Warning signs – dont neglect them

Once in a while there is this inexplicable feeling that takes over. I am not talking about positive feelings here like love but referring to feelings with negativity attached to them.

You get up not sure about whats going to hit you and knock you down – is your customer going to call you and give you a good hearing on how much your company sucks at sticking to commitments, or is your credit card going to be used by a fraudulent scamster sitting in United Kingdom, or something else? You don’t know at all but the day promises to kill you with this ominous sensation. The clock ticks along and by the time it is lunch, the butterflies flying in your stomach haven’t settled down. Lunch is consumed cautiously with you wondering if the sandwich is going to cause you heartburn or some form of food poisoning. Thankfully, that is an empty promise imagined by your overworked cerebral capabilities. The day trudges along and you go in and out of meetings. Nothing untoward happens but the feeling is not gone yet.

Finally you get home relieved that alls well that ends well.

To celebrate, you decide to reward yourself with a movie show. You go through the DVDs and decide on a random choice – Pandi, a Tamil movie with Lawrence as the hero!. The decision is purely based on running the movie by fast forwarding all the scenes except where he dances so that you can get entertained.

That Pandi was the disaster waiting to hit me and that I failed to read all the omens, the sickly feelings I had, since I got up became clear to me about 15 minutes into the movie. By that time, I was busy trying to filter sense and hunt anything positive in the movie that could be attributed to the actors or the script itself. Alas, except for a couple of songs, which make you miss Vijay (strange but true, seeing Lawrence dance makes you realize who makes Vijay dance so well) the rest of the movie is pure unadulterated load of crap.

A family with 3 sisters, 2 brothers, daughter in law and parents and throw in time pass friends, couple of comedians – that isn’t uncommon. But throw in sentiments that are introduced with the sole objective of extracting tears of all shapes and sizes from people and the result just does not work. The hero cannot act – period! He tries to be funny and that’s still acceptable from a relative perspective. But when he tries to be serious and talks to his mother or father or his friends or his sisters or even when he tries to woo the heroine, he is bad. When he cries, he is plain pathetic. The fight scenes are amateurishly shot, adding to the despair. I seriously cannot understand why the producers did not appoint an editor, why the script was written in the first place and it was also sad to see such a talented choreographer and dancer absolutely fail at acting. He is great when it comes to dancing or making others (including the Superstar Rajnikanth, as emphasized in a song too) dance to his tunes, but seriously wish that such movies are never made again, that we don’t see actors like Nasser get wasted in similar movies again and that Lawrence sticks to dance and anything else, but never acts as a hero.

Another moral of the post – learn to heed warning signs because you never know what can hit you from where.
Cannot resist adding 2 Highlights:

A. Hero is on the phone listening to traditional marriage accompanying music (getty melam) while kid sis is getting married in Uslampatti. Sister ties mangalsutra and immediately runs to fall on the cellphone’s feet. More tears, annaa …. Followed by more tears, kill the audience.

B. 3-4 years after sister’s kid is born (and mind you, the family is in touch with Pandi over phone all the while). But in between another tearful discussion, sister tearfully informs Pandi that she has named her son, Pandi, too. Aaaaaah!!!!

Driven out of homes – A news alert

Oh My God! Am I the only one who is witnessing this revolutionary event that should have had the media in frenzy? Or has the media gone to Turkey after Thanksgiving? I mean, have they gone high on turkey and fail to notice what is happening? Let me tell you what this observation is all about. My keen observation is that millions and millions of people have found new homes in the America. People have been ‘driven’ out of their homes and I am investigating the cause for this massive shift in demographical patterns that could give rise to new forms of headaches to marketing experts. Market research companies should get ready for a spike in opportunities and plan to meet increased resource requirements to meet the upcoming never-ever-before-seen demand in understanding this new profile in different cities of America. I am convinced that banks have something to do with this conspiracy. I have placed a few calls to some influential people in the banking industry (including influential folks who handle production systems for some leading banks … Shhh!!). Whether you own a home and are a contributor to the sub-prime recession scam or have anything to do with staying in a house and send checks or drafts to your rental office, you are out, pal. Sorry, I don’t know what happened, but the previous residents of homes are beginning to now live in cars. Confused? Let me take a few steps back and explain.

