesy: <a href="http://www.thehindubusinessline.com/money-wise/personal-finance/kochi-rooftops-go-green/article2115905.ece" target="_blank">www.thehindubusinessline.com</a></i></div>
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During such a dynamic phase of social and economic development in Kerala, it is necessary that the governments take steps to stabilize the condition, doing what the current situation demands, without compromising the ability of future generations to meet their own needs - in short, strive for sustainable development.</div>
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vineetmphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00555408134174384102noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267592701192241231.post-11316373190515631222014-08-01T12:43:00.002-07:002014-08-01T12:45:00.304-07:00Some respect, some compassion, please!!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Getting back to writing after a long break is tough. The thought of writing again is easy to come by - that happens every time I see a good article, a blog, a movie or a book that I think is good to write a review about. But the act of peacefully sitting at a comfortable study ambient to thoughts - is a difficult thing to do. More so is to continue writing, and to not get carried away by pastimes that I would right now underrate so as to prove that I am really hooked to writing - pastimes such as playing football (not the American one) or watching <a href="https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=1&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0CB8QtwIwAA&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.cc.com%2Fshows%2Ffuturama&ei=urPbU_euLYqyyATH64D4DA&usg=AFQjCNHpW8M0QAhBge9OVYEvgAXQ4T9o4A&sig2=_HDEaKpF8ztMw74zW-_wSw&bvm=bv.72197243,d.aWw" target="_blank">Futurama</a>. After a long gap, I made it this time!</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinUyfGWtlI86OtHJP19h4MkPrVC90pnR0Ua13Uno8IOp9nS2Kj1d23vZYtwMk-SyWdDsdDFqHZxKqUylhrqAnN3JWzQOw4nfe-bUdaQkfSJx5F4l82nTQbS2UdUqtnOXMzb7CWx2AB3PA/s1600/cocoa.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinUyfGWtlI86OtHJP19h4MkPrVC90pnR0Ua13Uno8IOp9nS2Kj1d23vZYtwMk-SyWdDsdDFqHZxKqUylhrqAnN3JWzQOw4nfe-bUdaQkfSJx5F4l82nTQbS2UdUqtnOXMzb7CWx2AB3PA/s1600/cocoa.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cocoa worker [<i>Image courtesy: www.wikipedia.org</i>]</td></tr>
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I came across an <a href="https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=1&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0CB8QtwIwAA&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.cc.com%2Fshows%2Ffuturama&ei=urPbU_euLYqyyATH64D4DA&usg=AFQjCNHpW8M0QAhBge9OVYEvgAXQ4T9o4A&sig2=_HDEaKpF8ztMw74zW-_wSw&bvm=bv.72197243,d.aWw" target="_blank">article</a> that was about the cocoa farmers in the Ivory Coast. They are the largest producers of cocoa in the world, and yet chocolates are said to be very very expensive in the Ivory Coast, and hardly available. All of us would love to have a chocolate irrespective of the time of any day. We want the best chocolates, the most expensive food, the most luxurious car - in brief, a luxurious life, or prosperous, as we say when we wish each other. Well, we are not prospering, we are in a downfall. The world has lost its peace and is probably already at a point of no return, and Gaza could be a mirage where we see reflections of near future. The world is metamorphosing - to a hell. We have lost humanity - we care the least about resources - we don't turn off the lights when we don't need them, we litter in public, we destroy public property. We don't care about the people who restore order, and even if we knew, pretend that we don't, and we continue restoring disorder. And then we boast we are social animals - intelligent, politically sound, and future builders. How ironical! A small comfort zone and we are the biggest hedonists, spitting contempt on fellow people whom we call filthy. Man's quest for symbols of his heights and glory are in fact leading him to building his tomb stones. On the other side of every glorified symbol is a dark, sad story of mankind torturing mankind. <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/global-development/2014/jul/28/-sp-qatar-migrants-tower-football-world-cup" target="_blank">This article</a> about the preparations in Qatar for the FIFA Football World Cup 2022 is only an example.</div>
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My cries for demanding some respect for people who seek some order in life might be lost in the madness of the majority, but the solution is definitely not to stop crying. Neither is it to cry. Have a determination such as that of Howard Roark's, and be collectivistic - hard to get these two traits along, but that's what the day needs from each one of us. </div>
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Whoa! From Ivorian cocoa to collectivism. That was a good connection, I feel accomplished!</div>
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vineetmphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00555408134174384102noreply@blogger.com47tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267592701192241231.post-10719426599428902392013-10-18T01:28:00.001-07:002013-10-18T01:30:24.063-07:00"Manjaadikkuru" - Movie review<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlrXUS655wkqBT_l6Jiyp2rMKIBFuOumXTznVA18jHMKp_l6PLKAcMO0whMpZQys3uKBU_NqSKr_HitORL0ocz_ype8ZmLdSahtMbMm8SchCpoWVvDQoCW9VCj0OsICQlFlJAm9JFYM1Y/s1600/Manjadikuru-Malayalam-Movie00.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlrXUS655wkqBT_l6Jiyp2rMKIBFuOumXTznVA18jHMKp_l6PLKAcMO0whMpZQys3uKBU_NqSKr_HitORL0ocz_ype8ZmLdSahtMbMm8SchCpoWVvDQoCW9VCj0OsICQlFlJAm9JFYM1Y/s320/Manjadikuru-Malayalam-Movie00.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Photo courtesy: <a href="http://manjadikuru.wordpress.com/" style="text-align: left;">http://manjadikuru.wordpress.com/</a></i></div>
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I never thought that <i>Manjaadikkuru </i>(the word means <i>lucky red seeds</i>)<i> </i> is a movie that could pull me back and forth in time - it did and it left me floating amidst the vague memories of my childhood that I spent entirely in my native village, and it made me wonder where and what I will be about twenty years from now! A homecoming movie set in the 1980's, <i>Manjaadikkuru</i> is a movie that ambles it way through the mind of the romantic viewer, kindling the humanitarian in him and leaving behind a trail of hope. (Much of what I write these days is on hope, which I think is good because it gives hope). The movie progresses at its own pace, never hustling, and never disturbing its own flow. The slow pace, revels up the striking reality that life at times, and at places, could be frighteningly slow. Events, memorable or otherwise, so many of them, lay scattered randomly like the lucky red seeds on the ground. The collection of those events, define our lives. </div>
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The movie is a must-watch for people of all ages and wages. Actor Mammootty put in his words a precise description of the movie: "<i>Manjaadikkuru</i> is one movie that grown-ups have to watch to understand children, and that children have to watch to understand grown-ups". Hear here what Mammootty said: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZLMzyjGnePM">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZLMzyjGnePM</a></div>
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Kudos to the writer-director Anjali Menon, for creating such a good movie, and for leaving the plot as much in harmony with nature and reality as it could get. This could be an exaggeration, because many actors, I feel, fail to pick up the colloquial tones/ styles of Malayalam language that the movie needs, depending on the place(s) where the story is set. It feels awkward when some actors do justice and some others don't, in the same movie. </div>
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vineetmphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00555408134174384102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267592701192241231.post-64853843118764475132013-10-11T20:39:00.000-07:002013-10-17T23:34:17.153-07:00Keeping a dream<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Termites rejoice, hail the moment-<br>
that brought down a promising dream.<br>
The dreamer, his love and lament<br>
drown in the mighty scream,<br>
of a thousand souls who relish<br>
this state, their familiar taste.<br>
But it isn't time to die, he say, I cherish<br>
memories too precious to waste.</div>
vineetmphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00555408134174384102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267592701192241231.post-79528763790880457862013-08-15T01:33:00.001-07:002013-08-15T01:33:30.552-07:00These beautiful girls never sleep...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>"I wrote this a few months ago, I don't remember exactly when. Out of the humble expectation that there is something more than litter in this piece, I post it here..."</i></div>
