Support Petition

The Bangalore Bloggers have raised an online petition in support of the Bansal-Sabnis issue in specific, and freedom of bloggers in general. Read on...

The members of the "Bloggers of Bangalore" community would like to bring to the attention of the media and society at large, certain unfair and intimidatory actions undertaken by the Indian Institute of Planning and Management (IIPM) against members of the Indian blogging community.

In June 2005, JAM, a popular youth magazine published out of Mumbai, ran a story on IIPM titled 'The Truth about IIPM's Tall Claims' pointing out blatant exaggerations in the institute's claims about infrastructure, courses, affiliations and placements. For instance, the magazine article pointed out how IIPM continues to use certain rankings conferred upon it AFTER those rankings have been withdrawn by the bodies conferring them.
The magazine ran an ethically researched investigative story on IIPM, revealing what was a marketing fraud by the college.

Alongside, the editor of JAM magazine and a former student of Indian Institute of Management (IIM) Ahmedabad, who is also a blogger, published the same on her personal blog. In August 2005, blogger Gaurav Sabnis, another Mumbai-based blogger, posted about this on his own blog, linking to JAM's original story. Soon after this, he received an e-mail from the IIPM legal department threatening to sue him for a huge sum of money unless he withdrew his comments. Simultaneously, he was also pressurised by IIPM through his employers, a global hardware manufacturer. Rather than put his employers in a tight spot, Sabnis decided to quit his job.

The mainstream media has picked up on this issue and the stories are available at the links provided below:

Hindustan Times

Indian Express

NDTV

Tsunami crisis

and the Mumbai rains at Mumbai Help

and Cloudburst Mumbai.

For detailed information on the bloggers vs IIPM issue, please visit Desipundit for chronological updates on the controversy.

The purpose of this petition is to express solidarity with the bloggers who have suffered threats and abuse at the hands of IIPM and also to draw attention to the original issues at the heart of the JAM story on IIPM.

If you believe that journalists and the media should be free to inform the public of false advertisement which directly or indirectly affects their lives,
If you believe education should not be reduced to a marketable commodity,
If you believe that blogging is a powerful supplement to traditional media,
If you believe that bloggers should be entitled to individual opinions as also their own online space for airing and discussing these opinions,
If you believe in standing up for your rights, as an active member of society, as a blogger, as a citizen with the right to know

Please show your support to this cause.

Sincerely,

The Undersigned

Freedom Curbed, Freedom Challenged

The past few days have seen a storm of proportions fit to anger and agitate any blogger. Over the past few days Gaurav Sabnis has been the target for legal as well as antisocial, un-constitutional action by the IIPM. Why? For writing a post on his personal blog, linking to a published article that openly questioned the veracity of the IIPM's claims in their ads. And for adding his own queries to those already raised. Was he wrong to doubt the IIPM and to question their version of the truth? Perhaps, from where the IIPM are looking at the issue. But since when did this give the IIPM the right to not only issue a notarized legal notice via email, threatening arrest, damage claim et al for Gaurav's "deliberate and fraudulent intentions", but to also harass both Gaurav and his employer, IBM, by threatening to burn the IBM H/W the IIPM had purchased?

Guarav has every right to ask what questions he may, right or wrong. We do NOT live in a police state, our thoughts and opinions regulated and dictated by the Powers that Be. We are Indians, born with the freedom to think, to choose and to speak. And to stand firm by our rights. Gaurav Sabnis has stood by his rights and refused to either delete his 'offending' post or to issue a retraction of his opinions. And he has voluntarily resigned from IBM, in protest against the pressure from IIPM, firm in his belief and with trust in his merits. More power to him.

I, however, see it as the duty of IBM to have stood by Gaurav, and not allowed him to resign just to save potential embarrassment and loss of H/W revenue. What is the worst that would have happened? The IIPM would have burned many lakhs of rupees worth of laptops. And would have cut their own nose off to spite their face. Would this have in any way lowered the intrinsic value of the IBM laptop and their technology? No. Would this have given other IBM customers pause before a buying decision? I don't think so. As I see it, whatever negative press there may be, around the burning of the laptops, would be more than offset by seeing IBM exercise social responsibility, and extending support to an employee whose basic constitutional and human rights are being challenged. All the more so when he has explicitly stated that his personal views are no means those of his employer.

It would be a sad, shameful thing if, today, Gaurav is denied employment on account of this issue. Especially when the IIPM should be taking the original authors of the article to task, if at all they have published wrong information. Nor is he the only one to be asking these questions. It is not a matter of whether the questions raised against the IIPM are right or wrong. It is not a question of whether the IIPM's ads are making true claims or false. That's not it at all.

It's a question of Freedom. The freedom of the average person to have doubts. Freedom to question and the freedom to share opinions. It is a question of Gaurav Sabnis's, and in fact anyone's, freedom of speech.

Today, the IIPM has moved to silence one individual who has, in an open forum, raised his voice against them. They, and others like them, must never again be allowed to make such a move against anyone, blogger or no.

My scrapbook of Bangalore

I see Life as a series of "freeze-frames" that capture a piece of time, and add definition to the picture of our own lives. From the entire stack, that comprise my own passage through time, here are a few that, for me, define the experience that is Bangalore. Some of these, sadly, remain only a memory today, having given in to the fast pace of change:

• Leisurely strolls down an almost-empty MG Road, after 10 pm, kept company by chai-vendors, rickshaws and other night owls
• The coloured lights strung out over the Brigade Road stretch during the New Year and all Festival seasons
• Chatpata churmuri, eaten at the handcart in front of Plaza theatre, chased down by tangy tomato slices with pori on them
• Browsing through the racks at British Library, surrounded by other people interested in more than just the next best-seller, on a weekend morning
• Heading downstairs to Koshy's, after the above browsing, and reading, over sandwiches and pots of coffee, in the smoke-filled haze
• Catching sight of Girish Karnad, at the next table, through said smoke-filled haze!
• The dusk-to-dawn magic of Vasanthahabba, experienced through a chill February night, marked by the red-dust at Hesargatta and never-ending wonder
• Arundati Nag MC-ing Vasanthahabba
• Waiting in line, from 6:30am, for breakfast at MTR (coffee served in silver tumblers!)
• Scrounging food, after midnight, at the Hilals, the Tajs and the carts of Shivajinagar
• Puliogare and thatte idlis at Cadambams, followed by hot, filter coffee
• The STRAND Book Festival
• Second-hand bookshops in the alleys around MG Road, where you can 'borrow' a book for a measley fee!
• Chowdiah Memorial for innumerous plays and concerts, surrounded by a Bangalore that truly appreciates
• Scrambled eggs on toast, at India Coffee House, followed by a masala dosa that you MUST eat with a fork and knife
• Rosgulla chat at Gangotri
• Masala puri with dum aalo at KC Das. And being mistaken for a Bengali as you leave, pot of misti doi in hand :o)
• Endless evenings of friends, food and fooling around at Casa's
• Dosa camps that save the life of many a hungry night shifter
• Akkirotti dinners in front of Canara Bank on Mission Road
• Speed runs down the inner ring road, to test out a friend's bike / car, after midnight
• Standing on the roof watching the jets come back after the Air show

Errm...as you would have probably figured out, by now, Food plays a huge role in the memories I make :o)

A Picture of Jasmine

Nestled in the heart of the Deccan, about 10 km before Palamaner on the road from Chittoor, you find the village of Bangarapalya and the Lucky Punjabi Dhaba. Snuggling in the shaded lee of a hill that is little more than rocks and tufts of grass, the dhaba is a long, cold, drink on a hot, sweltering, day.

Under the spreading arms of an old, green, leafy tree you lounge, in a khatiya strung with bright red nylon rope, looking out across the road at the fields of sugarcane stretching away into the distance. The Sun is warm, the breeze is cool, and there is a sweetness and quiet to the spot that belies the busy National Highway rushing by just a few feet away.