The impending thrill of stepping on the gas pedal and taking a SUV on the highway was playing on my mind and distracting me. I would smile and often realize that I was smiling amidst people discussing other serious matters because I had been talking or thinking to myself about how beautiful she would be. She, here is the cunning usage of anti-gender discrimination for a road trip with beautiful curves. And by curves, I implied the curves on all the highways. The Mafia Wars (MW) influence began to take over my thought process and I was soon fantasizing about outrunning a cop on the highway. That would help me gain extra experience points and maybe ask for special loot items from the Godfather. After all, if real money could be used to purchase Virtual Reward Points or MW currency, why couldn’t actions in real world be considered for getting some of the legendary kindness of Don Corleone? Maybe the banks sent collection agents or special Mafia Wars thugs or fans to kick people out of their houses but I didn’t see any notification from My Mafia or Facebook. Realizing that I better not adopt the evil Planet Zynga’s fiendishly innovative devious planners’ perspectives, I put my analytical abilities to work. Breaking down things always helps. So, let me go step by step.

What was I seeing in front of me?

I saw the road. On the road, I saw cars of all shapes and sizes. It looked like the animation classic, CARS had become a reality. The cars were talking to each other. The car communication language was discovered by Dr. Horny Honk and the lingo is named after him – Horning, also called Honking.

What else was I seeing in front of me?

The cars were initially static. Slowly but steadily, they began to gain kinetic energy and would move their asses around. But mostly, there was no space to move. Hence, most cars were confined to their positions.

So, what did I think was happening?

Well, all or almost all Americans have decided to take shelter in whatever cars they owned. Some folks have also rented cars to live in. The ‘Enterprise’-ing folks are smiling and thanking their customers.

Fact = Nothing was moving at all.
What was the Reality then? To get an idea, please imagine a traffic hold up of massive proportions. The jam is a configuration of one million cars arranged in 2 or 3 lanes. The distance between each car is anywhere between 8 to 12 feet. All of a sudden, you got to go back to your school physics class and try to revisit the concept of Relative Speed. If two objects move with same speed in the same direction, the relative speed is zero and it looks like there is no movement at all. Now, imagine all these million cars moving at least 65 miles per hour.

After several hours of staring at my neighboring cars, I realized that the fun I was hoping to have by driving around was just like one more of my teenage fantasies (and once more, would I invariably end up saying, Kela ho gaya yaar??). But here I was, cruising along, sometimes pushing the gas to make her go at a greater speed, rarely taking a brake and staying completely awake! Wow!!

I was told that Thanksgiving is the American version of our good old Pongal. I understand that there are no cows to say thanks to or decorate with Holi colors. Or use bovine intervention to determine testosterone levels in our macho villager folks. I am nostalgically reminded of scenes that often make our Tamil film heroes look even larger than their already hyperbolic images. Thanksgiving too is about getting together and thank Harvest related matters. In the process, also indulge in a mass murder of what some also call as the sick men of Europe, aka the hapless unfortunate Turkeys.

(Please scream, in your mind and read the following) But nobody told me that almost the entire country would instead be on the road. That hotels would be overbooked. That some people displaced from homes would try to search for a place to stay in the already overcrowded streets of Times Square in NYC and try to own a piece of the costliest real estate in the world!! Or that people would imagine that they could stay away from homes and occupy every inch available in the casinos or streets of Atlantic City. That, despite the presence of freezing chilly winds that make you realize that gaseous ice is not just a stretch of imagination.

Will keep you updated once the homeless ‘drive’ comes to an end. Expert analysts like me I think that this mayhem will come to an end this Sunday night. And life should be back to normal starting Monday. Stay tuned, while I go and investigate further.

Cricket – Kal, aaj aur kal

Pre-requisite:
You will need to know Hindi to follow this post. If you don’t understand Hindi, this post is not for you then.
***************
What is water?
Is it hydrogen first and then water or oxygen first, then hydrogen, then water or what the hell $#@!%?

As Indians, what are we really? Are we Indians first and then Marathis or Tamilians or whatever or vice-versa?

The Balasaheb analysis with supporting logic on why Gavaskar is a true Marathi and not Tendulkar was fascinating. It may be a huge six outside the ground in the pitch of regional politics. Sports and in the Indian context, Cricket in particular, is one area relatively free of region or religion based discriminations. The whole of India is unanimous and boisterous in approval when a good ball is bowled or a good shot is executed. The reaction is the same whether a Sikh (Bedi, Balwinder Sandhu or Bhajji) or a Muslim (Pathan or Zaheer) or a Christian bowler (Binny) took wickets or whether the batsman hailed from Delhi or Bengal or wherever.

Imagine, Dravid dropping a catch at first slip off Bhajji’s bowling so that his statemate Kumble got another opportunity at getting an extra wicket. Or Tendulkar doing the same to make Harbhajan’s figures look worse and give the Powar roller another chance to roll over the ground .