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A refreshing evening after a sunny day slowly drifted into the coldness of the night. The night gifted me welcome shivers as I sat casually, lazy to take out a blanket or sweater out of my bag. Here, in S9 coach of the Mangalore-Chennai Mail, the crowd was surprisingly sparse for a train to Chennai. I dozed to sleep gradually.</div>
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I opened my eyes in response to a sudden gush of air. The search for the source of that gust ended on a window. Near the window sat a beautiful girl in here early twenties - I was grateful to the wind and the window for offering me this delightful sight. Her sleepy eyelids that drooped travelled back everytime, probably because of the fear that she might sleep off, and somebody might snatch her handbag from her. There indeed should have been something inside that handbag that she valued very much. When our eyes met for the first time, I earnestly tried to convey my assurance, but the fraction of a smile that followed on her lips meant that she knew I adored her. I have no idea how much time passed from then. No moment that passed was dull, but I wished the train sang a lull so that this beautiful girl could sleep. I wanted to see her sleep, for I have seen that girls are more beautiful when they sleep.</div>
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And finally, when I could hold my sleep no more, I rose from my seat, climbed on to the upper berth, and slipped to a deep, peaceful sleep, although surprisingly without any dreams about that beautiful girl. When I woke up in the morning, that girl was not in her seat. I had a week's office work ahead to bother, and so without staying back in search for that girl, I got out of the train. I will meet her probably in my next train journey. Or there is this theory that one of my friends coined - there is at least one beautiful girl one will meet in every train journey!</div>
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vineetmphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00555408134174384102noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267592701192241231.post-37630234873715232792013-03-28T23:45:00.003-07:002013-03-29T00:09:50.728-07:00Book Review: House of the Blue Mangoes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7zPQYGIbb6L4ZtmIYirx8RXhv9TOg6FHG4zdiJRJHhkYB07o-OLkG0YBaQZPwBnNKSUaFkcb2tYF5SPqamC7-M39hNEmtBFPRuLUZcRi_t2H5Ss6OmveBTAtgidn4vTyO20n7LV0lams/s1600/house+of+the+blue+mangoes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7zPQYGIbb6L4ZtmIYirx8RXhv9TOg6FHG4zdiJRJHhkYB07o-OLkG0YBaQZPwBnNKSUaFkcb2tYF5SPqamC7-M39hNEmtBFPRuLUZcRi_t2H5Ss6OmveBTAtgidn4vTyO20n7LV0lams/s320/house+of+the+blue+mangoes.jpg" width="212" /></a> </div>
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Image Courtesy: www.bookadda.com</div>
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Book title: House of the Blue Mangoes</div>
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Author: David Davidar</div>
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The House of Blue Mangoes is an artfully crafted story that meanders through the socially and politically turbulent times that South India witnessed in the 19th and 20th centuries. Although a long read that sometimes drags the reader into the monotonousness of the rustic daily chores of a south Indian joint family, Davidar's work is meticulously rich in details and takes the reader on a tour along the countryside of Chevathar, and the beautiful green valleys of Pulimed. Davidar deserves as much credit for a plot that has done enough justice in not mentioning any real caste names that would have stirred up controversies, as he does for creating fictitious but beautiful places such as the fervid village of Chevathar, the magnificent settlement of Doraipuram, and the beautiful valleys and bungalows of Pulimed. <br />
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It is in a beautiful way that the author describes the strife that every protagaonist of the story, especially the proud members of the Dorai family - Solomon, Aaron, Daniel and Kannan, experience between their ideologies and their love for their family. Equally appreciable is the author's attempt to bring out the feelings of the better halves in the story, the women who ran houses and maintained peace and harmony in the family. As the story shifts from Chevathar and Nagercoil to Pulimed, where the British planters of the tea estates were lords, things change and the royal life of the British starkly contrasts the simple life of the poor natives. The effect of the nationalist movement or rather the freedom struggle on the lives of the British and the natives, especially in the times of the first and second world war, has been excellently portrayed. <br />
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And the story, when it ends, gives the reader a feeling which should be equivalent to that which he gets after eating the Blue Mango, the tastiest mango in the country. It reminds one to cherish the good times he has had in his life, and moreover makes him contemplate over the things he lost, the things which he possess and the things which he might lose or gain in the future. It gives the reader a retrospective of his life, and makes him ponder about the relevance of his social existence and the commitments to his family. </div>
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vineetmphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00555408134174384102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267592701192241231.post-12221607064767890672012-10-22T00:47:00.000-07:002012-10-22T00:47:58.123-07:00Home coming<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj1iFEXwwok7Q_dUae1ro-KhbKLwtlGeaW5t_PqtgUWm5u97ahAd-ndv868rwJ9eGnSL8vYEmgQWHEYXpLZg6r2qr4dfxn6V_UrhVlb5r3P0LY2kg-tfNWzDqkafG_4ZyyBF96LwuvLf4/s1600/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj1iFEXwwok7Q_dUae1ro-KhbKLwtlGeaW5t_PqtgUWm5u97ahAd-ndv868rwJ9eGnSL8vYEmgQWHEYXpLZg6r2qr4dfxn6V_UrhVlb5r3P0LY2kg-tfNWzDqkafG_4ZyyBF96LwuvLf4/s320/4.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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I tried for long, but in vain, to ignore this simple native land of mine. What overwhelmed my deliberate negligence was that everything around me - living and non-living - performed their daily chores in a way that was the least affected by my presence. The creepers on the ground did not make way for me, mirthful butterflies did not cease to dance when I passed by, and the boulders on either side of the footpath paid no respect to me and continued their hermitage not bothering my swelled up egoism. Not that I expected these things to budge, in some far away place where at some stupid moments, I felt home and comfortable. However, here, I expected myself to be acknowledged as a native who toiled in a far-away land. But the indifferent reply to my apprehension shook my conscience violently.</div>
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In a way I am happy now to see my conceit crumbled. I owe you a lot, my dear native land, and I belong to you, I belong here.</div>
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vineetmphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00555408134174384102noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267592701192241231.post-38455531989055676282012-07-28T13:39:00.001-07:002012-07-28T13:39:16.323-07:00A note on: "The Post Office", by Rabindranath Tagore<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpd7yeeoG68VUP8SwcjJCJxMAhodTEaZwmr929GW1mXliZTyPwi1MLow9xgaa_OrsLnnbH1hb2r5syTYYxwvlNLB7A_pzD8ajiSGcbnrX0Uv9NM2J-WBwN12KICXCye4R1fAvmLNumvAM/s1600/The+Post+Office+-+Tagore+-+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpd7yeeoG68VUP8SwcjJCJxMAhodTEaZwmr929GW1mXliZTyPwi1MLow9xgaa_OrsLnnbH1hb2r5syTYYxwvlNLB7A_pzD8ajiSGcbnrX0Uv9NM2J-WBwN12KICXCye4R1fAvmLNumvAM/s320/The+Post+Office+-+Tagore+-+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Image Courtesy: www.indi<span style="font-size: small;">astamp.blogspot.com</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span>In his play, "The Post Office" [translated by Devabrata Mukherjee from Rabindranath Tagore's original in Bengali, "Dak Ghara"], Tagore shows the joy spread by the innocence in a child. The biggest treasure that a person unknowingly loses in his journey of life is the innocence of his childhood. It is the only thing everyone is equally gifted with. The longer one keeps it, the longer he is in peace. This temporal joy withers down as consciousness and conceit overwhelms innocence, making it lost in a deluge of deception. The tender minds of children are blessed with assorted blends of curiosity, optimism and boundless imagination. Children are unparalleled in their musings, and their perceptions are slick with deep reflections of optimism. Amal's portrayal of a hill as a beckoning figure, rather than as an obstruction that prevents his dreams from reaching the other side of the hill, is the best evident example from the play. Indeed the abrupt and sad ending of the play shoulders the weight of the terrible experience of Tagore in losing his kindred to fate. <span class="readable reviewText"><span id="freeTextreview378830529">The sudden ending, though surprising, is similar to the unwarranted arrival of death.</span></span> Apart from this melancholia that lingers throughout, the play is rich in the beauty of rural life and subtle undertones that criticize cultural and societal blandishments. </div>
