The Social Kolaveri!

Last seen, 15 million and counting! The number of hits that Kolaveri garnering smashing all records gathered hitherto by any Tamil song or for that matter, ANY hindi song. Add to this the millions of hits on the duplicated ones and the thousand Kolaveri remakes!! Indeed, Kolaveri this!

But a more interesting number that I came across was the 1 million hits that Ra.One gathered! One million numbers is no speck in the dust but one million after the umpteen times we had to change our TV channels just to force SRK's advertising blitz out of our living rooms meant million numbers isnt all that an Himalayan number.

Enough data and stats for me to rattle some keys on my laptop and waste some of your productive time. The small computer science brain inside tells me this could quite be an epoch in the history of advertising's chequered history. What started in olden Egypt in the form of papyrus rolls, today is a multi million industry and so often a bad 'branding' and reputation could spell the death knell for any company. So often, we have to come to remember a brand not because of the product that it is, but because of an inspired piece of brilliance that an ad film maker would have come up with.

But today, like never before, all the traditional advertisement mediums like print and television are in grave danger of losing their relevance. From a computer science perspective, these mediums represent a one level tree with the second level being constructed only through word of mouth which has a much lower probability compared to the social networks like twitter and facebook.

No doubt, the future of advertising lies in social advertising. But, it would be interesting to know if its really quality material that spreads viral through the social network. Or would we be pushed into a dark world where only the popular rules the roost? Can the social network be hijacked by the marketing gurus to feed us their content?

Personally, I beleive the the viral growth of social networks has led to quality products being given a fillip because of word of the mouth.Or is it really? Or will only the materials which pleases the mass be audible to us?

An exciting period in advertising surely this!

A geeks marriage invitation!

Swing, Speed and Flick!

On a dew kissed night at Eden Gardens, Irfan Pathan was finding his feet back. He had just removed one of the Pakistani openers and the snakes of run rate had just started to raise its hood. The air got denser by cries of the famous Indian cry, “Jeethega Bhai Jeethega,Hindustan Jeetaga!”.The Youhanas and the Younis Khans were the only roadblocks between India and victory,or so did we all think.

A certain 20 year old had other plans. His strokes brought back memories of that left handed wrist artist Saeed Anwar, whom Pakistan missed badly. But, we Indians thought, this lad, like most Pakistanis who would sparkle lighting the hopes of millions only to fade soon. By night, the 90,000 strong crowd had fell silent, a lakh televisions sets which were destined to watch star sports were instead watching start tv. So many more remotes broken. Salman Butt delivered what he promised at the start of innings. Alas, if only he could deliver what he promised at the start of his career.

While, all the former greats laud the decision of the the wise men in a bid to save cricket from falling into corrupt hands, as a cricket lover, I feel cheated. Cheated, I was, not because of the million black notes. Not because of playing with my emotions. Because, Salman Butt, you promised us much more. How much more, I do not know. In sports, its these junctures of careers which are most romantic and there is so much for a fan to expect. A three years later, the scandal would have only blot your character. However, important it is to him, it isnt to me!

I am from India. And a huge fan of Salman Butt. Yes, he has played with the emotions of a million neighbours. He deserves to be punished. But, when he leaves, he leaves behind an untold story. A story, with careful build up,numerous pitfalls and a pheonix rise. So many questions? Would he have eventually become the 'great' batsman that was being predicted? Would he barge his way his way into the pantheon of Zaheer Abbas, Inzaman Ul Haq? Or would he end up the Shahid Afridi way? Form,fitness,focus. Nothing is permanent in cricket.

Yet to think of it, its not Salman Butt who is punished. Its the millions of his fans who lived as him. The millions who waited with bated breath for his signature wristy cover drive, the patient nudging of singles. Its we, the fans who are punished. Its our dream which remains unfulfilled. While its true that no mortal in this world is indispensable, its equally true every human is special in his own special ways. For us, Salman Butt will remain the quintessential Pakistani star who promises you so much only to deceive us in the end.

A broken dream. Wish its only a nightmare. Hope the Sultans of Swing and Speed are back. Those silken wrists!

Agar Saas Kabhi Bahu Naa Hoti....

Another day at Tulsi's home. The adoring daughter-in-law does not lift her eyes beyond her mother-in-law's knees. The Virani household is just beseiged by another problem and Tulsi, the daughter of a pujari is at the helm of it all. Sometimes hated, sometimes loved by the family, her character is elevated to mythical propositions.!

Business as usual, on Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu thi! Could sense a million tears rolling on the wrinkled faces of a umpteen grandmas, the fair and lovely covered faces of the million Bhabhijis watching it. And the tears seem to increase at an logarithmic[sorry for the technical lingo..:P] scale, with every increasing tear in Tulsi's eyes.

For every single person who loves these tear jerkers, there are two people hate it in magnified propositions. The kids perenially started complaining about their moms getting addicted to tvs and paying the least heed to their dinner tantrums. The husbands were irritated that they didnt get their evening chai when they came home after a 'tiring' day! All said and done, imagine a world without the soap operas?!

An idle mind is a devil's workshop they say. Its a petryifying thought to let loose so many maamis, chittis,aajis, aunties, bhabhis to be engaged in gossip, the next favourite passtime after the soaps! Ah,gossip!! While, the gossips now are dominated by whether Tulsi's sarree was looking fine to how cruel the the youngest scion of the Virani family raped the gal, imagine if the gossips had real life characters as the central leads! One day, you talk to a girl on the road and before you reach home, mom will ready with a broom in hand and a question in mouth, “who kaun thi??”. “Mom, friend!”. “Friend, ya girlfriend!! That mrs. Sharma was telling that girl is 'very bad'!! Dare i see you with her again”. Advantage folks!! Every time, you want to know about that pretty lass who has recently come into column.Look no further. Ask mom! Saves a lot of time and sometimes, insult too..

Not just this.! If not hooked to the tv, am sure she would be hooked more to your mobile! Every time the mobile goes beep beep, get ready to churn out a fictitious name from the same sex. Every time, an Aditi messages you, make sure your genes pronounce it as Aditya!! If you really dare to tell her the truth, wouldnt be surprised if either of you land up in the neighbouring hospital the same night! She, for heart attack..and you for bruised hands caused by intense concoction of broomsticks, hot metal rod and sticks typically used for hanging clothes to dry! And for the kids, you are lucky! You will be spared of the teachers rod, albeit at the expense of two more at home.

Girls!! Some special treatment for you! Everytime, you wear that jean which hugs you more than the salwars, all the nighbouring Sharmajis,joshijis and iyer bhabhis are going to peper your mom with stories of how there was another gal in the nieghbourhood who also wore such outfits and later ran away with a guy! There was no way you could ask your mom for that cute dress which your mom's favourite character was wearing.

All this fine, imagine what would she watch if not these soap operas? Aastha TV?? Ramdev Maharaj and his 'breath-taking' skills!?? And yeah, you would never be able to watch television with that oh-so-familiar argument of “Mom, dont you watch television?!”