At Kanpur, on the eve of the second test, the dressing room conversations would be like this:

MS Dhoni: Team, lets go out there and win. Bhajji and Mishra, yaar zaraa dekh ke. Aur Ishant, saaley, if you don’t do better, then you will be dropped.

Sehwag and Gambhir: Oye, Dhoni, Ishant gaya tho hum bhi zero pe out ho jayengey

MSD: Arrey yaar, buraa muth maano, please. Ishant, try kar yaar, please. Do delhi waaley hain tho teesra free. Zaheer bhai, aap pe sab kuch dependent hain is baar. Opening spell mein do teen wickets nikaalo na.

Zaheer Khan: Is Ishant ke kaaran mera concentration bigad jaata hain. I want Irfan Pathan back. He was great – left handed bowler, from Baroda and we could discuss matters of religion too. Uske bhai ko bhi bhagaa diya. This is one area, where even Narendra Modi can help me and screw you. Baat karun kya Lalit Modi ke saath? Irfan kab aa rahaa hain waapis? Uska average tho tera Raina se better hain.

MSD: Arrey yaar, chod na. Focus focus, we are Indians first. Ab mera problem ko samajh. Srikanth tho Balaji ko layega na? Main compromise kiya aur tere wastey, Sreesanth ko laa rahaa tha Ishant ki jagah par. Lekin usko aaj tak woh thappad ki goonj sunai de rahi hain. He doesn’t want to be in the same team with Bhajji. Ab Bhajji ko kaise drop karein?

Zaheer: Saala, us goonj ki goonj mujhey nahi sun naa. Aur Woh Malayalee tho poora paagal hain!

VVS: Abbey saalo, tum North Indians bahut political game khelthey, kehthey. Ek Azharuddin kya naam bigaada, Venu Rao ko chance bhi nahin diya kisi ne. Mera haalat dekho, har do test ke baad, I have to prove myself that I am good enough to be in the team. But see, we are great, dekha na tumhey, kaisey Deccan Chargers ne jeet daala IPL. Dhoni, teri tho botiyaa kaat ke biryani khaaya mera Gilly.

MSD: Abbey, chup saaley idli wada.

In walks Kris Srikkanth: Dayee, Dhoneee …. Saala idli wadaa sambhar chutney ko kuch bola tho tereko replace kar doonga aur banaa daalega Dinesh Karthik ko Captain. Aur one down hoga Murali Vijay aur 2 down Badrinath. Yuvraaj and terko South Indian heroines se milney bhi nahi doonga.

***************

Gary Kirsten doesn’t understand a word of the above conversations but intelligently guesses that not all is fine. So, he aggregates, cleanses and analyzes the dressing room drama data and decides to write to BCCI:

Dear Sirs,

I observe that there is a lot of problem due to pent up frustrations. We should encourage the boys to grow up. They need more sex like adult men. Only then, will they ‘screw’ opposition and ‘give birth’ to better results. Then we can see opposition batsmen ‘ejaculated’ back to the pavilion faster, our batsmen shall start to ‘score’ more freely and we will be the ‘Stud’ team in the near future.

***************

15 years later:

There are 128 teams in the World Cup. The teams in alphabetical order are:

Andhra Pradesh,
Arunachal Pradesh (of India),
Arunachal Pradesh (of China),
Australia,
Bahujan Samaj Party
BJP
…..
Congress (I)
…
DMK
…
Madhya Pradesh,
Netherlands,
New Zealand,
Pakistan,
….
Sri Lanka,
Tamil Nadu
…
West Bengal &
Zimbabwe.

May the best team win!

Hi, I am Nikhil, the techie

Hi, I am Nikhil and I had spent most of my childhood in a village in South India. Once I finished my graduation, I went to Trichy and enrolled in a course on software testing. That helped me to get an entry into the hot, ultra hot IT industry. I got a job in Hyderabad. After a couple of years in that great city, I was feeling very nervous that I was moving out of Hyderabad to another city. My concerns were never ending – what would I do for food, would I face language problems, what would people be like to me, what would the babes like there – can I impress them with my Hyderabadi biryani cooking skills etc etc.

But a few days later, I reached my new home and was welcomed by Ismail. Ismail would be one of the 3 other flat mates, Amit, Sreesanth and Ajay. Ismail drove the car well and I looked out of the car at the landscape. Before I knew it, we were already at the apartment. It was quite a huge apartment complex with so many families, I wondered if this single complex could be 10 times the size of my village. The next few days slowly began to help me shirk off all my fears – this was my first exposure to a metropolitan environment. We took turns to cook our dinners. Sreesanth and Ajay were good at making traditional sambhar, rasam, Chettinad chicken curry, while Amit excelled at Paneer Butter masala and great North Indian food. Ismail and I kept unearthing nuances of biryani making. On Friday and Saurday nights, we drank to our heart’s content, often seriously hatching conspiracies to quit jobs and start a multi-cuisine restaurant. Our drunken super conscious states would also make us discuss on plans to woo good looking top ranking women from Hotel Management colleges across the city.