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The play, simple in script and language, although, has deep roots in tenacious ideology. Some ideas are similar to the ones Tagore has presented in Gitanjali. He
writes in Gitanjali: </div>
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<i>"We have no time to lose, and having no time, we must scramble
for our chances. We are too poor to be late.<br />
And thus it is that time goes by, while I give it to every
querulous man who claims it, and thine altar is empty of all
offerings to the last.<br />
At the end of the day I hasten in fear lest thy gate be shut;
but I find that yet there is time." -Gitanjali, 82.</i></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Image Cou<span style="font-size: small;">rtesy: www.en.wikipedia.org</span></span> </div>
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The herald of good future, though, in the play, arrives
late. Even for a soul as innocent as Amal, fate does not show mercy. The village doctor and the Headman, donning the relatively villainous roles are metaphored to elicit deeper meanings outside the script of the play. The unfortunate repercussions of enacting this play, in politically volatile times and places, support this fact. </div>
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Personally, the play reminded me of my childhood days, most of which, ironically, I don't remember now because I was completely lost then - lost in a good sense - lost in the moments. The simple delight of being able to reach the lowest branch of a tree in the backyard was cherished often as the realization of a long-persisting dream. The disorderly but sweet percussion, which the raindrops created when they hit the foliage of trees around me, blended nicely with the shushed hymns that the leaves sang in unison as they swayed in the wind, and unfolded before me an orchestra that swept me off my feet. I used to float in the air with my face up, hands spread out and legs loose, and watch the trees and the sky revolve around me, the initial clarity gradually swirling around to an indistinct whirlpool of light engulfing me. </div>
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The play gave me a beautiful replay of my childhood days, when hours and days were spent in such mirthful outings with nature. It also highlights the contrast between innocent optimism and prejudiced pessimism. This work of Tagore's is a wonderful one, which leaves the reader thoughtfu<span style="font-size: small;">l a<span style="font-size: small;">nd pondering over <span style="font-size: small;">his childhood<span style="font-size: small;"> days.</span></span></span></span> </div>
</div>vineetmphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00555408134174384102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267592701192241231.post-46976622651564593092012-06-15T11:18:00.000-07:002012-06-15T11:18:47.397-07:00'Happyness' - a way of life<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Chris Gardner's choice of his biographical film's title was beyond a mere reminiscent recollection of a mis-spelt word that he came across on almost all his days in peril, it was a remarkable neologism which marked the inevitable separation of feigned happiness from true <i>happyness. </i>Although the film advertises the well sold cliche that destiny favours only those out of the poor who toil hard to make more than a living, it etches a memorable picture of the pursuit of a widely sought state - real happiness,which is called <i>happyness.</i></div>
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Happiness as a state is difficult to realize when achieved, because when you have it, you dont realize that you have it. In the sense, when you have it and by the time you realize your possession, you become conscious and try to restrict the flow of happiness, and thereby restrict happiness itself. When conscious, you are distracted by your existence from your being, no matter how much you try to vex your brain to stay calm. So, in pursuit of happiness, you actually lose it on the way. That is why happiness should never be pusued, it is to be attained. It comes as a reward to truth and passion. It is better to keep lesser reasons to safeguard your happiness, for the more you have, the lesser you will gain</div>
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This occured to me as I watched two people laughing - the air was of pure mirth. But it did not take much time to read who among them was actually happy. The smiles of the happier person reached his eyes and emanated a radiant glow of ambience. The other person struggled to mask his artifice - though he did a pretty good job in sporting a camouflage of expressions, the elegance retreated as soon as awareness took over. The happier one continued to amaze the beholder by presenting a sense of ease, from a face comprehended to be unpromising moments before.</div>
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So come out of the hangover of the past, submit yourself to the joy of the present, and free yourself from the fear about the future. Truth and passion are, and riches and luxury not, the two ingredients to real happiness also known as <i>happyness - </i>the true way of life. </div>
</div>vineetmphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00555408134174384102noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267592701192241231.post-8047916114853590482012-06-09T10:59:00.001-07:002012-06-09T10:59:50.473-07:00Hats off to Amish and his Shiva Trilogy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><i>The world, as described in The Shiva Trilogy</i> </b></div>
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Image courtesy: <b> </b><b>http://shivatrilogy.com</b></div>
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I picked up 'The Immortals of Meluha' from a shelf marked 'New Arrivals' at the Landmark, Nungambakam. I have a craze of buying books, especially bestsellers and good old classics. But I read only half of those I bought so far. This book named 'The Immortals of Meluha' by Amish hooked right on my inclination for history-religion blends. Time was not right then for I kept it back in its place.</div>
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But recently I found this book again at my friend's place, and decided to borrow it from him. It will give a good break amongst the hectic work schedule, I hoped. And surprisingly, my friend had the sequel to it also. That was 'The Secret of the Nagas'. Appealing title again, and I borrowed that book too. </div>
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Flawlessly flowing script of both these books helped me finish reading them in less than a week's time. [It took two years and a half for me to finish 'The Fountainhead'! Ofcourse it had to be helped out of a grave shelf, that was seldom used, to dust it off and be read]. And the best feature of the Shiva Trilogy is that the characters from the <i>puraanas</i> have been used efficiently, although Amish bails himself out smartly using a fictional probability on the personalities and time frames of existence of the iconic characters, to embellish in the mind of the reader a strong message on the good and the bad.</div>
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Shiva clearly exemplifies how to be human and impeccable at the same time and how battles are won with the way of the heart. As the second book concludes, it becomes clear how the good and the bad are the two sides of the same coin, how the evil can be found when the good is found, and how the very perception that forbodes evil at first notice might be deceptive and be the evil itself. The different interpretation of the meaning of 'Har Har Mahadev' is an inspirational one, to one and all of us. Ambiguity lies in whether it is 'Hara Hara Mahadev' or 'Har Har Mahadev'. In either case, the divinity exists, but the latter emanates immense energy and confidence. For it means each and every one of us is a Mahadev, the destroyer of the evil. Through Shiva and his devoted followers, the blind superstitions and unnecessary bloodshed are questioned, a matter of utmost importance in the present day turmoil. </div>
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Instead of leading to blind beliefs, the Shiva Trilogy kindles intrigue in the readers. It will generate interest in the history and mythology of India in the minds of the youth. It definitely is a must read for everyone. The third and the last part of the series, 'The Oath of the Vayuputras' will be out by the end of this year. I am sure I would have read much more about Shiva and ancient India by then.</div>
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Har Har Mahadev !!!</div>