Sometimes, i feel all the folks who are perenially against these soap opera are people who tried watching them and failed miserably in understanding it. It, indeed is complex. Here is a small excerpt about KSBKBT in wiki,

“Mihir returns from America and takes over the reins of the family business. He goes to the family temple and there he bumps into Tulsi - the daughter of the family pujari. Savita, Daksha and Gayatri plan Mihir's wedding. Mihir meets a prospective bride called Niharika, but when she seems undecided about what she wants to do, Mihir lies to her parents about his affairs in America, and wiggles out of the match. In steps Payal - with a proposal for Mihir. It is soon taken for granted that Payal will be marrying Mihir. But the differences between the two are apparent - and Tulsi and her dad, the pujari talk about this. Payal, in the meantime, goes over to the Virani household and tries to sniff out the undercurrents in the house. Payal snubs Tulsi. When Mihir hears about this, he goes to apologise to Tulsi. Payal, however, does not apologise for her conduct. She does not go over to meet Chirag either - after he is brought home by the police on suspicions of attempting to kill himself, because he has flunked in his exams. Mihir and Tulsi discover that they like each other. Savita stops Tulsi from coming to her house. “

Life is so much better with saas being once bahu!!

Every Class has a….

Contrary to most people, I find the classes at IIITB very interesting. Because, it’s a class of 150 students(not sure, if all the 150 students are human only. I do know some vampires who do not sleep!!), there are a large number of samples whom you can observe to keep yourself amused!(According to a certain GNS Prasanna, increasing the accuracy 10% requires 100 samples.) Err, Before you draw your conclusions, I am not talking about chick watching!! None that way have arrested my eyes still..;)

While, our UG classes were composed of a more homogenous group of ‘kids’, this class can roughly be classified into groups with certain defined characteristics.

1. THE GYAANIS!

This breed of students is the “who’s who” of the class according to the lecturers. Typically, these folks have a work experience of 2 years working in a huge company..(That’s a different story that they got extremely frustrated there to return to academics.!)

How to identify them?

Their eyes are fixed either on the black board…err..smart board or the lecturer and there is an unfailing head nod for every brilliant point that the lecturer makes. They laugh, but only when the lecturer cracks a joke! The only time, they will be seen talking to their neighbor is when the lecturer has ‘explicitly’ asked them to talk to their neighbours.

2. The Wannabe Gyaanis!(The HeadBangers!!)

This is the most interesting breed of characters you can find in the class. This clan’s motive and objectives are as diverse as the methods they employ to prove their Gyaani quotient!

If you just had a glance at them, I wouldn’t be surprised if you mistook the class for a rock concert. Infact, Newton could well be proved wrong about the ‘perpetual motion machine’! Their hands are perennially in simple harmonic motion throughout the class, and I mean it. If you are unfortunate enough to sit besides them, you are also sure that you wont be able to sleep inside the class. These folks constantly have this “Oh!!”…”sss…..”..”Ok!!OK!!” reaction and the decibel levels are adjusted precisely enough for the lecturer to be able to hear it.Some of the other common characteristics in this group is laughing like it’s the first time they have heard a joke when a teacher is rebuking a student, having that *How can you do this!!* look when they see someone snoring in class??

3. Type Writer

This group theoretically, does not have an independent existence of its own and could potentially belong to any group, with a very high probability of belonging to either of the first 2 groups. Btw, I will better stop commenting on these people because on the eve of exams, the best thing to read is inevitably their notes..:P

4. The Sleeping Buddha

Now, this is my favourite group of people for the simple fact that unless they start snoring are the least annoying of all. For one, they do not make me feel guilty of wasting time in their class. That’s a different story about why they sleep in class. A couple of them because, I hear they were debugging a 2000 lined C code, a few after reading the research papers all night, and most of them because they felt the teacher was trying this best to put them to sleep. Did I mention someone dreaming about his gal?:P

Overall, these are the ‘nice’ guys of the class.

5. LiveWire

This is one of the rare breeds of students in class who are extremely vulnerable to being punished by teachers and being hated by the nerds. These noble souls do the yeoman service of trying to convert The Sleeping Buddhas into any of the other class of students through their occasionally witty jokes. However, on their off days, it is extremely tough to tolerate the various Pjs that they generate with such tremendous regularity.

Oops, Last but not the least, there is also a certain guy who is so jobless to ‘observe’ whats happening in the class, and not whats happening with the lecturer!

They come rare, or do they?

The relationship between celebrities and our lives is often complex, interwingled in a complex network of patrochial emotions, colour complexions and somethings, as trivial as sharing the same birth date or same star sign. Neither are these relationships eternal. Or maybe not. A section of people certainly shall overlook the darker shades and love them for what they have been loving them for.

Yet, more often than not, our idols are not loved for what they are more famous for. I love a certain genius called Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar. Or should I say loved?! Yes, I love Tendulkar for all those breath taking strokes which are beyond the realm of other immortals. The Tendulkar who scores centuries at his will inspires awe in me. Those brilliant stories of a teenaged Tendulkar getting hit by a Waqar bouncer and the warrior clinging on the match with blood on his face still evokes goosebumps in me. Did i forget the Sharjah blitz where he cut the likes of Glenn McGrath and Shane Warne to size? Yet, I loved him for something else.

Something that made me feel am him. Something which made me more elated than he was everytime he crossed the three figure mark! It was the distinct blur between the genius and the teenager on the street dreaming about wearing the indian colours which endeared him to me. The Indian middle class had finally its hero. I still remember the saasumas and bahuranis fighting about who the greatest batsman of alltime was? The Great Gavaskar or the then prodigy, Sachin Tendulkar.

It was not only the strokes and records which made him the favourite son of every Indian household. They were other players, the Laxmans and the Azhars who were a conniesseurs delight, the Dravids, the Robin Singhs who sweated and struggled and in some sense truly showed what sports was all about. There also came a certain Prince from Kolkata who brought passion into the game. The youth loved this man. The ones with more grey cells endorsed Dravid. For the artists, Laxman was what they watched cricket for. Yet, Tendulkar was what every mother wished his child was. By Tendulkar, I do not mean wading the bat like a wand. They wanted their sons to be Tendulkars of science, arts, history. Yet, unfailingly, this comparison is decietful. How easily we are trapped to thinking all they meant was being excellent in your profession?

The phenomenon of Tendulkar was much bigger. The middle class hero had finally arrived. He was mild mannered,yet he did not live in his shell. He did not go to the Bishops and the Baldwins! This lad went to the neighbhourhood Shradashram school. He made sure, his first coach earned the adulation he duly deserved. Ramakant Achre had become an household name. The teachers too loved him! Remember, in those days, sports idols was not something that was encouraged. The India in 90s didnt allow you to “stay hungry,stay foolish!”. In some ways, Sachin was a revolution. None of the guys who stormed into the Indian team had ever failed in their high school exam. Yet, Sachin was no rebel to the common man. To them, he was this son of a Marathi professor who went on to make India proud. None of those page 3 pictures for this man! He cried like a child when his dad passed away. Didnt have any of those fancy hairstyles or those wannabe tatoos in his hand. The only time, his photo came in the front pages when he wasnt in his warrior gear, coverd by the navy blue helmet with the Indian flag noticably on top was when he was receiving some award or made a visit to some temple. Yes, he was in some ways the Good Boy! And uncharacteristically, this good boy was not boring. Dravid too, very much the poster boy of Indian cricket. Yet, he was boring to most.