The food is fresh, simple and tasty, served by the wide-eyed, curly haired Jasmine with the serious mouth. All of 8 years old, she flits between the table and the kitchen, where her father is bustling, with the younger, tow-headed Tasmine trailing behind her. All attempts to engage her and get her to smile are met with a long, solemn look. Papa roti nakko kehte! she trills when you turn down the offer for more food. Sitting back, stuffed, happy, sleepy, you watch as she brings you hot tea, to cap off the lunch. Having handed the cups over, she darts back to the waiting Tasmine, to play in the shade, watched over by her mother.

The only time you see her smile back at you is when she opens up the little bag of sweets you give her, as you pay your bill and prepare to leave. The Sun shining overhead on a swath of clear blue sky, the bright green trees waving in the breeze, and the little girl waving happily at you as you drive away. A picture from the heart land of India.

It raineth, It poureth...

...and Bangalore floateth. Beats me why its raining this hard (no, I don't listen to the weather analysis, and I don't work at the meteorological department!) but what with today's Bharat Bundh keeping the kids and most autos off the roads, atleast office-goers mercifully have a whole lot less havoc to navigate through!

Pull on your flippers, Bangalore, the drains have just invaded the roads. Yeeesh.

Truckers and Technology

Now, this is what I call the Information Super Highway...desi ishtyle!

A Tale of Two Cities...

Namma Bengaluru and Aamchi Mumbai...

I returned last night from the city of Vada Pav and "Ganapati Bappa Moriya!". I came back from seeing a city ravaged by the recent onslaught of the rains, and yet smiling as it greets fresh showers and dancing as it takes it's utsav murtis to the seaside for "Visarjan". "I love Mumbai in the rains" said one of the people I met during my day, affirming the strength of spirit of a city that has seen bodies of its families floating past in those very same rains. "I love Mumbai during Ganapati, going around town seeing the various society Ganapatis.." vowed another. And I too was overwhelmed by the spirit of the people around me, walking, dancing, laughing in the constantly descending rains, as they proceeded in slow congress towards the beaches, accompanying their respective Ganapatis. The spirit went beyond the immediate group and engulfed even passersby, attracted everyone irrespective of caste, creed or religion. But, for a city with a much vaunted public infrastructure, I also saw Mumbai grind to a slow crawl in places as traffic snarls, rain-damaged roads and inconsiderate motorists attacked.

What struck me was how Mumbai today is what Bangalore is steadily working its way towards. And I am not lauding the survival and community instincts here. I am referring to the similarity, to the Mumbai I saw, coming from the state (or lack thereof) of our roads, our traveling public and the sheer chaos that greets you at every turn. And from the fact that Bangalore is today turning into what Mumbai started out being - a destination for everyone who wants to find their fortune.

Back home, I landed to greet a Bengaluru taking a break from the rains, cool, breezy and relatively more quiet and composed even on Day 8 of the Ganesha festival. Bangalore takes its festivals seriously, but festivals don't "take" Bangalore the way they do it's sister up in the West. You will find warmth, joy, festivity within your homes and families and with your friends. But you will rarely find an occasion to share this with absolute strangers, both of you never rendered same, equal and joined in some common cause. Here the festivals are about family, not about community.

I sometimes wonder if there does exist a common thread, here in Bangalore, that winds its way through the lives of all Bangaloreans and gives us a sense of oneness. Does Bangalore make people here profess love for any part of the city they have made their home, forcibly or otherwise? I sometimes wonder if today's Bangalorean sees this city as more than just a means to fulfill the immediate needs of Life. Do we care about our city?

ATMs & Akkirotti

By day a simple, nondescript ATM, up the stairs and right next to the entrance to the Bank. But by night, a haven for the hungry. As the darkness falls and the stars twinkle on, the stairs to this ATM transforms into an alfresco dining experience, fronted by a trestle table and a portable hot-plate-style stove. And what does one dine on here? Rottis and dosas and idlis and omlettes. But the show stealer is the Rotti (no, I haven't mis-spelt 'roti'...I mean the famous down-south rotti...flattened-by-hand-masala-roti!)...in every form...akkirotti, raagirotti, jholadarotti...**drool drool**!

You come, you ask, you get served steaming hot rottis with a variety of chutneys, you munch, you swoon with delight. Then you get up and do it all over again...this is the true finger-licking-good experience.

And where this magical Akkirotti ATM be? Mission Road, before the flyover...smack in front of Canara Bank (or mebbe it's SBI...I have always been too busy eating to notice!), opposite Ad Labs or some such photo joint. Rottis on offer only in the evenings and the best times be from 7-9pm.

Don't just take my word for it...go and try it out for yourselves!

Glow Bum

The perfect start to the week.....thanks to Renz who shared this little nugget! :o)

Crêpes de Taz

The Crab strikes again. This time with a healthy breakfast number…wholewheat pancakes dressed in honey and cinnamon!

I have been trying to get across town, every weekend, to go pig out on pancakes and waffles. And have been failing rather miserably. I simply cannot wake up early enough on a Saturday (and you can completely forget about Sunday!) to make it to Infinitea in time to get their breakfast spread.

So, the Crab decided to take things into her own hands, and marched into the kitchen and whipped out her apron (yes, I insist on wearing an apron. And on playing the radio whiles I am in the kitchen ; gets me into a creative mood and all that!). She was going to make her own pancakes, or die trying (you think I am kidding? Hunger can kill ya!).

A brief visit to the Internet to get the general hang of how pancakes are made, with a dollop of my own ideas, and here’s what I wrought:

Cinnamon Crêpes de Taz (Serves 2… or 1 depending on how hungry you are!)

2 cups of Milk
1 Egg
2 cups of Flour (I used wholewheat…you can use any kinda flour actually)
1 tbsp of Sugar (Powder the regular stuff, or just use icing sugar)
1 tbsp of Cinnamon powder (Forget store-bought…try fresh powdered cinnamon sticks!)
0.25 tsp of baking powder
Pinch of Salt
Honey

Beat the egg in the milk, adding the sugar, baking powder, salt and flour evenly as you go. Make sure there are no lumps and that you have a smooth batter. Heat a small skillet over a medium flame, and grease it with butter / margarine. Pour in about a 3/4th cup of batter to make one pancake…more if you want it thicker. Cook one side on a low-medium flame, and then flip over to cook the other. Make sure that the pancake does not burn. Plate the hot pancake and sprinkle cinnamon powder over the top. Pour honey over it (liberally, if you happen to be related to me!) and Voila!

I tucked into these cinnamon marvels and couldn't stop smiling...this Crab definitely Rocks!

Iqbal

Take the average underdog with dreams concept. Intersperse it with a drive to rise above physical disability. Add a dash of secularism to it. And the lay it against the background of the country's favorite pastime and passion, Cricket. What you will have is a delectable morsel titled 'Iqbal', directed by Nagesh Kukunoor.

Le Kukunoor has always made the kind of movies that make up in the thought area, what they lack in glitter and polish. But 'Iqbal' has gone beyond his usual styling and hits straight at the heart, making a pitstop at the brain on the way.

I find myself liking the movie not just because I am the kind of eternal optimist who loves a good story with a triumphant ending, but because there was so much to learn from it. Oh sure, you could argue that he made it too simple to be true. But I see it as simple enough to be digested by anyone.

It's the concepts at the heart of the movie that really matter - how to find dignity in your dreams, despite a physical disability, how to accord such dignity to such challenged people and how to never bow down to stereotyping. The wave in the direction of the dhandha of the game, and the ills of drinking, do not detract from the main story and only help reinforce it.

After 'Iqbal' all I can say is that Nagesh Kukunoor is turning into a fine wine - Blackberry matured in the Sun!

Je désire...

I have decided that I need the following to make my Life partly complete:

1. Bright, Blood-red, Honda. The Bike, not the Car.
2. If 1 is not possible, then Midnight Black Skoda
3. Olde Style Fountain Pen that writeth like Silk.

And not necessarily in that order!

Vive Le Independance!

Vive la Victory!

Victory against British Rule, you ask? No, this is not about Satyagraha, Passive resistance, Mangal Pandey, Sepoy Mutiny, Spinning cotton or White Caps. Yes, tomorrow is indeed Independance Day, and I WILL be misty-eyed, firm-resolved and will feel a surge of pride with every patriotic thought / act. No doubts there. But that is not what I speak of.