</div>vineetmphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00555408134174384102noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267592701192241231.post-75143047048089734222012-05-20T07:31:00.002-07:002012-05-20T07:36:38.430-07:00Time has come for Chelsea FC<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8ToMbz8fitGHjQDPAW-yPthxbByz-Zamb4WACq02Dxe9ylokV9dd7-a1M0vFY2UaV2YLXr2OBu_y8rf0qjOlLi-p97U3GUVexncAYm68ZA4XESfmv17sWCp0TX75RfkLVO4_iiN91FzY/s1600/cup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8ToMbz8fitGHjQDPAW-yPthxbByz-Zamb4WACq02Dxe9ylokV9dd7-a1M0vFY2UaV2YLXr2OBu_y8rf0qjOlLi-p97U3GUVexncAYm68ZA4XESfmv17sWCp0TX75RfkLVO4_iiN91FzY/s320/cup.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Image Courtesy: www.skysports.com</div>
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The crowning of Chelsea FC as the European Football champions is the biggest milestone in my career as a football fanatic. From written-off underdogs to the cup glory, Chelsea has transformed the history of football. The days of infalliable supremacies are over. With perseverance and might, any team can challenge the favourites - this would be the lines to be highlighted in the newest chapter in the theory of football.</div>
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Roman Abramovich had lost count
of the number of coaches he had changed at Chelsea by the time he appointed
Andres Villas Boas. And there were very few left to get as a replacement. The
Europa League triumph of Porto was very well noticed and Abramovich hoped the man he was
looking for had to hail from Porto. And so he roped in the youngest coach he
had in his options, and presented the team and the field to him with paramount
expectation. Villas Boas came to know that Chelsea under Abramovich was one of the
toughest teams to coach. A player goes out of form and the next thing the blue
world saw was a new expensive player signed in. The out-of-form player slowly
disappears from the first eleven to the subs, then to the reserves, and then
nobody hears about him for a season or more except when another club decides to
help him out – this was and is the state of affairs in the Cobham camp. </div>
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Villas Boas tried to change the
Chelsea style. The fresh blood injected was put to use very well, but over a
period of time, the strategies wore out. Old guards were under-utilized, Drogba
got more time to attend to his hair and style than on practice. Even Lampard sometimes found hard to make it to the first eleven. Fernando Torres
never stood up to the err.. ahem.. 50 million pounds deal he came in on. Victories
became scarce and lackluster, and Chelsea and Liverpool promisingly competed to
become the best ‘big four’ drop-out. By the time winter rolled out off the
scene, Chelsea was written off the league contenders list. The familiar sack was
ready for use anytime, and was used as a late answer to the only question –
when?. Boas left in silence, bewildering a climactic finish his fans foresaw. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHDHarvaFWqR1FqDyWI-oCxveYUd_xnQAwsKhzLKwMl8K9hG_6BkYUEYc063Mm7byQmSEjwh7N8NjguSJwN260mt9aJe0CK3CNsG9K1D_GZemyE1HBmqwa8CyfiUY1tSfTZQaKVyGnIaI/s1600/di+matteo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHDHarvaFWqR1FqDyWI-oCxveYUd_xnQAwsKhzLKwMl8K9hG_6BkYUEYc063Mm7byQmSEjwh7N8NjguSJwN260mt9aJe0CK3CNsG9K1D_GZemyE1HBmqwa8CyfiUY1tSfTZQaKVyGnIaI/s320/di+matteo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Image Courtesy: www.telegraph.co.uk </div>
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Now comes the ghost. Roberto Di
Matteo, a former Chelsea man, the then assistant to Andres Villas Boas, was
made the caretaker manager of Chelsea FC. He has an angelic appearance, which
well suits his role of a saviour, though it contradicts the rough image of the Blues.
But he has made miracles come true so effortlessly that sometimes it feels his
exaltation at the time of goals scored or matches won is the only thing that
proves he is human. Otherwise, he is in his usual calm with a subtle smile. I
say only ghosts can be like this. </div>
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He was handed over the keys to the Stamford Bridge when a maximum of 20-odd games were left in the season. He would have a lesser number if he left the team to go it's way - the 1-3 away loss at Napoli indicated Chelsea's exit from the CL in the round of 16. But Di Matteo was not ready to go the easy way. A former Chelsea player, who used to be in furious form on the pitch before he had to retire due to serious injury problems, he took Chelsea for a frollicking ride - one that saw them beating all their odds. Di Matteo brought back the old gang of Drogba and Lampard back to form, and Torres showed promising signs towards the end of the season. </div>
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Beating Napoli, Benfica, <b>BARCELONA</b> and BAYERN MUNICH was a result of the master plans laid by the manager of the season, Roberto Di Matteo. Benfica was a strong team, but they had to give up to the mighty Blues. Even Barcelona could not help seeing themselves out of the CL. Though criticized for the defensive tactics used against the Catalans, Chelsea could not have produced an attacking side overnight that would match Barca in all aspects. Instead, Chelsea made use of what they have - endurance. And there were master finishers we saw in Drogba, Ramires and Lampard, who did the best of the chances they got. Petr Cech was brilliant - he is back to his best again. </div>
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Chelsea won against Barcelona, but their victory never elevated them from the underdog status - for they had to play the final against Bayern Munich withput four of their best players. Chelsea held high its fighting commitment to the game, especially big games, and they won the trophy, startling all their critics. Di Matteo touch was very evident throughout the game. Picking Ryan Bertrand was a gamble which gave good returns - Philip Lahm was kept at bay very well, and at times Ashley Cole got good support from Bertrand as a seondary left-back. Gary Cahill and David Luiz defended splendidly in their comeback match, and Ashley Cole once again proved he is the best left-back that the game could offer. Drogba was a beast in the game, hope he stays on in the club. Cech showed astonishing nerves when all thought Neuer was the better of these two goalkeeping legends. </div>
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Image Courtesy: www.championsleague.ca</div>
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Chelsea has signed out of the season in style, back-heeling Spurs out of next CL, and it's now all upto Abramovich to decide whether to take back the keys from di Matteo or not. Looking forward for the next Blue season.</div>
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Image Courtesy: www.chelseafc.com</div>
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<i>"Blue is the colour, football is the game<br />
We're all together and winning is our aim<br />
So cheer us on through the sun and rain<br />
Cos Chelsea, Chelsea is our name."</i></div>
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</div>vineetmphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00555408134174384102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267592701192241231.post-61827671028307872762011-12-30T10:00:00.000-08:002011-12-30T10:00:40.839-08:00What's in a New Year !!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
For numerous reasons, the concept of a New Year is not that
great. Moreover, I don’t like the way it is perceived. Conceptually it is the
birth of a new unit of time, but it just adds up to the list of festivals,
thereby becoming another occasion for treats, celebration and other
extravaganza. Liquor literally flows on new year nights. Purely for
entertainment, millions of gallons of liquor and unimaginable amounts of money
are thrown away, on just one day. I can’t help but sound like an anti-liquor
campaigner, in this regard. Because India simply does not require any other
reason to boast that 75 percent of its people are poor. For the past couple of
months, Wikipedia is running a fundraiser for itself, and it says something like
this: “If all those who read this donate Rs. 100 today, our fundraiser would be
closed by today”. It is exactly a similar situation what I am referring to: if
all those who spend extravagantly in the name of new year or any other occasion
are thoughtful enough to cut short their luxury from extravagant to adequate
(God knows if there is anything as adequate luxury!!), then it will be a big
leap for mankind. I have seen people sympathizing over their brethren struck by
poverty and calamities. But there ends all. Who does anything at all? Surely not those
who prefer setting up golf clubs to charity fundraisers. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Everybody nowadays seems to be ardently trying to find some
reason or the other to party. Partying and merry-making has become the purpose
of life, above everything else. To an extent it is true that get-togethers make
life happening. But we forget that such small happenings overshadow other big
happenings in life!! Moving ahead like aimless nomads, ticking back every day
from life, does this life really make sense? Isn’t it like an inflated balloon
that is attractive outside but hollow inside?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Now I have done the easy job of penning down this thought.