Most people would have chosen to ignore the news about Sachin's new 60 crore rupees mansion. For some reason, I cannot see the halo around Tendulkar anymore. Probably, the same news article with Vijay Mallya as the central character and I would have celebrated it. The show of opulance is not something that we have associated Tendulkar with. He was the middle class hero.

Perhaps, Was.

The search of the middle class messiah still continues....

For how long do i shout?

Whats the coolest thing these days? Wearing a pair of Gucci jeans? That livestrong band? Talking to a couple of chicks(in Tamil, read kadalla podying!) ? Probably not! These things have become more for the wannabes! The latest fad, i believe, is people trying to be cool by flaunting statuses criticizing attacks on the psuedo-intellects! A spontaneous protest where a few glasses broken being branded hooliganism without second thoughts. Whereas a protest, where emotions had to be manufactured and most people who went there was only to be photographed so that they could flaunt it as their DP's to impress their latest muse was branded the second freedom struggle in nation!!

And the icing on the cake is an article by the self proclaimed intellect, who sometimes also claims to be the messiah of the masses, Mrs. Burkha Dutt!! And she says the Indian junta has lost his ability for the intelligent argument and has instead resorted to intolerant ways! But, is there anything else that he can do?

Its a different story when a large majority of folks suscribe your views. Possibly, you will be heard. But if you are a silent minority, will you be heard? The politicians dont need you because your votes wont count, if you have one! The news channel wont reach you, because its more busy with folks who feed them money! Try a 'non-peaceful' protest?!! The police will book you in 'goonda law!'

The only way to publicise your thoughts seems to be a la chappal throwing,breaking window panes of a few even more helpless people! Yeah, this is not right. But where does the common man go? He will surely not win the debate against the more educated folk. While our man is slogging with an auto rickshaw, the so called elite intellectuals have busy honed their skils to talk and talk well too! And they asking the hapless rickshaw drivers to come,argue and differ with them is to ask Muhammad Ali to call a few geeky Iyers into the ring! The outcome, we know!

In some ways, this problem provides a more monsterous anologous in the Maoist revolution. Its the voice of a community long supressed by the rulers convieniently. The only way, their voice found a national stage. Did i hear someone saying dialogue? Dialogue with the politicans? You must be kidding! On one hand of the table, we would have battle hardened politicians and on the other hand, a few tribals. I dont see much scope for imagination of the result.

While a soulution to this problem seems an NP-Complete problem in computer science lingo, we could do better by refraining ourselves from the temptation of painting people who wanted to put their views across in manner, not acceptable by ordinary folk in such pathetic colours.

Wasnt he a bit luckier than you?

Thus mourned the Apple's site “1955-2011”! RIP! Agree! Every wannabe geek outwitting each other on Facebook trying to mourn the deepest way possible! RIP, we said! Agree..But someone said, “End of an era in innovation!!”...Err,WAIT, In a bid to sound cooler, havent we romaticized the Jobs saga to a dream which we so wanted badly!

Cut to the 90s and watch any Bollywood/kollywood/sandalwood(No, I dont mention Hollywood, because I havent seen them!) movies and you find a Hero, typically a brat, who is willing to bash up so many men stronger than him just to protect his love!! Ah, didnt i forget, so often than not, our hero, this dude is a college drop-out!! At around exactly one hour after the movie starts, he loses everything in life. Until, about an hour from here, its all melancholy! Till suddenly, that drop of blood drips from his forehead. Till the villian insults his mother. Till his girl is raped!! The man, comes back. Wins everything. Conquers your heart. Movie Super Hit!!

Isnt the Jobs saga too all about this? An arresting personality with extremely well documented powers of persuasion, possesing amazing amounts of eccentric energy, Jobs was the poster boy that the IT industry badly needed. It had got tired of the “soda-potti”[thick] glass adorned geeks strutting away endlessly on that Vi editor, the species in research labs who didnt understand why the sun rises in the west and whose speech always contained words like Amdalh's law,arrays, Hamilton's problem and ilk. Jobs was the man! He knew it,IT. He could speak to you. He could convince you! But to hail him as a visionary?? To credit the Apple product that you own to him?? For Barack Obama to say, that works become easier because of him?? For people to believe, dropping out of college is cool?

Pursue your dreams he says!! Duh.!! Boy, he was born in US!! You get paid shit good sums for the shit work that you do!! Is he even relevant in India? And chasing dreams reminds me of the countless girls who go to Bombay with Madhuri Dikshit in minds only to end up in Kamathipura and the guys in some garrage! Alas, not everyone who works in a garrage gets to head Apple one day.! In fact, a large measure of the adulation that he recieves, some says is because of his technical 'ingenuity'!! Crap!! I shall show you shit loads of better programmers in your next street. There are some others who call him a 'visionary'!! Err, Really? Is there any single invention which can be credited to him? Please, No Ipads and blah blah! Its a simple Tablet already come up by Microsoft years ago. Am appaled when someone says Ipad is an invention. If indeed that was an invention, what about the thousand papers which come out from the numerous labs where students work for pittance of money and out of sheer love of technology! Well, if you had to credit him. He was an amazing speaker. A person who was at the right time at the right place. An excellent orator that he was, he knew HOW TO SELL!! He was a pied piper! A piper who could make you dance to his tunes. Someone, who knew how to make a bride out of a donkey. An amazely good businessman!

“Stay hungy, Stay foolish!” Again fancy stuff!! Out of so many of the college drop outs how many end up as Steve Jobs! Infact, Steve Jobs as an icon is a creation of our ever lasting fantasy to take the easier route in life. Steve Jobs, Bill Gates, Dhirubhai Ambani possibly because of their rags to riches story are immortalised more than some of their peers like Michael Dell, Richard Stallman and the recent progidy Mark Zuckerberg! Infact, to me it sounds a dangerous precedent to glorify someone to these insane levels. Steve's incomplete dots formed the circle. Will yours?
Infact. It would be a huge disservice to the lakhs of Apple employees whose brains power those lovely machines on your palms. If at all there was something really great about Jobs, it has to be his oratarial skills.An immaculate businessman that he was, a little introspection from our side about the cult image that we have granted him would do no harm!!

P.S: Rip Steve Jobs!

Pennu,bike'uu',ramesh'a',maja madi!!

In that part of India, where wheat sells more than rice, coffee is only for romancing couples, where the dudes look fairer than dough there runs a popular theory of every South Indian being a Madrasi.He inevitably spoke “Kannad”(Kannada,it is!) at home. Tamil to most folks was either Rajnikanth or Jayalilatha! When i was 14, a guy had got admitted in my school.He was from Bangalore. Inevitably, I was forced to talk to him by our well wishers who thought i could help him with the language. And poor fellow, he thought I knew kannada! All that my ears could hear was the extended sound on a few vowels, especially the beautiful ooos added to even the Anglo words. And boy, I didnt decipher a single word! And there grew the urge to learn the language which is my mother tongue's cousin!