I am pointing rather vaguely in the direction of the flood of work-related happenings and doings and yet-to-be-taken-care-ofs that has swept through my life the past few weeks. Not unlike the recent rainwater floods, when I survey the damage to the brain cells. (No, I am not insensitive to the real-life tragedies and the unneccessary, yet unavoidable, loss of lives that has ensued. We, Indians, are not strangers to tragedy and that in itself is immesurably sad)

This long weekend (THREE WHOLE DAYS!) has been a great break from work, at home, with the folks (the geriatrics, as my suicidal brother, Hem, calls them), kitchen experiments...not the brain-transplant kind, more the "how many eggs in the cake?" variety!...and lots, and lots of lovely weather. A weekend of silly frogs croaking in discord all through the night (sheesh!! How do these people ever sleep!!!!), a loony dog who is currently pining for an imaginary lady-love and stories of creepy snakes wandering through the garden, making an occasional visit to one of the bedrooms (UGH!). Loving the feeling of not having to harbour more than half a thought in my head, for any length of time, during the long, lazy day. Loving the half-cups of chai and coffee my dad and I are sharing, and the crazy hindi tv soaps my mom and I are watching (logic be darned...we get our giggles poking fun at the outfits!).

And come Tuesday, will have to shift back into overdrive and then the race will begin, non-stop, from far too early in the mornings. But atleast, that is still a day and a half away, and till then, am still on my weekend :o)

Lanky Vs. The Blowfish - The Great Game Again

There's the version of the Great Game that pits the renting rodents against the Landlords of the universe. And there's the part that pits dwarves against trolls...buyers.vs.sellers! The bloodiest version of the Game ever played!

Consider this average Joe Lean and Lanky walking down the road one day, when he is taken by the sudden thought : Why rent, when I can own! And as every Detritus and Vimes will tell you, this is when the little pebbles start moving inexorably towards the lip of the cliff.

Ofcourse, Lean and Lanky, not knowing the theory of the pebbles, goes forth and whom should he meet but Brigadier Blowfish who, lo and behold, has a flat to sell! The Game begins.

Lean and Lanky offers, Blowfish demurs. Not losing hope, Lean stretches his mental wallet and plays another hand. And another hand. And yet another hand. The Blowfish accepts! Now comes the time for all great players to crack their knuckles in earnest...The Deal.

The Deal is not just something you see at the tables of Las Vegas, but is a timeless dance through which the seller leads the buyer. One, two, three, one, two, three, one, two, step, twirl...and if you miss the beat, you'll trip your way right out. If you are lucky, you won't leave with a bloody nose.

Lean and Lanky, though born leftfooted (in the way some people are congenitally left handed!), stomps his way through the dance. But only just. The pebbles are rolling in earnest now, and are picking up baby boulders on the way!

Keen as mustard to buy and move into his new home , Lean and Lanky is all set to leave his current digs and has togged off his landlord. But where will he go?! For while Brigadier Blowfish is dancing, it's a different tune that Lean and Lanky has to step to. The Blowfish may have agreed to sell, but he has not yet agreed to clear out of the flat in time! There, the boulders have just tipped over the edge and are thundering they way down. If Brigadier Blowfish does not plan to hand the flat over before Lean and Lanky's Landlord heaves and hoes, the baby boulders will be just the beginning of the landslide. In big flashing red letters.

Lucky for Lanky that being a Blowfish takes money, and the Brigadier is equally keen to see the color of Lean's money. So they stumble through the dance, and its now the last play of the Game.

Lean being a fast learner, has picked up a few tricks along the way, and is all set to see this hand go his way. The papers are signed, stamped and registered, and Lean and Lanky forks over; but holds back just enough to ensure that the Brigadier packs his bags and blows out of the way as agreed. Roll of Dice - Game to Lanky.

The Blowfish deflated, and a flat tucked under his arm, Lean and Lanky steps out of the Game and struts away, whistling a merry tune. The Game played out his way this time...but just barely. A more formidable opponent, a more relentless seller, and one more would have been laid low by The Great Game!

Fairmont

Mr.Mosaranna - pics from the flat...coz you asked

The Family Descends on Lamlin Cottage

The menagerie decided to take that long-discussed family holiday at the cottage in Ooty...so come one breezy weekend in July, we bundled into the car and drove up into the blue hills.

While most roadtrips are a pleasure, for me (when driving in comfort with the A/C going!), the trips up to Ooty go a few dollops beyond....I love the way you can see the road snaking across the plains and winding up into the hills, I love the way the foliage changes and the temperature drops as we go higher. I especially love the smell of the Eucalyptus and the conifers, and I love the silence that suddenly blankets you.

You just cannot beat the way the oh-so-important things from your life back at the city slowly, but surely, get stripped away and evaporate. No worries, no intrusive phone calls, no emails, no meetings, and MOST importantly, no deadlines. Life marches to a different drummer up here in the hills, and only thing knocking at your door is likely to be a woodpecker!

Coming back to our menagerie, we spent the weekend lounging around the cottage, drinking tea while watching the sunset (technicolor, widescreen!!), and listening to the sounds of silence. And my brother spent most of that time shivering...the boy is hopeless in the cold!!

Am taking a page (post?) out of Vee's and Dent's blogs and bunging in a collage here of the pics I took...my favorites are the ones I call 'Big Red Hiding Hood', 'Cawwots!' and 'The House Keeper'....see if you can't pick them out!

For me, Ooty is where I go to recharge ; I can't wait for an excuse to head for the cottage...paper work with the bank, meeting with the lawyer, problems with the plumbing...anything that gets me out of the city and up, up and away!

Uncommon Sense

One of my grand-uncles used to say that common sense is most uncommon. And while he only used to gently direct this at his beloved better-half, hoping to rile her, it occurs to me that this applies to a much larger set of people out there **indicating the world at large**

This is no idle statement ; I have had more that just a few such uncommonly sensible people trip across my lifeline, to bring affirmation to this thought.

For example, the special breed that comprises the 'IT Helpdesk' of many an organization. It takes a formidable amount of uncommon sense to manage the IT setup of any organization and to keep users separated from their data and crucial files. And come those moonlit nights when harddrives everywhere crash, these intrepid souls take it upon themselves to restore that which is your lifeline. Except that this invariably fails to include the following, hence turning said lifeline into a greased rope:

• Current Email
• Email Archives
• Working files
• Favorites Lists
• Desktop files

Another example is the average joe motorist on the roads, these days. And I use the term motorist loosely...you can take this to include chappies (and chappettes) behind the wheel of cars, vans, trucks, buses, 3-wheeler abominations, or on scooters, motorbikes and bicycles. The whole vehicular gamut. This particular breed has an uncommonly keen sense of direction and navigation. One that usually cuts across the front of your car at the traffic signal, or clips you on the elbow at a turning. Not to mention that this includes driving on the wrong side, parking in the no parking zones, switching lanes faster than the nappies on an incontinent baby without signaling.

A few other precious gems, who must not go unmentioned, are

• Waiters who set only spoons on the table when you have just ordered spaghetti or a steak
• Dhobis who will carefully iron out the tuck-in fold on the bottom of your jeans that you got done when you shortened them
• Utility services that terminate your service for failure to pay your bills on time, when they dispatch the bill on/two days after the due date
• Parking attendants who line up cars so close, ahead of, behind and next to your car, that you can only get in and out of there by apparating

I could go on...but I don't think I will. I think I will leave the rest of this precious lot for you to discover on your own.

**Sniffle**

Life is tasteless.

Literally.

Coz' am coming down with a cold. My tongue has died and gone over to the other side. And my throat is aching to follow. Aching being the operative word. And my eyes are burning. And my head is hurting. And I am seeing big huge purple spots, sort of like a world of Barneys on rampage (inclusive of the irritating *naah naah naah, you love me, blah blah blah* jingle).

All I want to do, is die.