But how to materialize this? Here is a rough plan. It might be simple at first
sight, but becomes more and more difficult the more you actually try to do it. Out
of say 100 rupees earned per month, 25 rupees are spent for regular monthly expenses.
In the remaining 75, 15 are spent on luxury. It might be more or less, varying
from person to person, and thereby leaving 60 rupees as monthly savings. What
if in the 15 rupees, 5 be allotted for the sacred cause I am pointing to? Or if
not in terms of money, why not in terms of resources? If not now, why not
later, but with good planning which starts right from this moment? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
There are infinite possibilities, infinite ways to pursue
ultimate happiness. Why be a party animal when there are much better ways to be
social… At least let this new year make a difference in everybody who believes
in it. Give a 10 rupee note to a hungry kid begging before you with his hands
on his sunken belly. You may have to skip going in an autorickshaw and walk the
way to your home. Or don’t give the kid anything at all, but please don’t give that
yucky scornful look that I have seen on hundreds of faces, I hate it! Be human.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Welcome 2012. </div>
</div>vineetmphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00555408134174384102noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267592701192241231.post-41923829815700072152011-11-07T11:00:00.000-08:002011-11-07T11:02:42.967-08:00Life in a Metro<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
What would you call an Indian
Metro? What kind of people live there? Well, there are some minimum mandatory
requirements that a city should have so as to achieve the status of an Indian
Metro. Chennai will help me best to explain. It is a city where people from all
walks of life commute in front of me. Round the clock. I often wonder where all
these people keep going. I do so especially when I am in a sea of vehicles and
stuck in traffic. From millionaires through corporate communists through the
clichéd middle-class through homeless beggars to streaking mad men, all these
people pass in front of my eyes or I travel across them, every now and then.
Given below are some trademarks of the different classes of society I listed in
the former sentence. </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: justify; text-indent: -.25in;">
1.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span>The
millionaires are not a majority lot. I don’t see many of them out in the open
except in air-conditioned imported cars that never sound to vroom by or in
expensive attires in shopping malls and multi-plex cinemas. Wherever they are,
they make sure they are in an air-conditioned, aromatic and imaginarily
red-carpeted spaces surrounded by big glass walls. They breathe air-conditioned
air. KFCs and Baskin and Robbins are for them what road-side chat shops are for
me.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: justify; text-indent: -.25in;">
2.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span>The
business dons and political magnates – they decide what others can do. In
sun-filmed and UV-protected SUVs assisted with security convoys they roam the
city and the blocked traffic trails to where they have gone. I don’t know much
about what these people do, but at the end of the day, they run the show and
the law.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: justify; text-indent: -.25in;">
3.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span>Corporate
chaps are easy to spot – they set, follow and do (and rightfully they have the right to do so) the trend. Work,
eat, sleep and party. Now sorry if I omitted family people – they too do a lot
of partying sometimes with family or sometimes when they have time after work
and attending to family matters. </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: justify; text-indent: -.25in;">
4.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span>Corporate
communists seem pretty good in camouflaging and others think they change their
colour. They might not have been fortunate to be born with silver spoons in
their mouths, but they will make sure their kids have spoons of atleast silver.
But these people really have an inclination to the society, and most of them
really do some good stuff to the society. The rest are turncoats who stand not
for the cause, but by the side where victory and justice are apparent. I have
felt at times whether I am a corporate communist myself.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: justify; text-indent: -.25in;">
5.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span>Now
the most talked about and the most hyped and the always baited bunch – the
middle class. They consider them the wealthiest and the most happening in this
world, until they see some wealthier people pass by. Even though, they are what
we call the man power. People who move the world. Thus constituting the best
portion of the working population, they deserve better respect than what I have
given in my words. They are into everything man has known, and become real
social animals. I claim that I belong here.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: justify; text-indent: -.25in;">
6.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span>The
homeless are a big lot, now they keep wandering from road to road, slum to
slum, and live at the mercy of the political heavy-weights and hence end up as
a loyal resource to the election and other political propaganda.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: justify; text-indent: -.25in;">
7.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span>After
the nomad come the mad. These people happen out of weaklings when the world
turns too cruel for them to handle, and then their clocks stop ticking.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
This financially divided
demography will continue to exist and the divide will increase even more, as
more and more metros come up, more and more development happens. A metro has to
have all seven of the above members intact to sustain it as a metro. A holistic approach like this will make life
in a metro a little less metrosexual. Give it a try!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>vineetmphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00555408134174384102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267592701192241231.post-13423266408865203722011-10-25T11:27:00.000-07:002011-11-07T10:42:12.256-08:00Shedding a gloomy face<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I was the kind of a child who was the teachers'
pet at school, but was reserved to the core, especially when it came to matters
of mingling with people. I was so very less outgoing. Even now I am not much better.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I used to put up a gloomy face whenever my mood
was slightly or entirely off its best. Too much of time I spent on thoughts,
and thus I used to be led to skirmishes of capricious threads, one leading to
another and ultimately all these would squeal and scratch my skull from
inside. Occupy all the pleasant space inside my mind. Over the time as my
Innocence Quotient dropped, at the time of an increased reserve, my grey cells
turned into a cornucopia of thought. This I welcomed with great relief. I was a
refugee who sought something more than existence.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The coarse terrain of life weathered my reserved
nature somewhat as I treaded along it, but my fervor for thoughts never died,
it overflowed and some of it, words like these, left imprints on paper as well. The gloomy face was as effective as a Guy Fawkes
mask in displaying a fabricated intent. It helped at times – at those when I
did not want people to know what ran in my mind. But the same became a problem. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It struck me a big blow when a well-wisher
observed and pointed this out recently. I realized how much true his observation was, and how large an impact
this had in my life. The gloom was read as an unwelcoming attitude, and thus many knocks passed by
without falling on this naïve door.Opportunities are mostly biased to optimists. And I don’t want