Our neighbors were from all parts of India too and just like my flat mates, belonged to different religions as well. Ismail visited a mosque close to the house and he didn’t mind driving us to the temple too. We would go there on a fortnightly basis, typically on Sunday afternoons to avoid the cooking rigmarole.

At the office, I was pleasantly surprised to see that we got along so well. Although I didn’t speak English too well, we taught each other our mother tongues. We were all learning and teaching at least 4 languages to each other – Marathi, Telegu, Hindi and Tamil. We were certainly on our way to becoming linguistic champs.

As always, time flew and before I knew it, it was 2 years since I had moved to my new city. I loved the tenure but with pressure from home, I went back to Hyderabad and dived deep into the marriage market. In 6 months, I did find the girl of my choice and it was time to go update my resume and find another stint at onsite. I proudly inserted the phrase, “Over 2 years of experience in the USA”. When I got called for a telephonic interview from a prospective client from Pittsburgh, I was very excited. After all, it was the same city where Ismail, Ajay, Sreesanth and I had such great memories. The client spoke in American accented English, and frankly, I didn’t understand much of what he said. He also asked me if I loved Steelers and I wondered why he wanted me to support a Football team. After all, I only followed cricket. I could code well and God knows why he expected me to get Americanised just because I had lived there. In fact, the reality was that the only American friend that I had was the bus driver of 38C. Even I had found it strange then that the bus was like a state bus in India, but what the hell?! We were there to save as much as we could as bachelors. I had seen Naykara folls, worn beautiful leather jockets – what more? Grrr … the strange expectations never end, I say!

I shall wait for another opportunity. After all, my Project Manager will send me to onsite, it’s his responsibility. I shall meanwhile shop for some Thermal wear so that my wife and I feel warm enough in the snowy lands of India, err … America.

Urgent Help Needed – An appeal

Hi Readers,

After coming across the condition of a young bright man who is currently in hospital, I am using my blog to appeal to you. I request you to help as much as you can NOW!! Let your friends know and act now for you could make a difference to somebody’s life.

The patient, Bala is an employee of a leading IT company. He is suffering from T Cell Acute Lymphocytic Leukaemia (A type of Blood Cancer). He is currently admitted in CMC Hospital, Vellore.

Bala has got a survival chance of 80% subject to proper Donor who can match unrelated allogenic stem cell transplantation (related to Bone Marrow Transplantation).
The estimated cost for this treatment is Rs.70,00,000 (Seventy Lakhs).
The amount is huge and hence every penny would count. Interested donors can either pay by cash or cheque or transfer the amount to the following account

Christian Medical College Vellore Association,
Current Account No. 10404158238
Bank Name – State Bank of India
Vellore Town branch,
Br code – 1618
IDS SCUDDER Road,
Vellore – 632004
Swift no – SBININBB473
Patient Name – Balamurugan Gnanaprakasam
Hospital No. 558129D

Thanks,
Rangarajan

Times are changing indeed

The last few days have been challenging in Pittsburgh. There are wars, battles and street fights that I have to endure in my world. I have been going through the same eye opening experience every morning. Every day when I open my eyes, it fails to dawn on me that it is already quite a while past dawn. There is darkness outside and the birds are chilling out too. The warmer days make the birds chirp happily and it serves as a pleasant alarm ringtone. However, now that the cold days are slowly and steadily making their presence felt, the birds are flying some place else. They are waking other people up and you cannot really blame them for their intelligent moves. So here I am, experiencing what I know is Multiple Personality Disorder. One Me wants to be disciplined, wake up and rush to work. Then, there is this another Me that is busily engaged in an unending battle with the snooze button on the alarm clock. The commitment of Mr. Alarm Clock (AC) is commendable. He bellows out his war cry every morning at 615 am and gets pushed to the limits by that other Me. He is forced to let out the same cry every 5 minutes that confuses yet another Me (say Me 3). It seems as if some inconsiderate pea brained person is creating a racket in the middle of the night. It is sleeping time, for heaven’s sake!! Should I be calling 911 and complaining? Then there is yet another Me (Mr. Nice Me), that reminds me of the day’s work and earnestly appeals to me to get up, trying to make me think of how nice a cup of Masala Tea would smell like …. Mmmh.