If I can't get that, then all I want is a hot mug of sweet tea, or some hot-n-sour chicken soup, or a peanut butter sandwich, and a snuggly comforter (Mom, if you can't make it, pls send me a razaai)

!

Giving in to temptation

It was the moment of truth. Either I could or I couldn't.

Oh, I wanted to...really wanted to. Had wanted to for as long as I could remember. And hadn't for longer than I could forget.

I looked out the window, past the floating curtains....I could almost imagine giving in...feel it against my skin...oh, I wanted to be a part of it.

Faint cries carried to me, words swept away by the wind....the Call was strong.

That was it; I could stand it no longer. To hell with what people thought, or what it looked like, I didn't care anymore. I had to...just had to.

So...I grabbed my Speedos, hauled them on, and stepped out in what can only be termed a nightmare of a swimsuit round.

One big splash later, I was there. In the pool, swimming, happy.

Water Baby! :o)

His fleet is bigger than mine...I wanna new one!

Airline companies....now this has to be the latest in keeping-up-with-the-Kumars! Everyone is doing it...beer barons, maharajas...am sure you and I will be the next!

Here's my vision for my airline company : Taz Air - "Fly However You Want!"

• Budget option fly-it-yourself two seaters, with packs of peanut butter sandwiches and tea under the seats (disastrous results if used as parachutes),
• Family flying by hot-air baloon, with double-decker baskets (bottom deck with built in library, bean bags, pets and snack counters), and
• The Grand Flying Businessman, which comes with technology that cellphone usage DOES NOT interfere with (for all those who married their phones, or atleast have a torrid affair going), diet meals (we match all them crazy diets out there...you name 'em!), and a laundromat for the exec on the move.

No Ecomony, No Business class ...

**Dopey grin on face, with brain-in-cloud look in eyes**

Over and Out.

Radio Silence

On account of certain vital cogs in the wheel deciding to resign and move on in Life, Taz is up to her neck, her halo and her guardian angel (he usually hovers at 15ooo feet) in work, work and more work. So not be expecting anything out of her! No brilliance, no opinions, no rants, no raves...nothing...not a peep. Nada. Zip.

The Taz has left the room, Ladies and Gentlemen.

And will think about coming back in only after a week or so....till then, be good, play hard, and don't do anything I wouldn't do!

Cooking...Crab-style

All women can cook. And cook well.

At least, that is what most people take for granted here, this being a country of major stereotypes and gender typecasting. That's not to say that women in India have not progressed out of the kitchen and into the workplace, and have not made a mark in the world and build a space for themselves in a society dominated by the male psyche.

That's not it at all.

What it is, is that this crab never really progressed from the workplace into the kitchen. And cannot cook. Not well at all.

My forays into the kitchen (usually on account of ill-fated enthusiasm) have ended in feasts of:

1. Aloo a la Crème (Potato paste with garnish)
2. Carrot Morukolumbu (Sweet carrot chunks in gravy of yoghurt and coconut milk, tempered with dried red chillies)
3. Khichda (Spicy Steamed Rice and Lentil paste - one portion feeds family of ten)
4. Pasta Indienne (Fettuccine dressed in white sauce, made of milk and Maggi-style masala tastemaker)

And yet, am preparing for yet-another charge of the light brigade when I dish up dinner for 8 this weekend. Methinks Peas Pulao, Mutton Curry and Kashmiri Dum Aloo. And maybe, keeping the general good of mankind in mind, I just may use actual recipes. From actual cook books, this time

Ah, the tenacious spirit of the Crab...May I marry a man who can cook. And cook well.

Testing Flickr - Volume Two

Testing Flickr - Volume Two,
originally uploaded by Taz Snow.

Testing out the posting by email option here...this time with his

majesty, Charlie 'Stupid' Brown! Love this crazy dog...!

Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish.

At the risk of having a brick thrown at my head for using this blog to share an email forward, I am going to just that...this commencement address by Steve Jobs hit a chord somewhere in me, and I just have to share it:

"Stanford Report, June 14, 2005

’You’ve got to find what you love,' Jobs says

This is the text of the Commencement address by Steve Jobs, CEO of Apple Computer and of Pixar Animation Studios, delivered on June 12, 2005.

I am honored to be with you today at your commencement from one of the finest universities in the world. I never graduated from college. Truth be told, this is the closest I've ever gotten to a college graduation. Today I want to tell you three stories from my life. That's it. No big deal. Just three stories.

The first story is about connecting the dots.

I dropped out of Reed College after the first 6 months, but then stayed around as a drop-in for another 18 months or so before I really quit. So why did I drop out?

It started before I was born. My biological mother was a young, unwed college graduate student, and she decided to put me up for adoption. She felt very strongly that I should be adopted by college graduates, so everything was all set for me to be adopted at birth by a lawyer and his wife. Except that when I popped out they decided at the last minute that they really wanted a girl. So my parents, who were on a waiting list, got a call in the middle of the night asking: "We have an unexpected baby boy; do you want him?" They said: "Of course." My biological mother later found out that my mother had never graduated from college and that my father had never graduated from high school. She refused to sign the final adoption papers. She only relented a few months later when my parents promised that I would someday go to college.

And 17 years later I did go to college. But I naively chose a college that was almost as expensive as Stanford, and all of my working-class parents' savings were being spent on my college tuition. After six months, I couldn't see the value in it. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life and no idea how college was going to help me figure it out. And here I was spending all of the money my parents had saved their entire life. So I decided to drop out and trust that it would all work out OK. It was pretty scary at the time, but looking back it was one of the best decisions I ever made. The minute I dropped out I could stop taking the required classes that didn't interest me, and begin dropping in on the ones that looked interesting.

It wasn't all romantic. I didn't have a dorm room, so I slept on the floor in friends' rooms, I returned coke bottles for the 5¢ deposits to buy food with, and I would walk the 7 miles across town every Sunday night to get one good meal a week at the Hare Krishna temple. I loved it. And much of what I stumbled into by following my curiosity and intuition turned out to be priceless later on. Let me give you one example:

Reed College at that time offered perhaps the best calligraphy instruction in the country. Throughout the campus every poster, every label on every drawer, was beautifully hand calligraphed. Because I had dropped out and didn't have to take the normal classes, I decided to take a calligraphy class to learn how to do this. I learned about serif and san serif typefaces, about varying the amount of space between different letter combinations, about what makes great typography great. It was beautiful, historical, artistically subtle in a way that science can't capture, and I found it fascinating.

None of this had even a hope of any practical application in my life. But ten years later, when we were designing the first Macintosh computer, it all came back to me. And we designed it all into the Mac. It was the first computer with beautiful typography. If I had never dropped in on that single course in college, the Mac would have never had multiple typefaces or proportionally spaced fonts. And since Windows just copied the Mac, its likely that no personal computer would have them. If I had never dropped out, I would have never dropped in on this calligraphy class, and personal computers might not have the wonderful typography that they do. Of course it was impossible to connect the dots looking forward when I was in college. But it was very, very clear looking backwards ten years later.

Again, you can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something - your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life.

My second story is about love and loss.

I was lucky – I found what I loved to do early in life. Woz and I started Apple in my parents garage when I was 20. We worked hard, and in 10 years Apple had grown from just the two of us in a garage into a $2 billion company with over 4000 employees. We had just released our finest creation - the Macintosh - a year earlier, and I had just turned 30. And then I got fired. How can you get fired from a company you started? Well, as Apple grew we hired someone who I thought was very talented to run the company with me, and for the first year or so things went well. But then our visions of the future began to diverge and eventually we had a falling out. When we did, our Board of Directors sided with him. So at 30 I was out. And very publicly out. What had been the focus of my entire adult life was gone, and it was devastating.

I really didn't know what to do for a few months. I felt that I had let the previous generation of entrepreneurs down - that I had dropped the baton as it was being passed to me. I met with David Packard and Bob Noyce and tried to apologize for screwing up so badly. I was a very public failure, and I even thought about running away from the valley. But something slowly began to dawn on me – I still loved what I did. The turn of events at Apple had not changed that one bit. I had been rejected, but I was still in love. And so I decided to start over.
I didn't see it then, but it turned out that getting fired from Apple was the best thing that could have ever happened to me. The heaviness of being successful was replaced by the lightness of being a beginner again, less sure about everything. It freed me to enter one of the most creative periods of my life.