to lose any more chances in this rat race of a life.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Now I am shedding the gloomy face. I adopted a bright and happy face from then on - as a facade to positive thoughts that lay beneath. I try to
think less, never let thoughts go astray, keep unnecessary anxiety at bay. Even
without growing tumours of thoughts, it should be possible to spur my way through. I don't give a damn if the universe conspires or not. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>vineetmphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00555408134174384102noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267592701192241231.post-21316288079541590822011-10-11T12:44:00.000-07:002011-10-11T12:44:04.701-07:00The Chetan Bhagat Revolution<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Gone are the days when companies
used to come to campuses to do a very meticulous and selective recruitment of
capable students. Now companies from the IT-services sector swarm into campuses
and rope in hundreds at a time. Chetan Bhagat sweeps majority of the Indian
audience in this fashion. The books sell at every nook and corner of India in incomparable
numbers. Now the fifth of his books, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Revolution
2020</i> are out, and I found it the best among the five. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQfMWsaZZUgdrYh1937ABp9ikeoeg3-dRgTcJTjTZqlv3OMx_x_w-DzGyEPKZbFDn2tH9qMbzWjisTSvzaw7G9TmRDzXfJSIq8nznFAgEFM1Rbao21gkeNoUvpHN2zhHuL-GmiPLa1s7o/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQfMWsaZZUgdrYh1937ABp9ikeoeg3-dRgTcJTjTZqlv3OMx_x_w-DzGyEPKZbFDn2tH9qMbzWjisTSvzaw7G9TmRDzXfJSIq8nznFAgEFM1Rbao21gkeNoUvpHN2zhHuL-GmiPLa1s7o/s1600/images.jpeg" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0PWFM0QFKtnluDcXVO2wMaHpaMJQU5vrpqQ0FMPEzzbqTvZon1QFNN0lYMRfDvbv0xjiinz2KLAwvvCiJIpQj6hjEt3sgfKeBO2mcVKGShRCjVVyzdcyTVvdQzRO_XZAV2j2y1oAEYsw/s1600/Chetan-Bhagat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0PWFM0QFKtnluDcXVO2wMaHpaMJQU5vrpqQ0FMPEzzbqTvZon1QFNN0lYMRfDvbv0xjiinz2KLAwvvCiJIpQj6hjEt3sgfKeBO2mcVKGShRCjVVyzdcyTVvdQzRO_XZAV2j2y1oAEYsw/s1600/Chetan-Bhagat.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
This, I call, cotemporary
writing. Even though the inevitable scenes of affairs and sex are included as
in his previous novels, undoubtedly to sell more copies, Chetan has hit the
right chords with the evergreen topics of love and greed that run throughout
the story like stave in an orchestra composition. When writers spend months to
coin phrases that might hold the verbose-liking readers to ponder over
non-existent meanings, this IIM-A graduate has tabled his cards in a plain and
simple fashion. Now here I might have hurt a few of you, but I don’t care - because
bestsellers are not always meant to adorn the shelves of ardent literati fans
and amateur wannabe pedants.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
From a masala-point-something of
a story to millions of books sold, Chetan has so far got the right going in
everything. He was in the TIME’s list of the 100 most influential people in the
world, and he is the biggest selling English language novelist in India’s history.
Hope he uses this influence as a jig to instill in youth the realization of the
need behind the youth to come forward for every common cause, rather than
sulking away to comforts. He quit his career as an international banker, to
dedicate his full time to writing. The Indian youth needs icons desperately,
and this guy might have already proved his candidacy through his influence. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
At a time when sins are redefined
and erstwhile taboos have come out of sediments to the periphery, that the
people (especially youth) have started to view corruption from a third person
point of view gives hope. The book spits overt blame on the Indian educational
system, but finally gives the reader a chance to choose which was right and
which was wrong</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Awesome reading, guaranteed. </div>
</div>
vineetmphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00555408134174384102noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267592701192241231.post-38758529381746303592011-10-09T02:07:00.000-07:002011-10-09T02:10:03.424-07:00How to Satisfy Our Daily Appetite<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Slurrrrrrp!!!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I just wiped clean with my tongue the last drop of curd that tickled down the side of my right hand's little finger. Waaah! That was a lunch and a half I had just now. The menu was amaaazing! Rice, curd, pickle, '<i>dosa podi</i>' and salt. I felt each grain of rice, the unique tomato garlic pickle, and <i>amma</i>-made-<i>dosapodi</i> filling my stomach - it was that relishing. Catch up to this line if you are held up in between the previous two lines, trying to read something there. No, there's nothing. That was it, the menu was short and simple but awesome. The best-to-have food, I found, is self-cooked. This would be the case with everybody, we get the most satisfaction out of having some food we have cooked, even if it's a delicacy or not. Objection, anybody?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It has been (just) two years since I started living neither at home nor in a hostel, and from then it has been a search for the best place to eat, to live. Of course, almost the complete later half of this period I stayed at my uncle's place in KK Nagar, Chennai, so during that time I had the best food I could get it Chennai. After that the hunt for the place which gave the next best food started again. I have been to many restaurants, 'messes', caterers and food stalls. The ones among these that managed to hold me as their regular visitor were 'Sridevi's Dosa Corner'* at Camp Road and Arvind Caterers in Muthamizh Nagar. I am not a great connoisseur of tastes, but I got bored everywhere because I found something lacking, in all these places. And each time I did, I would resort to something tedious and time-wasting at my first notion, but worth the toil and time spent in the end - and that act is nothing but cooking! If the end product of what I cook is harmless and eatable, then I find the element which was missing when I ate from outside - satisfaction. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Eat-outs indeed give us tasty food we cannot prepare at home daily, but fail to lure us to come and eat everyday. The secret ingredient that gives our curd rice a 'five-star rating' is right there with us - our own culinary touch. But did I miss the most important clause - 'cooking works out only if we have time!'? </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Now I am signing off for a nap, let me see if I will wake up in time to make an evening tea. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
*<i>There was this 'normal dosa corner' at Camp Road, East Tambaram. GT and I used to frequent this place. Around the corner of the same road there was this restaurant, the name of which was so long and hard to remember, and my friend Sridevi used to eat from this restaurant. Later on, all three of us made this restaurant our official dinner place, and named this as 'Sridevi's Dosa Corner'.</i> <i>Thus the name.</i></div>
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vineetmphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00555408134174384102noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267592701192241231.post-74190872104659061502011-10-04T13:49:00.000-07:002011-10-04T13:49:31.702-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I hate to blame the system to use the failure of the system as a curtain to conceal our unpreparedness. But sometimes the systems in place are so bad and inefficient that they just don't allow me to remain silent. </div>
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Today something of this kind happened. I want to take my bike from my home in Malappuram, Kerala to Pallavaram, Chennai, the place where I live and work. It's a 15-20 minutes walk from my Chennai home to office, and of late I have been thinking on this idea of getting a bike so that commuting to office and other travel in the city will be easy. The bike, a 100cc TVS make, is in average condition now and is used now only when my brother (he lives in Cochin, doing his B.