What inspired me to write this piece, is to see a few people new to Bangalore struggling with little Kannada picked up somewhere, even fewer who really attempt learning it and the majority of whom are unaware of this great language. Four years ago, when I stepped into a nondescript location called Mathikere, there was hardly anything to inspire me to learn Kannada! I had to explain something specific to a barber and seeing my struggle, the barber offered me options.”Which language boss? Telugu na? Tamilaa? Malayalama? Hindi kya??”! Every auto driver knew Tamil. Every bus conductor understood English. It took me a week to actually realise there were kannadigas in my class! Part of why people Kannada does not follow in a Bangaloreans blood is because of its perception of being E-City! Bangalore is much more than that! Walk through the courteous Jayanagar area, the Pethe areas,drink coffee at MTR. All this would be incomplete without learning Kannada.

What marks Kannada and Kannadigas out from others is the way they accomodate outsiders nto the mainstream society and hence, its no wonder to see the Marwaris selling their wares, the Tamilian holding Tamil Sangams and many a Bihari selling pawns! And so often than not, a metre given is easily converted into a mile! The language, washed by the purest of rivers Kaveri, draped by the Dravidian languages, bejewelled by the pristine Sanskrit, as aromatic as the Coorgi coffee is as meliflous as the beautiful concotion of Carnatic music and Hindustani music playing Jugalbandi with each other.

Open your ears to Kannada and be proud of being a Bangalorean!

Life on the footboard

A Vajra bus passes by.A young college student asks him, “Saar, shivajinagar hogattha?”. He affirms it with a gentle smile, casts an admiring glance at the beautiful red machine as it slids out of the Majestic bus station leaving a trail of black smoke behind. A long wait follows and there follows another bus whose presence is made obvious to everyone by its old engine craving for oil. This time, another man asks him,albiet in a more menancing tone, “Shivaji Nagar hogattha ri!” Again the same affirmation. This time, he is scrambling hard into the bus, the sweat that drips his forehead resembles the blood that he has to shed everyday at work. The younger ones get in soon. He finally gets one foot on the board. That one leg and one hand holds him. It seems hard to beleive that he goes through this everyday.

There is a subtle similarity in his life. He is hanging on to his job with similar uncertainity. The comforts of a Volvo like bus elude him for lack of skills. He has no option but to cling on this hope. Its does not help that his boss knows this too well. Somehow, God doesnt desert him and he reaches him “safely” after struggling with the mud stushed roads. His left eyes can see his wife waiting with the chapathi stick shouting. “Do we realise how much powder I have to buy to clean the stains!”. His right eye can see his wretched boss issuing his nth warning about the unclean dress! His wife doesnt wash his clothes.Does she? After an adventurous journey back home, his 8 year old jumps on the bed and shouts, “Dad, namma metro to be opened shortly in Bangalore!”. Now, this news puts him in a bigger quandry. He can see his son crying for a ride in the metro train. His eyes can imagine this 8 year to become 18 year old sulking in the BMTC that they ordered two years ago while his friends around in Metros and swanky cars. Another smiling affirmation to his son and he thinks, of What bloody use is the Metro to me!!

After finally “settling” he switches on televison and sits down for his humble meal. Barkha Dutt shouts on the top of her voice, “WE WANT ANSWERS FOR THIS!!”. Answers for questions like “Is the current government corrupt!!”..Answers for questions that the entire country knows. He has got used to this daily tamasha!As he is about to put his first morsel into his starved mouth, there is a small headline at the corner of the TV. “Export prices force inflation of food prices.” His stomach is already full without eating! He reaches out to the pillow. He has had enough of the day.

I wish he has a better sun rise! The life of a man trapped in middle class woes!

Four years to remember, a moment to forget, a lifetime to cherish!

Its so ironical in life that Mohammad Azharuddin is remembered more for match-fixing, Indira Gandhi for the dark days of emergency and more recently Manmohan Singh for the 2G scam allegations. Its intrigruing that one moment of rash thought, when the darker side of grey cells impose themselves , in the small evening between day and night when we bid good night to the better ideals of live that we have lived our entire life, it is these moments that dwarf the otherwise better deeds in life.

Four years is not a small time in any mortal's dictionary. Not even in Einstien's who proved time is elastic. We have seen it all. The different seasons in life. The blood red, the soothing blue and the dark black. We have walked together in paths dreaded by most. Paths infected by wild beast, thorns that threatened to paint our body red. We have walked together when the only shade from the world were each other. We have also walked together in the dark nights when the only light emanated from each other. Through days, when we longed to see the night. Through days, when there was not a moment to stand and smile.

Probably, I was mistaken. We had seen all but one seasons. I had never seen a day as dark as today. Its said, dogs run helter skelter during an eclipse. My hands tremlbe as I write this. I wish this is an ecipse. I so, wish. I want to see the light again. Like the wolves hovle, the dark days fermented my mind. Actions which perhaps not worthy of me is what I liked doing. But the day shall not remain dark forever. I shall not hovle forever.

There is so much that hings on what you decide. Four Years to remember, a moment to forget,a lifetime to cherish.

Free Meals

Four eyes glued at the doorsteps, mist eyed, an ocean of expectations beneath, trying to avoid the glaring eyes of “others”, the others being everyone including the radiant sun, the soothing wind. The hair is slowly turning silver. There is a lump in the throat. They are scared. For a fleeting second, some good omen plants a tree of hope in their hearts which the doctor feel is stressed out, owing to years of honest sweat. Alas, the moment does not last long. The slow resignation to fate is imminent. God is not kind, yet they chant his praises with the hope that He will prove He is indeed the kindest, the noblest of what we have ever known. She has promised Him whatever she can, if her ONLY wish is granted. Their only son has gone for a job interview. This is his umpteenth interview without coming home with the offer letter.

Although this scene is “kahani ghar ghar ki”, seldom have people understood the plight of the turmoil. Their son is a first class graduate from a private college without any vices and was once, a very popular and cheerful person. Sometimes, you felt confidence is a trait that would never desert him. Indeed, he never bowed to the customs that an interview dictated. Probably, that was his undoing. There was always a second chance. But, his chance never came. Slowly, the famed confidence deserted him. The tears started replaced the smiles. The romantic FB updates were replaced by subtler and melancholic updates. Every failed interview pushed him into his dungeon more. The number of times he yelled at his parents increased at much as the number of times his jokes started decreasing.

Suddenly, every word hurts a person. Now, when his dad said, “Wish we had a car like them!”, there is a sense that he would never be able to realize his parents dreams. He was an expression of their parent’s dream. Their dream was getting distorted. Their only son was not begging in front of companies for a job. Pity that they cannot let their tears out. Probably, they cry alone, away from everyone. Sometimes, its puzzling trying to figure out who is suffering more, their son or parents.

To them, every relative in a good company now resembles God. Thousands of place, each of them have begged for recommendations. They are prepared to go to any length only for that ONE wish. Every job advertisement is an oasis in this desert of excruciating uncertainty. Every time, the mail box is opened, the hurt pumps a million times faster with the false hope of finding an opportunity only for it to come crashing down in MBps!

