On a break.

I need a break from my internet life.

4-1 :O

Read it a few days back.

Why do French women prefer English men?
Because they remain on top for 90 minutes and still come second.


That was before the friendly between the Danes and the English. And England lost 4-1. Mein Got. I know David Bechkam is pure hype. But 4-1???? I know that Denmark was 1992 European Cup champion, thanks largely due to their monster goal keeper, Peter Schmeichel. But 4-1 now????

Nothing gives me more joy than an Argentinian win over Brazil and nothing hurts me more than a bunch of suuperstars not living upto it.

Ppppppplease

Ramayan and Mahabharat are two of the biggest epics in the world. I love reading them over and over again and naturally I have my favourite characters. In Ramayan it is Ram. In Mahabharat it is Karn. Born to an unwed princess, he was abandoned and found by a charioteer. He grows up to be an ace archer with all the knowledge of cosmic weapons. Time does a full circle and he is called names by his own brothers. Since he is not born to the warrior tribe, well no one knows about his secret, they deny him the right to compete in various competitions. So he is made a king by the rival of his brothers, who is shown to be on the wrong side of Karma. Time passes and the rivalry intensifies and a battle is inevitable. He was born with a couple of body armours that were impenetrable and his generousity was universally acclaimed. So, he is asked by the God-father of his main rival brother to give his armours, and knowing who it is and that giving it means he is no more impregnable, he gives it off. Just before the day he goes to fight, he is told by his real mother that he is in fact her son and he is really fighting his own brothers. He says that though this has weakened his resolve, he will still fight his brothers since his friend had made him one of the warrior tribe when his brothers were calling him names and when she chose to be a mute spectator all the while. He finally is killed by his rival brother when he is unarmed and his chariot gets stuck.
Well, it seems Shahrukh Khan is about to play the role of Karn in a new movie called "Mahabharat". I hope not.

Ad1

Ad1, originally uploaded by Nature's very own.

Now without a dictionary or a book.

As we grow old, we grow foolish ;)

59 years of Independence

Yesterday, 15th August, was India's indpendence day. Perhaps independence of all sorts, is every person's birthright and also a responsibility in a way. But I also think, what if British had never come to rule us.

What if, indeed? For then, there would have been no India. There would have been small states ruled by Kings and monarchs, running as per their whims and fancies and common person would have struggled. There would not have been any rails (perhaps not needed also since the states are pretty small), no modern education, caste system still in place officially, because unofficially India is still divided by castes and sub-castes and religions.

So yes, Thank God, the English ruled us, though they had no right to do that.

P.S. : 15th August, 1947 India won its freedom at the stroke of midnight. And my mother-in-law was born at that stroke of midnight. I really, wonder if India should have won it's freedom at all ;)

And a very belated Happy Independence Day to all the Pakistani's. They celebrate their independence on 14th August, 1947.

The first three colours represent the Indian flag. And the last one is the colour of the Pakistan's national flag.

Whispers of time - An untold story.

As I walked down the dusty path, in an almost barren land, sun simmering overhead, I located the building with the huge wall compound that was my destination. There was an unmistakable presence. A few goats and cows were either grazing, whatever little they could or lying in the small shelter of the shadow of the compound wall. The wall reflected the past glory of the occupants and as I neared the entrance, I could feel the unmistakable presence.

"You must have come here to know about him", I heard an unexpected voice ask me.

Startled I turned to my left, nodded my head in agreement.

"What do you know about him?", it asked me again.

"Nothing much really", I looked at the thick cover of dust which had enveloped the owner of the voice. "There is not much to gather information about him, I guess."

"Yes, there isnt. Unfortunately, a tale which could have inspired millions, a tale of love, a tale of passion and a tale of patriotism, was chronicled only by the oppressor. Do you know why he was killed?"

"I have an idea. It was because he had started the revolt, refusing to bite the grease cartridge for the rifle. Isnt it?"

"If it has to be told in one line, that is the reason. But do you really believe, that such a thing could lead to a revolt?"

"Why not? Indian brahmins, back then, were supposed to be very particular about it all. So yes."