Tech Mech Engg) or I am home.I don't want to spend too much to buy a new bike either, and this mostly rarely used bike at home is the best option I have. The bike will get a lifeline, its condition will better once I start using it regularly.</div>
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Now I need to get an NOC (No Objection Certificate) issued from the RTO (Road Transport Office) or Joint RTO under the sphere of which my locality falls. [As per rules this is not required - NOC is to be produced only if the registration number of the vehicle needs to be changed to another area, especially another state. I have a temporary plan only - I will use the bike in Chennai for another 7-8 months, after which I will send it back to Kerala, as my whereabouts after that time is uncertain!]. But to make myself equipped with all documents in case any traffic police wished to stop me, ask me to pull over to the side and expected cash to cover up any missing document, I thought I will obtain this NOC as well. </div>
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I went to JRTO Perinthalmanna, as my residence is in Perinthalmanna Taluk. Now at the outside the JRTO, which is on the second floor of a yet-to-be-furnished building, there was a man behind a desk that had a small board on it which read 'Help Desk'. I was surprised and happy about this people-friendly arrangement. There was a very small queue in front of the desk - around four people. This was a proof for the efficiency of the man behind the desk, I thought. </div>
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But it was not to be..</div>
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When I reached the head of the queue, a person came from behind - he was panting probably after a long walk in the sun. He too had come to get an NOC to use his vehicle in Kannur, and from his conversation with the 'helper' man I found that NOC form was not available in any nearby shops, forget at the JRTO. The 'helper', after learning from me that I wanted an NOC too to use my bike in Chennai, he asked me if I could get a form from a printing press a bit far away. I walked all the way just to find out that the press did not have any NOC forms. So I returned back to the 'helper' and described to him the situation. He then took out from an old file a filled copy of the form, and asked me to get a photocopy of that after hiding all written stuff using white paper. I went downstairs, went to a photocopy shop and got a couple of copies. An important thing was that the cash collection counter inside the JRTO would close at 1 o'clock and if I did not go in time, I would not be able to get the NOC before I start for Chennai tomorrow evening. And tomorrow and the day after are off-days for the JRTO. Finally, at about 12:45, with a lot of confusion the 'helper' finally helped me fill up the form, pasted a Rs. 5 stamp on it, attached the originals of my RC book, Insurance Certificate, Smoke Test Certificate, and asked me to submit it together at a counter inside. And from that counter I understood that the form I used was a wrong one, and that there was a separate form for NOCs outside Kerala. That was called Form 28. Furious, I wet out and asked the help-desk person about this confusion. He acted as if he did not know anything, and as if I was the one who got things wrong by hurrying things up, blah blah blah. And then he said that he had copies of Form 28!!! I shouted at him for not giving the correct information earlier, and then I saw that my watch, which runs 5 minutes fast, showed 1:10 PM. I walked away from the help-desk, showering my anger on the 'helper'. </div>
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Now I cannot take my bike to Chennai tomorrow, for doing so would end me up emptying my purses to the Chennai traffic police. No wonder people make fun of people at government offices working in a sluggish manner.</div>
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vineetmphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00555408134174384102noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267592701192241231.post-44554222465815116262011-09-30T11:54:00.000-07:002011-09-30T11:56:35.176-07:00Rains in Chennai<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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To an NRK (Non Resident Keralite), the monsoons in Kerala are a blithe longed for. The greenery plus the chill and wet climate give a coziness like nowhere else. Gallons of water flowing by you in the canals and sometimes even on the roads and footpaths is big time exciting even though some people might turn cynical about this. Of course it hinders travel and outing, and that rainy season brings with it a handful of communicable diseases is a scientifically proven fact. But rains are the lifeline as well, as the whole goodness and greenery that makes the God's own country a better place to live in owe a lot to the monsoons. Now we have every chance of experiencing higher torrents of rain, but fortunately or unfortunately we are not in the North East. It's a bit extreme over there because rather than enjoying the rain, people would prefer escaping the floods and havoc. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgau4c145Dh8LT7qdeWXV8OvEaJeuAm8F53PtPRvNnCHihB6PaMHwnuxXhY6SPHEwAE3USKPMKvjIB5tCy6mmW4J9WrMLjEczP8zwPrVkHWLIVGXkBjZPRNfnNLc_UNdBNS9L0mKQbneOs/s1600/chennai+rains.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgau4c145Dh8LT7qdeWXV8OvEaJeuAm8F53PtPRvNnCHihB6PaMHwnuxXhY6SPHEwAE3USKPMKvjIB5tCy6mmW4J9WrMLjEczP8zwPrVkHWLIVGXkBjZPRNfnNLc_UNdBNS9L0mKQbneOs/s320/chennai+rains.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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And what happens in the other not-so-rainy parts of the country? Here in Chennai where I live now, rains come as an effect of the North-East monsoons mostly in September, October and November. It does not rain everday, thank god! The enjoyable climate that the rains bring is spoilt very soon by the waterlogs that accompanies every formidable rain. And Chennai does not get help from geographical contours either, the whole town is so perfectly flat that there is no place water can run off even though the sea is a couple of blocks away! Whereas in my hometown, Malappuram, which like what its meaning in malayalam suggests, is made of small hillocks - ups and downs everywhere that you cannot see a road that runs flat for more than a hundred ir two metres. Drainage, however bad it is designed, runs out of eyesight and out of town! Civil engineers, you are welcome to Chennai, and I dont know what drainage planning happens here. Every small street gets flooded, and the drains overflow, bringing out every rubbish in them. </div>
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Rains have started a couple of weeks back, and my house in Chennai is so strategically located that every road to every eat-out nearby gets blocked due to waterlogs! Either I buy a boat or I start cooking. The former is too whimsical and the latter is impossible! Hard times ahead I guess.</div>
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vineetmphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00555408134174384102noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267592701192241231.post-57871816517720979372011-09-21T11:21:00.000-07:002011-09-21T11:42:22.595-07:00What to do at the IITs.... and Confessions of a Rustic True Blue<span style="font-size:100%;">Part Two: Confessions of a Rustic True Blue<br /></span><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >Some things never change. (If you wonder ‘things like what’, read along…)</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >18<sup>th</sup> Sept 2011. The <a href="http://abrickoutofthewall.blogspot.com/2011/09/what-to-do-at-iits.html">get together</a> with friends at IIT Madras had just got over when Pala asked me what next. It was Super Sunday that day. Manchester United</span><span style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" > was to meet Chelsea at Old Trafford, and a Champions League Victory against Benefica was a good sign to the Cobham blues. It was an year since I watched a Premier League match, and I decided I will stay back for the night at IIT, watch the match and return the next day morning. The TV at my home was busted in a power fluctuation months ago, so there was no way of watching the match at home either. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >A couple of years ago on any weekend evening, the most probable place to find me was the hostel common room where the most ardent football fans flocked together. We showed no mercy – we used to kick all the cricket fans out! Apart from the Premier League, there were less frequent Champions League and World Cup matches to keep us busy roun</span><span style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >d the calendar. The packed common rooms provided a feeling equivalent to that of a gallery. People in your side, opposite side and some indifferent fans of some other team whose boos and roars and sighs of despair and taunts that followed livened up the air.