He is a job hunter. Till he hunts for his meals…only till..

The Evil hymms, The Satanic Melody

Perhaps, even before you read, I might be dismissed as one of those fellows disgruntled with life looking for a scapegoat on whom I can rest my failure which is becoming increasingly heavy to live with. And more so, when the scapegoat in question is The divine Himself.And in these moments of darkness is when light is recognized in its purity.

To some, God is hope. Yes, indeed He is. But isn’t the hope more often than not false? For every SRK, there are thousands of karims and Sameers who tread the path of hope abandoning the path of rational thinking only to end up at a pity place. As most often would be the case, the theists will attack me with a typically emotional situation. Say, a 70 year old woman holding on to the stick of hope waiting for her long lost son so that she can walk the final third of her life with her hand on him? If God was really compassionate, would he allow her eyes to become misty ever?

It is in such times of despair, the scary hymms sound appeasing. The nights seem more secure than the daylight. The autumn of oblivion is comforting. SATAN IS GOD. Or rather is God Satan? Visit a martyrs home, a home of 17 year girl raped. Visit the heart of a youth who is begging for job? That pain is truth. Love never was truth. God never was. Satan is.

Satan is the balm that every man in darkness cries for. Yes, he is a man made creation. So, was God.

God Is Satan. Satan is God.

The call of the clouds

Simplicity and elegance possibly lies in separation of duties and responsibilities. And that’s probably why democracy represents a more viable option compared to dictatorship.

Internet just shows us how viable it could be commercially. This makes me wonder, if the present day mobile service operations could operate like how the internet did, maybe life would have been better. The service operators like Airtel, Vodafone etc. should be limited to providing hardware network services and nothing more, nothing less. A suitable comparison point is what BSNL’s internet connection is. Only the concept and not the quality of service.All services like calling,texting,storing of contacts could be handled by other companies using the service operator’s networks. The value added services could be provided by these companies. This is akin to Gmail which uses its own servers and we,clients use our network connect to access the service. Cloud computing is an enabler to this technology.

One of the major advantages of this technology would be we could have accounts to call unlike the current technology where sim card plays the pivotal role. In simple words, imagine having a number like an email account protected by a password. If you are struck at some place without your mobile, you could ask any stranger for his phone,login to your account,perform the call and logout. Something akin to an email account.

The dude!

How many nicknames do you have? Four, Five or maybe six!! This guy has lost count of them all! And to the guys who thought Bappi was cool, have a look at him..new clothes daily, customized jewels. The only thing he doesn’t is eat at KFC!! This dude only eats curd rice, much like me..:P.

The folklore has it that, some thousand years ago, this dude fought with his loved one and settled in this mountain called Sheshadri! But being the dude he is, could not live long without his chick! Neither could his chick..:P..Neither could his friends Brahma and Vishnu. So they hatched some plans and brought them together. Now this is what we call friendship!! So all said and done, some thousand years ago, these dude needed some crores of rupees to get ready to be married again.!! Now this is seriously romantic!! Marry once in heaven and get married again in earth….And so he borrowed the money from another dude of his time..Kubera! And supposedly, our dude is stil repaying the money back and we are “helping” him repay it..:P

Although there might be a thousand nay sayers to tell this dude and his legend his overhype, my frank opinion is a visit to his home once in lifetime is surely that everybody must think about. Yes, you will have to walk through vomit kissed floors, rub shoulders with people drenched in sweat, stay awake at odd hours and literally cross seven mountains!! All for one fleeting glance at him.

All said and done, this dude just has an alluring charisma to him which will keep pulling fans till time immemorial..Govinda Govinda!

Dear Mr. Modi and your facist brethren,

I write this letter, first, as a concerned Hindu and then an Indian. But, I am pained to say that you are the biggest enemy to my faith. Sometimes, I wonder if you are a devious design of some evil mind determined to wipe out this sacred religion from my motherland.

Probably, your knowledge of Hindu mythology is poor and so is your knowledge of world history. Revenge, as the Gita says, is the purest human emotion. The most naked of human emotions are triggered when the heart is wounded and the fire of revenge is only extinguished only after an evil of similar or greater measure is done on the forces which cradled the fire of revenge.

I do not fear the Maulanas in the far hills of Kashmir or the bearded gun trotting Muslim in the barren plains of Afghan. I fear the Zameer Khan and Shabnam Shaikh who stays next door to me. I do not fear them for the proximity but am helpless if I have to answer them. The Maulana preaches the radical version of his faith so that even the neighboring village’s Amjad Khan attends his sermon. A la Ramdev attempt at attention seeking! The gunmen in Afghan picked up the gun because he really didn’t know any better means to raise his family.

But my neighbor has seen his sister being raped by the saffron robbed warriors, His sole bread earning son being slaughtered to death. In his eyes, the tears of grief are still alive. The lump in his throat swells with every mention of his son and so does his anger with every mention of your name. Now, Jihad attracts him. The same clergy whom he found ridiculous from the last 40 years has suddenly given meaning to his life in the last 40 years. When 4 years ago, he was told there was a need for an Islamic land, he joked “Are sirf Muslim log honge, to Diwali ko phatake kaise phodenge!”. In every Hindu, he sees a Modi now.

There are so many Zameers and Shabnams in every corner of India who once were Indian muslims. As they say, adversity brings even enemies together. Your deeds brought the Arab Muslim closer to the Indian Musilm. Sir,please stop the Hinduisation of this country any further. I want my Zameer back.

A Hindu.

So near, yet so far….

On the 21^st May,2011, there was an unmistakable passion every time the crowd went wild chanting “Aaar Cee Bee!”. Although RCB ended up being second best in the tournament, RCB had won back its fans heart. The fanatic following that characterizes an RCB team was there for all to see. To me, RCB had already won it.

They say, “When the going gets tough, the tough get going.”. And RCB only epitomized these words. IPL IV started shakily for RCB even before the first ball was bowled. The opposition franchisees bid heavily for Karnataka’s local stars Uthappa,Dravid and Vinay Kumar and eventually RCB had to lose out on Bangalore’s favourite sons. Although it cash a shadow of self-doubt on every RCBian, the emergence of the tall and mean Sreenath Aravind under the wings of Zaheer Khan soon infused the local colour into RCB camp.Indeed, it would be no exaggeration to say Sreenath Aravind was one of the finds of the tournament.

The IPL think tank proved that it was strategically the best in the tournament. Virat Kohli, widely tipped as future Indian captain was the only retained player in the side and at the end of the tournament the gentlemen in RCB would have patted themselves. The youngster not only provided stability to the middle order but also showed glimpses of Jonty Rhodes with his exceptional fielding. And to cap it, he led the side admirably in the absence of RCB’s regular captain, Daniel Vettori who Is one of the finest captains in the cricketing world.