I heard it laugh. "You really think it is all that black and white, don't you? There is more to it. Would you like to know? It is a long story and I can not offer you tea or anything else."

I nodded, "I am fine, thank you. Please do tell."

And then started the story of love, of betrayal, of sacrifice, of heroism and above all of patriotism. When it was over, the sun had almost set, and the clouds were overcast. I had goosepimples all over. Overcome with emotions, I asked, "And you have mutely witnessed it all?"

"Yes. That is what I am supposed to do. I can only hear, I can only see, I can only be passive. I can only shed a tear when someone wants to listen it from me. Thanks for listening out", said the stone before going back to its familiar deaf role, into a mute sleep, the state it had been in for I don't know how many centuries, leaving me there thinking about the story of that man called Mangal Pandey, the story of the person who ignited India's first freedom struggle in 1857 which the British historians merely termed a "Sepoy mutiny."

In the sands of times, it is but one story never told to the generations that followed.

The road less travelled.

Driving is a pain in India. When I had started driving, I was as bad and as irresponsible as any other driver in India. I can not even recall how I got my driver's license. All I know is that I was asked by my Dad to be at a particular place at a particular time. Without being asked a single question and without being asked to drive at all, I got my license. I drove with gay abandon. To me, it was fun and no other thrill, except adventure sports, could have come near.

Then I went to US. I came to know that one needs to pass a written test first before appearing for the road test. I studied the small booklet that was freely distributed in the office of the motor vehicles something something. I became aware of the rules and what "right of way" means for the first time in my life. I realised honking is a bad habit and that driving is indeed a privilege but others have that privilege too. In a sense, it was a new beginning for me.

Now I am a responsible driver. And in India, that's a bad thing. Well, as they say be a Roman in Rome. And when I find only myself not breaking the rules by not driving in the opposite direction on a one-way road (its a very common sight), or waiting on an empty road for the signal to turn green, I do feel like a fool sometimes. It's been 3 years and I have no idea how long can I persist with vehicles behind me honking when the signal is red and the road is empty.

I hope it does. Two wrongs do not make it a right.

Of onions and pakodas

Okay, onions and pakodas made me nostalgic. This one is a rated post. Adult supervision strictly adviced ;).

I had a colleague and my best buddy in my office in Portland, Me. I will call him NY. He is from a country in West Africa. There are several anecdotes that come to my mind but I will share two.

NY is very fond of popcorns and used to get a popcorn packet every now and then from the vending machine in the office. And I hated the smell of the butter inside the microwave. I used to feel nauseated and I told him to either have it in the canteen or stop eating it. The mean guy that he is, he said no. Infact his consumption of it went up a little. And I could do nothing much about it. Worse he used to sit in the adjoining cubicle. I used to borrow my manager's skin lotion that she always carried, rub it on my palms and put my palms close to my nose to avoid the horrible smell.

One day, I carried a vegetable burger from home as breakfast and had put a little more onion into it than is normal. So when I opened the box, this time his nose went up. After a few minutes, while I was eating it, he came to me and asked me if I could avoid the onions. Now I dont like onions. Not at all. But that time, there was nothing I loved more. And then it became a daily routine and the consumption of onions went up a lot. After a few days NY told me, "Ok man, I stop eating popcorn in da office, you stop bringin dat shit to da office."

Well, was there anything else I wanted that day ;)


Now the second incident. Let me introduce the characters.

NY - My colleague and project mate, who used to sit in the adjoining cubicle.
K - Around 45-50 year old manager of another project, used to sit opposite NY. She is very much interested in Indian culture, food, anything Indian.
NB - An Indian colleague, reporting to K, who was on a short visit to US. NY and NB were smoking partners. He used to sit in another wing.

Now NY had done his graduation from NY (New York) and his roommates were all Indians, infact all Punjabis. So he knew all the dirty, rotten words in Hindi.

NB had visted the Portland office a couple of times earlier and since he was a Punjabi and a smoker, he got on well with NY. All those words that NY did not know earlier, NB used to teach him. Well together, they were the perverts that only they can be.