During the next five years, I started a company named NeXT, another company named Pixar, and fell in love with an amazing woman who would become my wife. Pixar went on to create the worlds first computer animated feature film, Toy Story, and is now the most successful animation studio in the world. In a remarkable turn of events, Apple bought NeXT, I retuned to Apple, and the technology we developed at NeXT is at the heart of Apple's current renaissance. And Laurene and I have a wonderful family together.

I'm pretty sure none of this would have happened if I hadn't been fired from Apple. It was awful tasting medicine, but I guess the patient needed it. Sometimes life hits you in the head with a brick. Don't lose faith. I'm convinced that the only thing that kept me going was that I loved what I did. You've got to find what you love. And that is as true for your work as it is for your lovers. Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. As with all matters of the heart, you'll know when you find it. And, like any great relationship, it just gets better and better as the years roll on. So keep looking until you find it. Don't settle.

My third story is about death.

When I was 17, I read a quote that went something like: "If you live each day as if it was your last, someday you'll most certainly be right." It made an impression on me, and since then, for the past 33 years, I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: "If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?" And whenever the answer has been "No" for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something.

Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important tool I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything – all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure - these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.

About a year ago I was diagnosed with cancer. I had a scan at 7:30 in the morning, and it clearly showed a tumor on my pancreas. I didn't even know what a pancreas was. The doctors told me this was almost certainly a type of cancer that is incurable, and that I should expect to live no longer than three to six months. My doctor advised me to go home and get my affairs in order, which is doctor's code for prepare to die. It means to try to tell your kids everything you thought you'd have the next 10 years to tell them in just a few months. It means to make sure everything is buttoned up so that it will be as easy as possible for your family. It means to say your goodbyes.

I lived with that diagnosis all day. Later that evening I had a biopsy, where they stuck an endoscope down my throat, through my stomach and into my intestines, put a needle into my pancreas and got a few cells from the tumor. I was sedated, but my wife, who was there, told me that when they viewed the cells under a microscope the doctors started crying because it turned out to be a very rare form of pancreatic cancer that is curable with surgery. I had the surgery and I'm fine now.

This was the closest I've been to facing death, and I hope its the closest I get for a few more decades. Having lived through it, I can now say this to you with a bit more certainty than when death was a useful but purely intellectual concept:

No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don't want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life's change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it is quite true.

Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma - which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of other's opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.

When I was young, there was an amazing publication called The Whole Earth Catalog, which was one of the bibles of my generation. It was created by a fellow named Stewart Brand not far from here in Menlo Park, and he brought it to life with his poetic touch. This was in the late 1960's, before personal computers and desktop publishing, so it was all made with typewriters, scissors, and polaroid cameras. It was sort of like Google in paperback form, 35 years before Google came along: it was idealistic, and overflowing with neat tools and great notions.

Stewart and his team put out several issues of The Whole Earth Catalog, and then when it had run its course, they put out a final issue. It was the mid-1970s, and I was your age. On the back cover of their final issue was a photograph of an early morning country road, the kind you might find yourself hitchhiking on if you were so adventurous. Beneath it were the words: "Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish." It was their farewell message as they signed off. Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish. And I have always wished that for myself. And now, as you graduate to begin anew, I wish that for you.

Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish.

Thank you all very much. "

Testing Flickr

Mom-Dad-TigerHillDarjeeling-1980,
originally uploaded by Taz Snow.

Testing out Flickr's photo posting tools...hope this works better than Picasa!

For those who have never met them, this be my mom and dad, way back in 1980...wot a couple, I say! :o)

Carpe Jugulum

I finally read a Vampire - sorry, Vampyre! - book that did not turn my blood to ice and did not leave me rigid with fear. Thus far any mild wave in the direction of elongated canines, and related gore, Buffy inclusive, has typically left me sleepless (atleast till I drop off out of sheer exhausion...fear just has to wait till I wake up!), shaky and apt not to look too closely at mirrors. Never know whose reflection I will not see in there!

But Terry Pratchett gives Vampyres a whole new spin...I don't know how he managed it, what with all the usual aspects of vampyre lore and then some. But I not only managed to get through the book with both my jugular and sanity intact, I also got through two nights of sleeping next to the window (one, in an empty house, all on my ownsome!), and actually woke up fighting fit! And no, that was not because I turned into a bloodsucker over night! For someone who can't even have Bram Stoker kept in visible range, this is a spine-strengthener of huge proportions! Don't get me wrong...this is not to say the book isn't good; it is so good I intend to go back and read it again.

All I can say is...Carpe Pratchett! And when next I meet a Vampyre, I may just offer it a nice cup of tea!

Flat Fret

Do you sometimes get the feeling that you are not quite sure if you are coming or going? Do you sometimes worry about meeting yourself in the midst of all the coming and going?! I sure do! Atleast, these days!

I am going mildly crazy (hah!), racing against time, getting things in place for the housewarming at my parents' flat tomorrow. Its Murphy's Law all over again! Between the electrician and the carpenter and the painter, and all the things they are wonderful at getting wrong, I am edging closer and closer to meltdown.

Work at office is but a brief break from chronic marble-loss...in another couple of hours, I am going to be back at the flat, courting disaster all over again. This is a totally different side to the Great Game!

Wish me luck...

The Story of Creation - Book of the Foodies!

I have to thank Vee for sending this out today; it came as a very welcome chocolate swirly topping on a day filled with numbers, numbers and oh, so many more numbers! So am sharing this here, for all you Foodies out there...

"In the beginning, God created the Heavens and the Earth and populated the Earth with broccoli, cauliflower and spinach, green and yellow and red vegetables of all kinds, so Man and Woman would live long and healthy lives.Then using God's great gifts, Satan created Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream and Krispy Creme Donuts. And Satan said, "You want chocolate with that?" And Man said, "Yes!" and Woman said, "and as long as you're at it, add some sprinkles." And they gained 10 pounds. And Satan smiled.

And God created the healthful yogurt that Woman might keep the figure that Man found so fair. And Satan brought forth white flour from the wheat, and sugar from the cane and combined them. And Woman went from size 6 to size 14. So God said, "Try my fresh green salad." And Satan presented Thousand-Island Dressing, buttery croutons and garlic toast on the side. And Man and Woman unfastened their belts following the repast.

God then said, "I have sent you heart healthy vegetables and olive oil in which to cook them." And Satan brought forth deep fried fish and chicken-fried steak so big it needed its own platter. And Man gained more weight and his cholesterol went through the roof.

God then created a light, fluffy white cake, named it "Angel Food Cake," and said, "It is good." Satan then created chocolate cake and named it "Devil's Food."

God then brought forth running shoes so that His children might lose those extra pounds. And Satan gave cable TV with a remote control so Man would not have to toil changing the channels. And Man and Woman laughed and cried before the flickering blue light and gained pounds.

Then God brought forth the potato, naturally low in fat and brimming with nutrition. And Satan peeled off the healthful skin and sliced the starchy center into chips and deep-fried them. And Man gained pounds.

God then gave lean beef so that Man might consume fewer calories and still satisfy his appetite. And Satan created McDonald's and its 99-cent double cheeseburger Then said, "You want fries with that?" And Man replied, "Yes! And super size them!" And Satan said, "It is good." And Man went into cardiac arrest.

God sighed and created quadruple bypass surgery. Then Satan created HMO's. "

Lunchtime Lament

I don't know about you, but come lunchtime, I absolutely detest having to eat on my own. Absolutely. Detest. As in Hate. As in Won't Do It. And Will Stay Hungry, even!

I have to have someone to go to lunch with...and not random strangers who share my table, mind you. This has to be a friend, or collegue, or customer, or partner, or even my dog! And a book will just not cut the mustard, here.

This written-in-rock stance, funnily enough, does not apply to breakfast, elevenses, teatime grub, dinner, and midnight snacks. Those I breeze through on my own. Prefer to be alone, even, sometimes. Catch up on all that reading or make those phone calls that need to get out of the way.