After a lot of talk off the field, finally when the action back it was disaster at the start for RCB. Back to back defeats, must win situation to stay afloat in the competition, questions raised about the team’s composition, fitness of players, the board’s commitment and a serious injury to one of RCB’s strike bowler Dirk Nannes. And so often than not, this was the moment to spur RCB. And in walked a dark burly man from Jamaica, Christopher Gayle. Was he ego hurt for not being picked during the auctions? What did he want to prove the world? What did Dr. Vijay Mallya offer him? Nobody knows! But seldom has the world witnessed imposing himself on a tournament of this stature as Gayle had on IPL IV. Every time the ball kissed Gayle’s brandishing blade, the clouds trembled with the fear of getting hurt. A certain Parameshwaran certainly has tale to tell his grandchildren.

Slowly but surely, the RCB juggernaut fell in place and a beautiful run of 7 victories on a trot which not only is an IPL record also ensured that RCB topped the league table. The manner in which RCB vanquished an MI side which comprised of the likes of Sachin Tendulkar,Keiron Pollard is something every RCB fan will treasure for a long time.Just when dreams of bringing the IPL trophy to namma Bengaluru began to look real, RCB fell short to a much stronger CSK side. Although, RCB was clearly disadvantaged given that it was playing its second high intensity match within 48 hours, staying true to RCB tradition the team and fans accepted it gracefully.

Sure, we didn’t get the trophy but we didn’t hurt our pride either and chant “Aaar Cee Bee” another day..

Twelve to Eighteen

Mom comes back home after paying fees at NMIT and exclaims excitedy,”Rahul..sappadu(lunch in Tamil) costs only 12 rupees in your college. Now am relieved of packing lunch boxes for you!” Little, did I know what was in store? Hate it or love it, the modest lunch still continues to be the block buster in our canteen and I have filled my stomachs innumerable afternoons with the Nitte “delicacies”. Although of late I have shifted my allegiance to the lighter and spicier chats, on 22^nd May,2011 for one last time had lunch. And that’s when I realized, I had to shell out 18 rupees, 6 rupees more than what I did 4 yours ago.Yes, Nitte has indeed come a long way.

Although change is inevitable in any living institution, seldom would any organization have witnessed a change of such humongous propositions as Nitte has and change in a span of 4 years is dramatic to say the least. 17 buses have become 22. 120 hostel rooms have become 160! The two storeyed building has become three! A separate dining hall for hostellers! The one building Nitte now will become a 2 building campus. And the grapevine has that an NRI canteen is under construction and the more interesting news is that a co-ed NRI hostel coming up in namma Nitte! 4 disciplines of engineering which was offered have now grown to 6! A research lab, a satellite tracking centre,innumerable clubs on entrepreneurship, various technical,cultural,extracurricular, cocurricular. You name it… have mushroomed. Some alive, some dead! Lecturers have started coming from IITs and IIScs! How Did I forget THE VTU demon is slayed, for good or bad, I don’t know..

Yet, all these changes are more cosmetic in nature. The biggest change to me is the psyche of the average Nitteite. And the contrast is striking when I compare some of my passed out seniors and the freshers in the college. Nitte’s fabled strikes have become a thing of the past. And the last real “strike” was when I was in first year, i.e. 2007 and from what I recollect, the seniors told me it was a meek replicas of some of the earlier ones. Think of a strike now!

Another thing strikingly absent in present day Nitte day is energy. Anaadyanta ’08….Dancers like Mahesh and Salmaan really got the crowd going. And the crowd came for the fest. Cut to the current fest, the only people glued to the stage were the alumnus. Most of the current students absent or were busy with their “present” other halves..;)

While once, classes were a part of college life, now classes have become college life. The autonomous rules made sure even the baddest boys of Nitte had an attendance of more than 75%. Well, do we have bad boys in Nitte any more?;)

While, most of us may go gaga over Nitte’s satellites, patents,researches,hacks,projects to me, we have lost the Nitte in us.

Did I forget chicks?;)

Finally, its all alone….

Its hardly five hours after the premier event of our branch fest concluded “Chaddi Buddy!” and I cant believe am writing a serious post. The event promised a lot of laughs and did live upto its billing with most of the people enjoying their time. Atleast that’s what they told me…

With no net to while my time in FB, no messages in mobile all I can possibly do are muse something randomly. Unlike some of my usual posts where I touch upon something specific this post will make me type whats running through my mind right now. While it was refreshing to see so many people registering for the fact and the testimony to the fact being that we had to close registrations today even when people were pouring in to register themselves. Now when I sit and reminisce some events over the past 48 hours a deep shallowness descends over me. Its now that I feel life has to be lived alone. I really cant believe I have this thought just after I hosted an event which celebrates friendship.

While this post might hurt my friends I really do feel alone now. Sometimes seeing too much happiness around makes you pity yourself. Possibly this is a similar case. Maybe, I might wake up as the regular old Rahul. But tonight, there is a certain lump in heart..a certain sobering effect..something which makes me retreat to my shell…something which makes me think philosophy..something which makes me pity myself..And this isn’t the first time I have experienced this. And I still don’t know hot to overcome this….

Am I sad? No. Am I happy? No. What do I want to do? Nothing. What is troubling me? I don’t know..What do I want? I don’t know.

I am lonely…Waiting for sleep to give me company….

RaghulG or Raghulji……Yours forever..

I don’t remember my first meeting with her, yet she does it vividly. Her thought doesn’t pass through my mind every day, yet I can hear her silent prayer for my smile to become broader every day. If there is something called love in this world, then it has to be her sweet voice uttering, ““Rahulji, sappada varriya da..:)””.

22 years is a long time. Those shining black hair has turned grey. Those beautiful eyes cant see the far troubles though they still dance to her words. Her wrinkled skin only adds to the beautiful radiation which she possesses in abundance. Meet my patti(grandmom), 64 young who continues to inspire me like no one else, who continues to love me more than anyone else.

I know I can never express this beautiful relationship in words, but fell compelled to write just to fill the void she left in my life when she left for some other place. Separated by a generation the intricacy of the relation could be felt by her soft touch on my shoulders, the longing look on my face as the car drove her away from me, the speed of the car as I felt was faster than ordinary.

Being the eldest grandchild of an extremely huge family, I was her only cynosure for so many years till my cousins were born. Even after my cousins were born, I could see her loving each of us equally with a surgeon’s precision. The old home, the bed time stories seeped in mythology which sounded even more mythical because of her mystifying voice, the curd rice being made into morsels and placing it into each of her star’s hands, her “specials” during festival…..Wish I could rewind my life! But her virtue and experience shone the most when any of us fell ill. The relentless prayers, her untiring efforts to make us comfortable and her soothing words which I really believe was more powerful than the doctor’s cure is something I don’t think anybody can do for me ever.

As, I sit and watch the world go by, I feel blessed to be her grandchild. Infant,kid,boy,teenager..now a man, yet I know I will always be her baby, her Raghulji….:)

Am I useless?

All I see around myself now is water. And the water slowly seems getting taller than me. As I see myself drowning in the ocean of self-pity, all I want to know Is “Am I useless?”.

While I can hear the steady beat of drums surrounding the fest getting momentum, It just dawned to me that for the first time I would not have any role to play in the fest, however trivial it may be. For the first time I wouldn’t play hosts to guests coming from other places. Instead, I feel a guest in my own college fest. I realize that over the years I have earned more enemies than friends, I have probably developed an attitude which nobody likes. Today is when I realize it.