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizYAMtQExfNlBavD9rvLBarLV43PI3UM651HKlK4whdFoN41Zsq_jILHNJwRWGdfMkLJqJTB8638AuZNc3ijNuq36sMlwNJJtxAyK2woTVIVmNgH008P3QyzOqBw2zGgZ8oOQTIl-xibQ/s1600/chelsea.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 257px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizYAMtQExfNlBavD9rvLBarLV43PI3UM651HKlK4whdFoN41Zsq_jILHNJwRWGdfMkLJqJTB8638AuZNc3ijNuq36sMlwNJJtxAyK2woTVIVmNgH008P3QyzOqBw2zGgZ8oOQTIl-xibQ/s320/chelsea.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654880861817211442" border="0" /></a><span style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >Of all the football clubs across the world, I found Chelsea FC the most liking, due to their unique style, glamour and relentless spirit. For a decade I have been their fan. Saw the flourish, fame and the recent fall, and the unbelievable losses in the previous season which hammered blows over my hopes on Chelsea. It was rather a gradual decline, as after Roman Abramovic sacked Jose Mourinho, no manager was able to pull off stints of success that lasted for more than half a season. Avaram Grant was the luckiest of the lot yet the most defamed.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >At the same time to the fall of Chelsea, the Catalans achieved uncomparable class and brilliance, and the Manchester United, now the richest club in the world, rose to unquestionably the next best football club in the world. In this backdrop my emotions for Chelsea started eroding, and of late, a ‘transfer’ to Barca was imminent. The doubt whether I have become a turn-coat was the only worry that kept me from switching my ‘home-ground’. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >But……</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >CHE vs MANU.. or rather MANU vs CHE, to term it in the right sequence – is an event which revs me up to otherwise impossible adrenaline highs. By the time Pala and I reached Krishna hostel common room, match had started, Chelsea was a goal down, 18 minutes into the first half.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >In a second, all my hard-feelings for Chelsea melted away, and I was back to the game again! 90 minutes were up in the flicker of an eye. Man Utd defeated Chelsea by a deceiving margin of 3-1. A true football fan never believes the stories that the scores belie. The main highlights of the match was the amazing passing and intercepts by Man Utd lads (the average age of their first eleven was 23 !!!) and the relentless spirit displayed by Chelsea, spearheaded by Torres. He impressed, though he made an early bid to the miss of the season when he fired a ball out of an open post after deceiving De Gea with a precise dribble.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >Albeit the loss, there was a lot of promising moments for Chelsea. I returned to Pala's room as much a die-hard fan of Chelsea as I have ever been. Some things like this, never change. Blue blood, I will claim I have!</span></p>vineetmphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00555408134174384102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6267592701192241231.post-54913261824433236892011-09-21T10:57:00.000-07:002011-09-21T11:43:59.521-07:00What to do at the IITs… and Confessions of a Rustic True Blue<span style="font-size:100%;"><br />Part One: What to do at the IITs.....</span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" ><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgazVIVE1adbaqJMW5eq_kFGA3zIZMOqfiEMds1fNgFKowToVvjOHIe6usRVTNpzoP_J8POzpMOOp-kJyYP85afRdDXTzNnTSxkmml-IZ25nD0LCy66xRMUkjspLPQQFnGNU3NL58eXqkA/s1600/get2.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgazVIVE1adbaqJMW5eq_kFGA3zIZMOqfiEMds1fNgFKowToVvjOHIe6usRVTNpzoP_J8POzpMOOp-kJyYP85afRdDXTzNnTSxkmml-IZ25nD0LCy66xRMUkjspLPQQFnGNU3NL58eXqkA/s320/get2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654878458769600738" border="0" /></a><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >The tech-niches of India, and the source of a good percent of the most wanted brains all over the world, the IITs have always been my fascination. I haven't got into one as its student, but I have a bunc</span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >h of good friends in IIT Madras, and they have made possible many jovial hang-outs at their campus. IIT Madras, a green campus blessed with affluent natural beauty and beautiful meandering boulevards</span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" > through the forests linked wit</span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >h the Guindy Na</span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >tional Park, is a pl</span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >ace that showers bliss. It was a similar experience yesterday when I had a get together with friends fr</span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >om college at IITM. </span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >F</span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >aeez Basheer was the reason behind this get-together. From the oil rigs of Saudi, he turned up now two years after we passed out of NITC. By the time GT (short form for Asish George Thomas) and I reached the Café Coffee Day at IITM, Faeez had collected a handful of peo</span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >p</span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >le there – Anoop aka Palakkad, Chitra, Padmanisha and Aruna. It was a happy unison at the happening CCD where we were the only outlandish lot among the unusually crowded pack of students. Our talks and laughter echoed over evey other clatter, and Pala (short for Palakkad) was the centre-point of all, as everyone wanted to know the secret behind his long, curly and kempt hair.</span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" > To everyone's disappointment, Pala</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm_fzcBhWfK9kNXHxlPMNMKhlzw8WUfCZIIWkhvKkzIJcakzfducSQ-LxWsMMqCNn8g4nl02Xpxl3naqNB8Kh-F6VwBz9h80gxIvwT7JoBcPj-lD6hsoVeD8TrZCx05mLbevlJHsR5Fns/s1600/get1.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm_fzcBhWfK9kNXHxlPMNMKhlzw8WUfCZIIWkhvKkzIJcakzfducSQ-LxWsMMqCNn8g4nl02Xpxl3naqNB8Kh-F6VwBz9h80gxIvwT7JoBcPj-lD6hsoVeD8TrZCx05mLbevlJHsR5Fns/s320/get1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654877950215099554" border="0" /></a></span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >kkad somehow managed to parry away the jeers on him and escaped with a silly reason - he was growing his hair to perform a "head-bang" at Saarang 2012, t</span><span style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >he cultural frenzy hosted by IITM. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >The walk through the woods was much more relished, and Aruna's Canon D1000 would have come of better use if the sun had not been so low. At Gurunath stores, the next best hangout place there, Fayaz Habeeb, Murshid, Arun S and Jayajith (all are juniors from NITC, currently doing MTech at IITM) joined. Everyone agreed to meet at the RECCAA (CREC/ NITC Alumni Association) Onam get-together to be held on 25th Sep'11. A short while later we parted ways, as it was already dark and the girls wanted to reach home early. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >Dinner was at the ‘Himalaya’, a hi-tec canteen/mess with swipe-cards for all students, and a token-system-based-serving-counter with digital display of the token numbers. Wow! Walked back to Pala’s room after dinner, and GT jumped on to the guitar in the room. We left him there and went to the common room to watch Chelsea- Man Utd match. A tense match left Chelsea at the losing end. But it reinstated many of my notions, which I have written <a href="http://abrickoutofthewall.blogspot.com/2011/09/what-to-do-at-iits-and-confessions-of.html">here</a>. Pala and I returned to his room, and there GT was in front of the PC, immersed in the Guitar tuitorials he was watching. GT had almost finished tuning the guitar, and then we helped Pala with his project work. It was like we were back in college again, and a black tea at midnight beckoned. We walked in the drizzle to Tiffany’s. It remains open till 1 AM. We had black tea, reached back in the room, and then learned from Pala that internet connection to hostels was cut off from 12 midnight to 5 AM. What was that?The most elite of institutions in India not providing internet at night? Unbelievable. I slid on to the floor, Pala on to the cot and GT on to the chair. Some chords escaped into the air and a couple of seconds later we were all singing old songs together. Pala, a good rapper,<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>sparred with his ‘Smack that..’ as well. Not much later I was in deep sleep, and woke up the next day early in the morning. I had to reach office by 8 AM and GT had a training to attend at 9. Setting on a reminder to come back soon, we left for the main gate in the institute’s internal bus service.</span></p><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span>vineetmphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00555408134174384102noreply@blogger.com3