But lunch is another matter. Why? Search me! That's just the way it is :o(

Lazy Sunday

After a really long time I spent yesterday doing almost absolutely nothing. Watching movies, sleeping, reading, more movies, more sleeping....A Totally Lazy Sunday. The best kind there is.

Unplugged and Unfettered

You look so calm and serene, said a colleague of mine yesterday, commenting on the total peace with which I was going about my day.

I smiled. For I had found the secret to serenity in today's world.

No, I had not graced any 'Art of Living' courses held by multiple 'Shris' nor had I attained religious enlightenment. And I certainly hadn't sold any Ferraris.

All I had done was something totally in character, for me, as anyone who knows me will agree. I had locked my keys in my room. Keys inside, Lock outside. And that wasn't even the best part! Said keys were in my purse. Along with my wallet. And Cellphone.

There...I've just let the cat out of the bag! Or cellphone, in my case.

My life has become so dependent on that shrill piece of plastic, without my noticing, that I HAVE TO BE constantly connected. What if my mom calls? What if my boss has to reach me? How will that delivery boy get here, if he can't call me?! What if my friends can't find me?! I have rarely stirred without carrying my 'phone...exception only being when I am in the washroom. I even awake-arise to the screaming of my 'phone alarm!

To have this keystone (millstone?) suddenly disappear, actually gave me a feeling of relief so profound, I never realised how completely sick I have actually become of being online and reachable. I could go where I wanted, when I wanted, and anyone who wanted to speak to me just HAD TO WAIT till I got around to calling them. If at all. If this doesn't loosen the fetters on the soul, I don't know what does (No Vee...chocolate doesn't even come close!)

Don't just take my word for it...go lose your cellphone for a day, and see if you don't feel a few years younger! **

I had my moment of peace yesterday and, though I am back online today, I am turning over a whole new leaf! My soul no longer dances to the tunes of a cellphone. Hah!

**DISCLAIMER: Not to be attempted if you are one of those poor things who have sold their souls to the Mobility Devil. This writer is not responsible for any consequences arising from such a situation!

'Revenge of the Lightsabers' or 'Slap her, she's Mad'

Okay, have just been out in Cyberspace courting disaster. Allow me a moment to stop and catch my breath...and make sure my lightsaber is near at hand.

Before you start wondering, you should know that I have just been telling Axe and Arun what I really thought of 'Revenge of the Sith'. And in a seemingly traitorous move to the Dark side of the Force, I have just told them that the movie.....sucked.

Hold! Don't you be slapping me or flashing that lightsaber! Hear me out.....

I have always been totally taken in by Star Wars, and more so with the concept of the Jedi and the battle against the Dark Side. So it's a complete given that the Faustian fall of Anakin Skywalker has me watching with wide eyes and bated breath. Not to mention trying to find out how Luke and Leia came to be separated though they be twins. And not to mention wanting to know why Yoda and Obiwan were in exile, and how the Jedi were *wiped out*. All of that totally has me hooked and well reeled in.

In theory.

In terms of actually seeing all this played out on the widescreen, I have to say that George Lucas fell short...way short. For someone who grew up with the original trilogy and has the character cast burned across her brain (or something like it!), the character portrayals in 'Revenge of the Sith' (and indeed parts 1 and 2) leave much to be desired. Or as I would put it, require 'willing suspension of disbelief'. I could imagine the anguish that drove Anakin, or the sense of betrayal that Obiwan felt, or the feeling of failure that overcame Yoda. But what I knew to be happening, and what I was being shown just did not come together the way it did in the originals. The movie just...lacked soul.

For me. Star Wars will always be parts 4,5 & 6. And I think I am going to always regret seeing parts 1,2 & 3. I would have been better off having my brother tell me the story...as he does most of the time.

Sigh.

Defenestration of Physics

I come back to what seems to be turning into my favorite conversation piece - the state of water supply, and pipes, at Basecamp Rooftop. Today, be prepared to be baffled and to have all those hard-learned concepts of Physics go flying out the window.

Why? Because only at Basecamp Rooftop can you open the hotwater tap, and have scalding water come jetting out of the adjecent cold water outlet. On Tuesdays and Thursdays. The rest of the week the hot water actually flows out of the designated tap.

I kid you not! It all depends on the mood swings of the geyser, see ; it switches outlet pipes faster than most women switch footwear, or boyfriends. So folks who've been wondering about those splatter shaped burn-marks on my hand, know that they come from playing a losing game of Russian Roulette with a capricous set of pipes and taps.

I should seriously consider bathing in sand. Or milk. Or driving through a car-wash in a convertible.

Traffic Police.VS.Toddlers

Here's a novel idea - let's battle increasing traffic congestion in the city by cracking down on schools. It's so simple, even a moron could make it work! Maybe that's why we have morons working it.

How's that, again?

Let me start at the best place possible...the beginning. In response to growing congestion on the roads at the heart of the city, and in a bid to free space on our roads, the City Traffic Police and the State Government have brought about an order to private schools in the city to change their timing and transport rules, and to set up no-parking zones around the school. The sum total of which is "Take a bus to school, or pay a fine". Which same means that a penalty will be slapped on parents who violate said rule, and actually commit the crime of dropping their darlings to school, in a car.

The leading light of public transport, the BMTC, is offering exclusive school buses, at subsidised rates, and schools are expected to leverage this to ensure a system of transport is provided to the students. It is extremely illuminating that only 10 out of the 350 private schools have even given this offer time of day. One might add that this is the same BMTC that manages the City Bus Transport system, which is demonstrably ill-connected, under-resourced and one of the millstones around the neck of infrastructure improvement.

Oh, I am all for increased use of Public Transport Systems - it is a way forward that is lit by the successes of many cities around the world that continue to provide for their public. But I draw the line at this. The traffic police have no standing to tell Schools how to function. Not beyond the advisory level. And certainly not when no motion has even been made to address the true issues at the heart of the matter. Issues such as a lack of efficient public transport systems in the city and suburbs, increase in the number of private cars on the road and a total absence of car-pools, uncontrolled and unplanned growth of business areas across the city...I could go on and on!

Why target schools and the children? How practical is to ban cars near schools and to fine parents? Is it fair to expect parents to put a toddler fresh in kindergarten, who is terrified of leaving home, on a bus that most adults choose not to board? No doubt this does not necessarily apply to the older children. But what about those areas, nestled in the folds of the city where buses do not venture? How do those children get to school?

Why not start with the huge office complexes in the city? Where every employee drives his or her vehicle to work? Why not look at the booming malls and multiplexes, which have such a paucity of parking space it stopped being funny even before they were inaugurated? Forget paucity, some of these places haven't even planned for parking - they expect people to park on the roads. The same narrow roads that the traffic police are try to decongest. One ofcourse must not omit to mention the deep city planning that takes place when such complexes are sanctioned....right at the junction of main arterial roads. Where all incoming and outgoing traffic effectively sidelines thoroughfare.

It seems to me that both the Police and the Government are losing sight of the core realities and are playing at solving the infrastructure issues of the city. It isn't easy to manage a city of this size - penalizing the citizens, especially the younger ones, is no way to solve the problem. This latest idea is a fix, at best, and a bad one at that.

In this case of Traffic Police versus the Toddlers, it will be the City that loses.

Paradise Regained

Dare I say it? Happy days are here again!

Temperature levels have regained their sanity and are now cruising comfortably in the lower twenties, while night-time rains keep you deliciously cool when you are asleep. And mornings are such a treat to wake up to!

I am in love with the weather :o)

Hot, Humid, Hell on Earth

"Sunshine is delicious, rain is refreshing, wind braces up, snow is exhilarating; there is no such thing as bad weather, only different kinds of good weather" said John Ruskin.

What an ass.

Average tempratures in these parts have been flirting with the forties, and this city is one of the few where the humitidy does not hit you in the face like a solid wall of misery.

I have just spent the last week traveling around the country, and the weather story just gets worse. Hot. Humid. Hell on Earth.