Today is the first night before a college fest that I will sleep without the nervous excitement that surrounds the fest. The first time, I don’t know who is the Chief Guest of my very own college fest for which I was so passionate about. My only dream as a bespectacled first year kid was to contribute something more meaningful when I would leave the college.

As it seems to be, I have lost my way in the sea. And the worst part of the ordeal is to see myself sinking with nothing to do. I don’t know if am correct. But I do believe I still have something to offer in spite of the countless allegations swirling against me. As I gauge, even this piece will be conveniently tagged by people as a publicity stunt.

I still want to see the fest. But the very thought of being a guest in your home advises me to stay away.

Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown..

The King!! – this very word paints a picture of unquestioned authority, regal grandeur, supreme splendor and anything and everything related to royalty. The heir apparent – The Prince is synonymous with chivalry, valour and a nonchalant way of life.

The excitement of being in the foothills of an epoch is a million times more than the satisfaction attained after climbing the peak. A prince’s mind is cluttered by what all he can do, a King’s mind by why he should NOT do. The burden of responsibility, the mountain of expectation is something that the King has to be content with. Without being tarnished by age, without the fear of facing failure life would seem a bed of roses. Little does he know that the thorns prick only the Supreme. The Prince has authority, yet no responsibility. In brief, isn’t his life a honeymoon? Yet, doesn’t every Prince want to become a King soon?

In some ways, a prince exemplifies an ordinary human’s life. Little does he know that the destination he craves for is itself colder than where he is now! While we crave for all the authority, respect and everything wordly little do we realize that it’s a bait for us to fall into a trap of stress, of unwanted responsibility, of wordly pleasure…into a world of darkness. While I write this article, I do realize I have fallen a prey to this bait many times..:)

Just when you thought it’s a compliment..

One of the most clichéd remarks at any social gatherings or reunion parties is the customary “Hey, You haven’t changed in the last 10 years!”. While its met with diplomatic thanks, to me it’s a veiled insult which meant “Dude, you haven’t been wise to learn anything in the last 2 years!”. The sugar coating of the message incited me to think on the interplay between diplomacy and sarcasm.

A deeper thought actually suggests that diplomacy is an intelligent man’s sarcasm. Diplomacy in crude words is encryption of hardened facts thereby seducing the user into a state where he actually accepts the fact which he wouldn’t have if the facts were put threadbare. Its sarcasm at its intelligent best.

Sarcasm according to me is one of the underestimated qualities of a person’s personality. A sarcastic person is usually recognized as an intelligent person by people unless off course when they are the victims of his sarcasm. A sarcastic is usually witty, is a good flirt, has a smart sense of humor and is usually well read. A sarcastic person usually can cut ice with strangers within the blink of an eye.

While I’ve never managed to learn to be sarcastic, one person from who Ive learnt whatever sarcasm I know today is X. Blessed with an extremely sharp sense of sarcasm, just after you thank for her the compliment do you realize you were actually the object of ridicule.

Dhanakawadi’s son

Nested in the southern part of the Punyanagari(Pune) in the vicinity of Sahyadri ranges is a small place called Dhanakawadi where I grew up. It isn’t Deccan which is dotted by colleges one more historical than the other. It isn’t Sahakarnagar, the cultural capital of city. It’s a poor man’s land, a land where I grew up and for which I have respect immeasurable.

In some ways, it is the quintessential lower middle class locality where kids liked playing in the galli more than being hooked to gadgets which even adults fail to comprehend. Ladies discussed more about the rates of vegetables than the latest haircut in town. Coffee for 10 rupees is considered to be a luxury. Talk about Coffee Day!!..That was not for us..:) Yes, I am a proud son of Dhanakawadi, a place which I can call my own and I belong to it.:)

Today in every action of my life, I find Dhankawadi in myself. Even when I see all my friends listening to the hip hop songs in English, I prefer to be drained in the local hits. I still enjoy the local block blusters. To me, a night still starts at 11. I think twice before placing a tip at the table for a waiter. While the so called intellects explain secularism in terms which have confused the populace with the highest grey matter for us it was a way of life. New years were marked by a small celebration with friends. We knew whats money. We knew whats love. We knew whats care.

In Dhankawadi, I found an elder brother on whose shoulders I could cry, a younger brother with whom I could fool around. Wherever I may be, I will always remains Dhanakawadi’s son

Should I laugh or should I cry?

An optimist may say “The glass is half full..” while a pessimist, “The glass is half empty!!”. I think I am a super pessimist.

The rule of inevitability suggests every game has a winner and a loser. Do we cry with the loser or do we celebrate with the winner? Do we mourn somebody’s loss or share somebody’s gain? I am proudly pessimistic here. I would prefer holding the losers hand than dancing with the winner. Yet, I may not be correct. For, the last thing that a person who has lost wants is somebody’s intrusion.

Sometimes. I wonder if there is anything in the world to bring joy to everybody. Somebody’s loss is always somebody’s gain. It reminds me remotely of the law of conservation of energy. ”total heat gained by a body is equal to total heat lost by a body.”. Possibly happiness is similar. Happiness is a temporary pleasure which ditches us in times least expected.

Even if it seems like am accusing the entire world, unfortunately I have always found the world romanticizing the vanquisher. The vanquished has no friends, no relatives……

A student’s teacher

13 years of innocent schooling, 2 years in a place which swung between being called a school or college, 4 years of grueling engineering…..I have lost count of the number of teachers. Some teachers imprisoned my eyes with their beautiful writing, while some captivated my ears with divine words, while some more fascinated my mind with thoughts surreal. Yet, you touched my heart by supporting every student at every staircase in the uncertain corridor of our career. And for that I will always fondly remember you as a “student’s” teacher for your unwavering commitment to the student’s cause.

Every moment in four years of engineering tested our strength, character and conviction of thoughts. Everytime, we failed..Everytime, we were down..Everytime, we felt like quitting, your words made us stand up and move forward. You read our mind,wiped our tears and held our hand in the brutal world of engineering.

I still, vividly remember the day I called you with less than 12 hours to go for exam and said, “Maam, I haven’t studied.!!”. You gave me hope. You protected me. You protected each one of us, all offcourse without an iota of expectation.

Today, as I stand on the threshold of engineering life, all I can say is “Thank YOU, Maam.”

Wish you a very happy married life….you will continue to be “our”..a student’s teacher forever……

[This post is dedicated to Miss[to be Mrs.] Lakshmi maam..:)]

The Bond of Blood

Is it red or is it white? Is it blood whose ties lie deeper or is it the invisible bond between individuals which is stronger?? The thread that ties both these bonds is off course the ubiquitous LOVE.

While fables are made out of friendships which stretch beyond the realm of the realm, its surprising to see the blood relation going largely uncelebrated. The only exception to this could possibly be parents. The care of a sister, the sweet pestering of a younger brother the protection of an elder brother is something every human would never let go. While I strive to stay clear out of the debate as to which is stronger I wonder whether the bond of blood has not got its due? While you choose your best friends you never choose your cousin neither can you decide who will be your uncle??