So one afternoon, after returning from a smoke session, NY on his way back to his cubicle was singing, "%$##& ka pakoda", "%$##& ka pakoda". KA = IS ( "%$##& ka pakoda = "%$##& 's pakoda)

This was fine really, since no one knew Hindi there, except well.... K was very much interested in Indian culture and food. As I said earlier, anything Indian. She knew what a pakoda was. And so she stopped NY and asked him, "What is that pakoda, I have never heard of it!!".

Now NY, was dumbfounded. He realised he is in trouble. He tried to persuade K. "Nothing really." And I loved it. I started laughing. NY looked at me, and it was both, a request and a warning. K insisted, "What is "%$##& ka pakoda"? " I laughed more. NY looked more uneasy.

"K never mind. Its nothing really."

I laughed more. K, and she is such a innocent old woman, insisted more. Now this really went on for about a minute or two.

And I was in splits. Finally, NY said, "K you do not want to know."

"No really, tell me", said K without taking the hint.

"Okay ask NB. He told me about it."

And talk of timing. NB just appeared there with a document in his hand to ask a few questions to K.

NB : K, I have a some doubts. (Indians ask doubts, not questions.)
K: Later NB, first tell me what is a "%$##& ka pakoda". I have never EATEN it.

Damn I was absolutely uncontrollable then.

NB (with a straight face, and a side glance to NY) : What's that, I have never heard of it?
K: But NY told me that you told him about it.
NB (swearing in Hindi at NY): No I really have no idea.

Oh boy it went on and on. And finally, they managed to convince K that it's not something she really would like to know.

And I got plenty of the best medicine.

Well NB swore that he would never teach anything ever again to NY.
And NY? Well he was always more concious after a smoke on his way back to his cubicle.

Rain - A view from my office.

Rain - A view from my office., originally uploaded by Nature's very own.

Yesterday, it rained hard. Lovely weather. Perfect time for Ginger Tea and Pakodas.

Pakodas, ummm I have no idea how to describe them. Pakodass are stuffings of potatoes/onions in gram flour, is it!!!! I am not very sure what its called in English.

Salon bliss

I was in a hurry.

And it was a case of once bitten twice shy too.

Oh I forgot to mention, I needed a quick shave. Here is a brief recap and the history behind it.
http://naturesveryown.blogspot.com/2005_06_01_naturesveryown_archive.html

So, I decided to go to a new salon today. Morning 8 o'clock. No customer inside it. Ahh this is my lucky day.

So I step in, and am confronted by this HUGE, pitch dark guy. Now this has nothing to do with the colour of a person, but it sure was a scary sight. But I tell myself, "Anoop calm your nerves." He is just a barber.
"Yes, with a knife that can slit your throat", said my alter ego.

So he offered me a seat and held my head and asked, "Hair cut?"

I got worried. I hate long hair on me and that effectively means that I go for a hair cut twice in a month. One can never find a hair more than an inch long on my head. So I was sufficiently scared. Its one thing trying to calm yourself down, when you see a HUGE man and quite another when the HUGE man is as blind, in mind (I was hoping he was not blind blind, though I could hardly make out), as he was.

"Sssshave...", I tried hard to sound straight and fearless.

This guy does a few things, asks me if I would like to use foam or cream. All the time his demeanour bordered on ......... well he looked to me, sufficiently monomaniac, well... perhaps a psychopath.

Anyway, when it was over, I asked him the amount and he mumbled something.

I could not make out what he said and I had no courage to ask him again. So I gave him a Rs 50 note, and he started clearing the table.

"Surely it can not be Rs 50", I told myself. But I could not bring myself to ask him that.

I stood the ground like a male Lion, who has just lost his pride and his territory to another more strong Lion, but who still wants something back.

Slowly I saw him walking towards me. He better not ask me, "What do you want?"

I took an aggressive posture. He passed me, went to the reception desk, handed me over, "Rs 30".

But the market rate is "Rs35." why is this guy charging me only Rs 20?

Oh well, now as I think of it, I must have scared the shit out of him.

Amit1

Amit1, originally uploaded by Nature's very own.

Amitabh Bachchan.

A glimpse of India.

For those not from England, Australia and erstwhile English colonies, cricket is a game which looks like baseball, and is played in two modes. The shorter mode, is played over 9 hours. The longer version, and the real cricket, is played over 5 days. Amazing right?