And when the Sun tires of baking and broiling you, Master Hail hails you from afar, tossing pellets of ice that come at you out of gale-force winds. The rain doesn't even have time to hit the ground before its swept away.

In the spirit of total understatement, all I can do is echo Jane Austen: "What dreadful hot weather we have! It keeps me in a continual state of inelegance."

Tenor of Human Thinking and the Horse's Rear End

This is a brilliant piece that came to me through a set of email forwards, the kind where you can never quite figure out who the original source or author is. So here's to that anonymous soul who managed to beat down his or her normal human tendencies, to bring us that much closer to the horse's ass! Read on...

"Does the statement, "We've always done it that way" ring a bell?

The US standard railroad gauge (distance between the rails) is 4 feet, 8.5 inches. That's an exceedingly odd number. Why was that gauge used? Because that's the way they built them in England, and English expatriates built the US Railroads.

Why did the English build them like that? Because the first rail lines were built by the same people who built the pre-railroad tramways, and that's the gauge they used.

Why did "they" use that gauge then? Because the people who built the tramways used the same jigs and tools that they used for building wagons, which used that wheel spacing.

Okay! Why did the wagons have that particular odd wheel spacing? Well, if they tried to use any other spacing, the wagon wheels would break on some of the old, long distance roads in England, because that's the spacing of the wheel ruts.

So who built those old rutted roads? Imperial Rome built the first long distance roads in Europe (and England) for their legions. The roads have been used ever since.

And the ruts in the roads? Roman war chariots formed the initial ruts, which everyone else had to match for fear of destroying their wagon wheels. Since the chariots were made for Imperial Rome, they were all alike in the matter of wheel spacing.

The United States standard railroad gauge of 4 feet 8.5 inches is derived from the original specifications for an Imperial Roman war chariot. And bureaucracies live forever.

So the next time you are handed a specification and wonder what horse's ass came up with it, you are thinking on the right lines, because the Imperial Roman army chariots were made just wide enough to accommodate the back ends of two war horse horses.

Now the twist to the story: When you see a Space Shuttle sitting on its launch pad, there are two big booster rockets attached to the sides of the main fuel tank. These are solid rocket boosters, or SRBs. The SRBs are made by Thiokol at their factory at Utah. The engineers who designed the SRBs would have preferred to make them a bit fatter, but the SRBs had to be shipped by train from the factory to the launch site. The railroad line from the factory happens to run through a tunnel in the mountains. The SRBs had to fit through that tunnel. The tunnel is slightly wider than the railroad track, and the railroad track, as you now know, is about as wide as two horses' behinds.

So, a major Space Shuttle design feature of what is arguably the world's most advanced transportation system was determined over two thousand years ago by the width of a horse's ass."

Parallel Possessions

It was that all-time winner of magic words; the one that quickens the step and turns a sparkle in the eye to an anticipatory gleam. At least for all women.

SALE! ("50% Discounts" and "Stock Clearance" come in a very close 2nd and 3rd, in this race to win a woman's heart...and pocketbook!)

There is was, one of the first multi-brand shopping complexes this city has seen, clearing its stock prior to moving to a new location. So, of course we had to go pay homage to its long and much-loved life. The Rooftop Duo, out on a shopping spree, the best adrenalin rush one can get in the middle of a working week!

Much time passed, spent in happy activity, punctuated by many "Wow!"s and "Will you look at the color!" and "Do you have this in a size 36?"s and "I HAVE to have this"s and ''Hey, I saw that first!"s....the grammar & vocabulary of the Women's Sale, a language foreign to any creature male. Finally, exhausted from a few hours of zipping between racks, laden by many pieces of clothing and shoes and whathaveyous, we turned up at the billing counters like a pair of drained dynamos. Smiled at each other and shared our total thrill at having picked up so many steals. What joy! What fun!.......What RUBBISH I SAY?!

AAARGH! It was the worst thing that could ever happen ! No...Worse-er!

Every piece of clothing and every pair of shoes we had just bought and bagged...was identical. Completely. Totally. In color, design, style, though maybe not size... Calamity! We were going to be in blooming uniform! And the sale had a no-return policy!

We managed to make our way home, and there we realised that we had done this before. With lots of other stuff! Tapes, cds, books, curtains, you name it! Post its even! Ok, maybe that one was a bit much....but you see what I'm getting at. We just seemed to have the same taste in almost everything. Almost.

Anyways after we calmed down, we figured maybe it wasn't all that bad. After all, we didn't work in the same company, had different friends, and hung out at different places. So maybe we could get away with it.

This remains to be seen though, but Hope Springs Eternal! And for now, we are just going to check what the other is wearing before stepping out for the day!

Biting the Hand that Feeds

Oh boy, do I know that one! Not because I have ever done that to anyone, but because I have had it done to me. And not just the hand, mind you...feet even! And boy, can it be painful! (well, maybe not as painful as lisening to a song called 'Hand That Feeds' by some band called 'Nine Inch Nails', but pretty close. Drive those nine inch nails through my head, why don't you! In fact, I started thinking about this when the darn song started its 'biting' this morning, when I was working to the sounds of LaunchCast)

What am I talking about? Well, m'dear, if it ain't evident by now, I guess I'm-a just gonna have to spell it out for you. Charlie. And Bruno. My Dogs. My honest-to-goodness pedigree Great Indian Street Dogs.

Sweetest, funniest, friendliest dogs you ever played tickley-tummy with! The kind that pull long faces and teary eyes when you are not in town, and greet you with great big grins and a tongue-full-of-drool face slather the minute you hove into sight. The kind that howl 'Good Morning!' and curl up on your feet when its time to go goodnight. The kind that will chase their own tails around the bend, and look extremely hurt when they actually manage to catch up.

But come mealtimes, you better have a darn good reason for hanging around the food bowl! That's when the porki-kanthri-naayee surfaces and drowns out the powder-puff you were playing ball-toss with an hour ago. It starts with the tail swishing low, and the eyes looking up at you from under the brows. If by then you haven't got it into that lump you call a head that you should be atleast a couple feet away, if not in the next room, then you will probably try something totally imbecilic like reaching down, scratching the ears and saying 'Goo' boy! goo' baby! eatcha food!'. And 'goo baby' will promptly attach to whichever appendage happens to be closest (we, girls, definitely have it safer where this is concerned! OUCH!).

In my case, that turned out to be my hand. Once, when Bruno was a puppy. And another time it was my foot, when I didn't realise that the idiot was under the table and eyeing a slice of bread that some homicidal maniac had dropped on the floor. I know my brother got nipped somewhere on his calf, atleast a couple times. And the maid got a headstart on the next year's marathon, once!

Funny thing though, was that neither dog ever seemed to realise that they actually bit someone. Right after breakfast/lunch/dinner, or whichever meal you happened to season, you were sure to get a lick and a cuddle. Duh? What was this?! Tough Love?! Good Dog, Bad Dog?!

Whatever it was, Bruno lived a fairly long, happy and well-seasoned life. And Charlie, who came after, has grown out of meal-time biting. Now he just nibbles whenever he can, and its always done while he is gazing soulfully up at you. Sort of like doggie-style Anaesthesia....the dopey look to make sure the teeth don't hurt. Don't we wish!

And so Life goes on...with Charlie biting not just the hand, but the foot (especially the toes and the heel!), the ear, the nose, and then migrating onwards to the slippers, the carpet, the rocking chair, the doorstop....

You get the picture.

Soul-1, Wimp-0

It's that time of year again, when Flora and Fauna are popping up to greet the Sun, when the Summer Ozone is fairly crackling with the pent-up energy of the Winter past, and when Souls are stirring all across the firmament. And when my own Soul decides that it's time to come out of hibernation and greet the First Buds of Spring (my Soul operates on Time from another Dimension - Quantum Time, if you will!). It's time to try something new and stir both mind and body. It's time to give in to the Quest.