As I think about Mahabharatha, the immediate thought that comes across is the mythical friendship between Sudama and Krishna. On another hand we have our favorite hero murdering his uncle!!Possible this epic set a precedent for trends to follow.

For a person starved for relations for the majority of his childhood I do believe the bond of blood is as strong as any. Although I would steer clear of comparing it with anything else for the simple inhibition of not getting into a topic which has a potential to be really dig deep into..

Cannot See You cry!

When a person cries, his heart feels lighter..but when your loved one cries it only makes your heart heavier. Every time you pulled my leg, I tried to pull yours back, every time you poked fun at me I poked back at you. Every time you used ugly words, I used uglier words.

But NOW I don’t know what to do. I cannot see you without your smile. How I wish I could wipe your tears out! Even more distressing is the fact that I do not know whats made you go to your den! Suddenly you stop talking to somebody whose single message you never ignored even when the entire planet vouched that every single word spoken by him is crap!

Like a butterfly, you bring colour into my life…..cannot see the butterfly not flying high…….

Be your own master, Be your own servant

While wise men said “Helping humanity is helping God!” they also stressed the importance of helping oneself first. Sometimes we take things so much for granted that it is difficult to deal with the jolt received due to incident which we did not expect to happen.

Possibly that’s Gods way of teaching. Sometimes I feel God is a cruel teacher. Yet a teacher who never ceases to show us good path notwithstanding the thousand barbs we hurl at him. How often do we remember him when we feel all is well? Without deviating much from what I intended to write on the old adage of helping oneself is one’s need is indeed true and better learn without facing it. The placement season brings out the real faces of most men and I learnt it the hard way when I found out my very own friends turning their backs to me.

And the reason for this “You never helped us!”. Yet I don’t hate you guys. I know its probably due to circumstances. I should rather thank you for teaching me this wonderful lesson..Be Your master..Be Your Own Slave…Neither allow others decide what you should do..neither allow yourself to decide what others should do.

Intolerance is for the old!

The loud music and the inaudible lyrics made by Dad scream “This new music directors hide the lyrics in between those scything beats that it really evokes blood from the ear-buds..”.Then came food. Grandmother had her daily dose of lecture ready on my eating habits(read noodles and chats.)

All this made me wonder-Is tolerance an attribute of the young?? The old at heart unfailingly find a fault with anything new and anything outside their domain. For a child everything seems fresh..everything is a dream. Is it the burden of experience? Is it the shadow of failure? Is it the illusion of success? As one of Newton’s law say the human body is reluctant to accept change and that is what probably is the reason..All hail Newton..:P

The old in question shouldn’t be confused with the number of years we have lived on the planet. It is strange that incidents in life take such a huge toll on our lives that we permute and compute the various moves of everyday life. The same me who loved walking where the paths took me now only wants to tread the path I have treaded before. Not long ago I wanted to fly the world but strange things have happened. The wings have gone nor does the desire to swim across to the dream land remain.

This is possibly is what people say growing up. This is probably called maturing. But to me its only losing the desire to experiment. While I started with intolerance being an attribute of the old, over the course of this note I realize I have grown old!

The scar

While I sit to pen down my thoughts on the placement season, I find myself engulfed by a cloud of self-doubts which threaten to wipe out whatever little bright spots that hopes otherwise promise. And I write this short note very well aware of the fact that I will be branded a pessimist by few..selfish by many.

While the media might paint the campus placement to be a panacea for all the problems which besiege the job-seekers, to an average student like me it has only made me alien to the confidence which i possessed in abundance not long back.And this sudden despair isn’t without reason. All thanks to the human ego!After u attend an interview and get rejected, does the feeling really sink in that I just wasn’t worth enough for 4.5 lakhs.Well, lets stick to the old adage “Past is best forgotten.”. It’s the future which looks insecure than ever before. A few days from today, It will be imminent to see atleast a trillion statuses proudly proclaiming “Yes, I got my job!!”.No,now don’t mistake me..If you are my friend I will feel happy for you for a fleeting second atleast. But unfortunately, I love myself more than I love you. If I do indeed manage to get placed, that fleeting second might just expand itself to hours or even days. But then the dreaded question raises its head..”What If I fail to make the cut again??”. The very thought of not being good enough might manifest itself into something bigger than just a thought..the inferiority complex of having not got placed might slowly creep in…..the thousand questions of answering your parents,,your relatives who never cared an iota when you need them suddenly pop up with “Hey, you still didn’t get placed??”….But the most important of all..your very own friends telling you..”Never expected that you wont get placed!!” .The Infinite curses to Lady luck, a trillion “good-wishes” to the interviewer will only add fuel to the fire which would have by then consumed me. Today I stand at a unique threshold of life where I do not see more than a pin hole of light. But if God indeed does wish, that pin hole of light could guide me to my destiny.

It’s the scar of having seen failure once….Its the fear of failing again…….Its the fear of breaking down after failure…..

It’s the scar which I badly want to erase…….

Dil to Bachcha Hai ji!!

How often we are confronted with the same problem….”Mann..not able to control my mind..”!! And how often we find a solution only to forget it the next hour??After all Dil to bachcha hai ji!!

A small analysis of my mind by mind for my mind really make me think its indeed a child. Its innocent..its vulnerable..It gets tempted..ITS PERFECT!! The only thing it lacks is a parent! And our conscious is supposed to be parenting it….mould it the way we want it to be..that is..if we want our mind to behave the way we want it to be!

Alone does the child wander in lands unknown..crossing rivers of turbulence towards a destination which neither does it know..nor do we..The same mind which got tempted for a chocolate at six got tempted for a gal at 20 will get tempted for something at 40 for something else..Like a tender plant it gets swayed by every breeze that threatens to blow it….that promises to take it to newer planes..How would it know which breeze is meant for it??

The only thing that might separate a child from mind would be while the child grows up to be a man the mind remains the child that it was..It still yearns for different pleasures. It still listens to its master. Only its master changes!!

I know I have just bluffed something above!!

Tears of Sports

As clichéd it may sound though, opposites make the most celebrated of pairs.. And when the brutal world of sports is washed by the purest liquid on the planet—THE HUMAN TEAR…..isnt it a sight to behold? Human emotions at its purest best!!

When you see your ever infallible hero weeping out of inability or bad luck or for any reason that it may be, does it strike indeed he too is human. While the first lesson of sports will teach you to take every defeat in your stride, bury every emotion into the ground its this human facet of sport which makes it surreal. While a Sachin’s cover drive will send a nation into frenzy, Laxman’s artistry will keep a purist raving for years, its those images like Kambli weeping inconsolably after losing a WC match which touch the barest emotions.

But the tears aren’t shallow to be restricted to the men who play the game. The sight of an injured Ramsey walking out of the ground with a broken leg will still make the eyes of every Gooner moist. Tears in sport is a romantic confluence derived from the noblest world of sports and the ubiquitous tears. Every tear kissing hardened cheeks of a sportsman has brought a million hearts together. Every tear caressing the cheeks of a fan has produced a sporting spectacle one better than the one before. All this leads me to wonder, if this is not passion..What is??