Well, yesterday an awesome test was played between England and Australia. And it will go down as one of the 3 best tests I have ever witnessed. The rivalry between England and Australia in the "Ashes" test series is matched only by the rivalry between India and Pakistan encounters and frankly, it crosses all the limits of decency and logic. Cricket is religion in India and cricketers alonside actors, the demi-Gods.

If an Indian is not watching cricket, he is watching a movie, and if he is not watching a movie either, he is dead. Out of 800+ movies that India churns out every year, 99% is crap. From the remaining 1%, some are good, some are very good, and once in a blue moon, a great movie comes out. This year, has seen a refreshing change. 3 movies, downright commercial, came without a song. The common thread was Amitabh Bachchan. Those who do not know him, he is the God of all gods in India. A tremendous actor, he is hugely popular in the third world countries and in African countries. For instance, in Egypt, you get a discount if you are an Indian because you are from HIS country. Militants, and Amitabh is not a muslim, free journalists in Afganistan and Iraq because they are from HIS country or they know him as journalists. Part of the reason why I say, BBC/CNN reporters have no idea of the ground situation in Iraq/afganistan.

Food, Indians love it. Eat to please self, dress to please others. Well I do not know about the other part, Eating part is followed to the hilt.

D3

D3, originally uploaded by Nature's very own.

My daughter, 8 months old. Taken in Portland, Maine in 2000.

как дела ?

I have a soft corner for Russians. Not the Russian governments of the past, but Russians, the common people. I had a Russian girl friend in school and another Russian (now Polish) girl friend after High school. I have learnt many things from the Russians, have played football with them, learnt chess from them on one of those Russian chess computers, learnt how to make Russian salad while my mum learnt making Russian chocolates and many other dishes.

So whenever I hear anything bad about Russia, I feel bad. Another submarine, though thankfully not as big and as dangerous as Kursk is lying at the bottom of the ocean and US, Japan have rushed the recovery vehicles. I hope there is no loss of life this time.

I hope the answer to my question "как дела ?" is "Very Good".

Time and management.

My headache has returned to haunt me. Time to visit my opthalmologist I guess.

My wife is pregnant and if everything goes on well, the new born will crash land on this Earth, sometime next March. As is usual in pregnancy, she has become very selective about what she wants to eat.

My daughter has viral fever and LRTI.

My manager is leaving for US this weekend and I need to finish some design issues before that.


Awesome.... Reminds me of a dialogue from "My Cousin Vinny."

LETS SEE WHAT ELSE CAN WE PILE ON TOP OF THIS.

Oh plenty Anoop. Plenty. Think of the parent of a physically or mentally challenged child and the rigours he/she has to go through, think of the countless Somalians where the infant death rate is higher than the literacy rate of India. There are so many miserable conditions that I have not faced and more importantly, I would rather not face.

Well, this is only about time management.

90, hundred thousand

"Can you count upto 90, hundred thousand?"

"Yes, I can."

"Please count."

"Well it will take a very long time. And I have no idea how long."


Frankly I have no idea where did my 5 year old daughter pick that number up. But if there is one number that one can find her talking about these days, it is "90, hundred thousand".

Would I not love to test Sherlock Holmes now over this little mystery?

Any idea what could that number possibly represent?

First of all, GG and PP (lol isnt that rhyming so well), thanks a lot. :)

A quick update. I had some problem with my head. Wasnt a brain tumour, though that would have been a good news in that it would have laid my doubts to rest on whether or not I have brains. Anyway, so for 8 days, I could not sit infront of a computer because the headache would kill me. So I kept my interaction with the digital idiot box to the minimum.

Elsewhere in India, specially Mumbai, rains have devastated lives of millions. 37 inches of rain in a single day. That's a world record. And it followed with the complete destruction of India's biggest oil platform in Bombay High. It had caught fire after another vessel collided with it due to a high tide. Now I have personal memories attached with that platform. My father used to work there and I have been there, out in the middle of the sea, standing on the helipad, feeling on the top of the world. And that structure is no more.

But life has to move on.

P.S. -- Figment of imagination, now I would love to be that. ;)