What Quest? you ask. Well, the Quest for something I haven't had the time, energy, spine or sense to try before. Or perhaps, lack of sense. In the past it's been bunjee jumping in Bangalore, white-water rafting at Dandeli, trekking in the hills around Edukumeri, Spanish Language Classes and Chinese Cuisine. Whether or not I actually go through with the Quest, though, is a matter for another day and discussion!

This year, however, the Soul has been more decisive than I would normally like. And, for me, debating the Quest, with something so deep inside me that I cannot even grab its nose and give it a good tweak, is no mean feat. And as my Soul is as stubborn and pig-headed as I am, suffice it to say I beat me at my own game. And the end result, of these last few confusing comments, is that I am now trying to sign up for Tai Chi classes half-way across town.

Wimp. I can hear you thinking it! Of all the things I could have quested for (is that word right?) Tai Chi has to be on a plane that even my Soul's dimension does not normally drop down to. Why could I not have just signed up for High-impact Aerobics, or Hammer tossing, or something that actually sounds like people below the age of 50 will go for. Don't ask. I gave up asking myself this right back there when my Soul was wiping the ground with my face.

And now that I have had time to get used to the idea, that I am actually going to go after this, Tai Chi doesn't look all that bad. Ofcourse, I have only made the acquaintance of the Tai Chi Theory thus far, but I am sure I am going to like it.

Yeah Right. No, seriously! Next to the Vanilla Single Scoop of Aerobic Dancing, Tai Chi has to be the Double Glazed Chocolate Sundae of physical activity. Or Marial Arts. Or Old Folks Fitness.

Ah, I give up. So, I'm a wimp. Atleast I will be a wimp without impact injuries to my knees and brain! There's a thought!

"I'm Back, Baby!!.."

...in the immortal words of Joey Tribbiani! Back, after a stint in the freezer and extensive rewiring to the brain - hopefully this baby will now go from 0 to 120 in 2 seconds, without shooting the engine to hell, or worse!

I am still teeming with ideas and grappling for the words I need, to pin them down, but there's no more panic seasoning the process. Have been ploughing my way through a lot of Terry 'Cor! He's Good' Pratchett, Agatha Christie, Mark Tully, Louis L'amour and David Eddings in the hope that they will help with the fusebox. And I think I may just have found the inspiration to do some serious writing.

That's not say that I am going to go and rip out a hugely fantastic piece of prose, and thereby find the meaning of my Life. I don't intend to go from desk-bound pen-pusher to energy-crackling-around-me-waiting-to-be-released the-world-is-my-backyard key-pounder. But then again, maybe I will mildly wiggle my fingers in that direction...

And till I reach that point, when I quit my job and head for the hills so that I have peace and quiet and NO HORNS PLEASE, am going to keep painting these little pictures of thoughts that keep running through my head and occasionally stop to show off complex skateboard stunts. Don't be surprised if I actually learn to skateboard, in the process.

So, here's to impending insanity and the rush of the ride!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!

...is basically how I have been feeling. Today, yesterday and the day before now. Why? Because the waters of inspiration runneth dry, and total sandblasted landscapes stareth back at me when ever I sit down to write. I've been running into tons of things that I wanted to dash off a paragraph or two about; but once I've popped up Ye Olde Trusty Laptop, all I see is blank white spaces and fingers that refuse to twiddle out the bittiest of bits. This is Writer's Block with a Capital W and Capital B.

So, taking a breather from screaming in panic, inside my own head (try that sometime, the acoustics are to die for!), am now trying to write about trying to write. And trying. And trying. And TRYING. :o( **imagine the tears dripping, down the cheek and off the chin, all on your ownsome - no dearth of waters there**

That's it. Am throwing in the towel. For now. Come back and see me once I've managed to rewire my brain. And pray that I don't fry it in the process.

Future Flash - "What Would You Like To See Today?"

I recently came across this video, whiles bumping my way around the good ole' WWW. Knowing full well that this was an 'artist's impression of Jupiter' sort of flick, I still found myself getting spooked at the prospect of a future with a 'Googlzon'.

Am all for the great technology drive and yelling 'onwards, onwards!', but the prospect of a tailor-made reality is a little too much for me. Call me old-fashioned, but I prefer the truth being out there to the truth being way out there!!

Watch this and tell me you don't see it coming....*shudder*

CDN Lost

Another day passes, and another light is snuffed out. This time, the lost light is that of Professor C.D.Narasimhaiah - teacher, writer, literary giant, champion for the cause of literature and education, institution builder. This time, it hits so close to home that almost anyone who grew up, lived and studied, in Mysore feels the loss keenly.

The Professor was not the typical key figure on the literary and cultural scene, remote and detached from the common man. He was characterized by his 'right-here-right-now', grassroots approach to both Life and Literature. And showcased in his approach by his Dhvanyaloka - a haven for both the learned and the learning. With doors that opened to all, asking only that you have a thirst for knowledge, Dhvanyaloka nestles next to Mysore's Manasagangothri. And the force that drove people to come there, and to look and learn, was an elemental one, known fondly to one and all as just 'CDN'.

I, and innumerable other students, feel the loss of CDN much like one feels the loss of an anchor in a choppy sea. There have been many who professed, but few who taught, many who built institutes, but few who could build an institution. And few who made themselves dear to the community, more by the wealth of their minds. Dhvanyaloka stands today, deprived of the light that shone from its doors. We stand today deprived of a teacher and truly public citizen. Professor CDN, we mourne your loss.

StarofMysore Report

Ugadi

This last weekend was the New Year for some of us down South, so I went on home to spend some time with Mom and Dad and chill with Charlie. The day was marked with Bevu-bella, payasa, habbada oota at a family friend's, and tons of laying around at home enjoying the general ministrations reserved for errant children who only surface once a month or around the festivals.

I got to thinking how it was that there are some of us who actually get to celebrate the New Year 2 or 3 times a year...every year! We have ofcourse Good Old 1st of Jan, followed by Kannada Ugadi, and then Tamil New Year Day (one is Chandramaana Ugadi and the other is Souramaana Ugadi - darned if I remember
which is which). Loads of rituals, family-bonding, food and good cheer. (Which is how I would categorise just about any Indian festival, come to think of it!)

And then there are those of us who mark the passage of time, not in celebrations, but in hunger and penury, in homlessness, with tired eyes and fatigued hearts.

What difference does it make, whether the New year comes with the Solar or the Lunar calendar? What difference does it make to them that the New Year is a time for happiness and promise? While their lives have always held the bevu, with nary a taste of the bella, our Ugadis are markedly sweet.

Why does the New Year come only to some, and pass the others by? And more importantly, why do the rest of us let it be? While some of us greet the New Year with fervor and feasting, some of us remain in the shadows...forgotten.

Yuga-yugadi kaledaru, ugadi marali baruthide
hosa varushake hosa harushava, hosathu hosathu taruthide,
nammanashte marethide
(Sri.D R Bendre)

Families

(Originally written 9th February 2004)

Families can be funny things. Most of us grow up in one, are a part of one, and yet, none of us really have one. Why? Because, when the chips are down, the human race looks out for itself. Alone.

We drift through life, some of us perhaps with more energy than others; and always, always, we like to think we are a part of something, have a role to play somewhere. It could be in a family of friends, a family at work, a family at our favorite restaurant or bar, or even a family of like-minded people across borders. Fraternities. Sororities. Bonds of brotherhood or sisterhood or fellowship. An artificial sense of belonging that seeks to fill the void of any real association.

Shared celebrations and holidays are not all that being a family is about. Yet, that is all that we seek. The camaraderie, the warm glows, the hugs and kisses, the back-slapping and laughter. And what we firmly turn our gaze away from is the sleepless nights, the shared burdens, the fears and grief that leave a bitter taste in the mouth and a chill in the heart. The altercations, the jealousy, the meanness, the spite, the blood and the tears; these are what help us forget that we wanted this family. That we wanted the other side of this coin. That the summer and the winter always follow each other, relentlessly.

We are a selfish species, one that seeks the rainbow on the horizon, but is not willing to walk the back-breaking, foot-sore miles to reach it. We want families that we can laugh with, but refuse to cry with. We want to be families, yet know nothing of what a family is.

Families are funny things. So are we.