With all these battles that are part of parcel of the morning, somehow, when I do manage to shut Mr. AC’s mouth out for the day, I see light at the end of the window, Oops, I am late again. Then, all the other personalities just mockingly disappear. There is just Me (the real one) cursing at the other Mes and moving into a higher gear to go through the getting ready process.

There has to be a better solution to all this, I prayed. A friend of mine, who was also experiencing the same fights with sleep breaking, cunningly attempted to manipulate his body clock. He decided to crash by 10 pm and was hoping to stab his other split personalities and kill them forever. But, what happened is a remarkable story of how Lethargy won over noble intentions. The body can lie in a position parallel to the ground with eyes closed for any number of hours irrespective of the starting point (i.e. sleeping time) as long as there is no pressure to greet the day, when it is actually dark outside!!

As if to answer our fervent appeals and prayers, one day, the times changed, literally. An effective timely solution was conceptualized and implemented for the benefit of one and all. It was impossible to make the sun and earth move differently for the days to get longer or the air to get warmer. Thus, abracadabra, one wave of the brain wand, and whoosh, it is not 6 am that you got to get up. You fool Mr. AC by telling him it is 6 am, but the truth is that is actually 7 am. The Daylight Savings Time Brahmastra has been hurled at the poor alarm clocks across the American nation. We get to sleep one more hour and people like me are shedding tears of joy. Tears of gratitude, as a mark of respect to the mega intelligent souls who brilliantly resolved a problem that threatened to impact basic indicators of life like productivity (!!), commitment to life, mood, joy and what not. Till the body gets used to this new routine and the other dormant Mes that have been tricked for a while, bounce back again, let us enjoy the ‘changing times’ and sleep better. Sweet dreams, folks!

Shipping Independence and Freedom

At a high level, we know how Tsunamis are caused. Earthquake in sea causes the floor to shift its x-y coordinates. This displacement impacts the huge amount of water in the sea. Then Mr. Seawaters goes bonkers, embraces insanity and runs helter skelter, waving around tsunamically, getting way too tall for anybody’s comfort and kills mercilessly. This is a natural cause.

But I am beginning to wonder how such war ships built to travel at ‘unheard-of’ speeds will not anger Mr. Seawaters and cause mini-tsunamis. Imagine the plight of the smaller ships / vessels and not to mention the poor fish, whales or other lives in the sea when the ultra-long ship zips through the sea.

And yeah, the ships are named Independence and Freedom: Ironic, eh? Maybe, I am just over reacting!

Just a thought

It has been almost 1 year since the Mumbai attacks. Going by the progress and the VIP treatment to Kasab, I think Anti-terror and Terror are just 2 sides of the same coin. The heads side can never catch the tails.

In the best case scenario, the head can bite the tail. But the tail shall grow back or poke at the eyes. Seriously, what the hell is going on?? 6 crores for a van and another few crores for a tunnel!!

Also, its time to start defeating laziness & start Twittering such thoughts

Lemon Grass Cafe – case study in CRM

I was doing some research on what Lemon Grass actually meant. The reason behind this sudden interest in lemongrass is a Thai restaurant that goes by the same name. Lemongrass Café, a restaurant in downtown Pittsburgh, serves deliciously amazing food. According to our friend, Mr. Wiki, Cymbopogon (lemongrass) is a genus of about 55 species of grasses. Common names include lemon grass, lemongrass, barbed wire grass, silky heads, citronella grass, fever grass or Hierba Luisa amongst many others.
Once in a while, my colleague and good friend, VK sneak out to this café and order our regular green or red curry with steamed rice. After a few frequent visits, Lemongrass decided to offer us some loyalty rewards. Along with the rice, came uninvited bugging behavior. A dead bug adorned the rice plate. Unfortunately, being non-bug eaters, we brought this to the attention of the waiter, a clean shaven headless fellow. Oops … I meant clean shaven throughout the face including the head, but headless might not be a wrong adjective in the given circumstances. He had almost certainly fought with his wife or girlfriend, and had been kicked in the wrong place. Frustrated with issues like sex, power, money and god knows what else, he looked at VK straight in the eye. Arguments followed whether it was a bug or a rice grain that refused to take off its husky cover!! The rice or the bug was dead and couldn’t testify. A neutral third party was required to intervene. Seeing no solution, VK took out his camera phone and expressed his desire to photograph the suspect. The rice was bugged, we were now getting bugged too and so were the others in Cymbogon Cafe. The bugged silky head (lemongrass is also called silky head, remember?) waiter got more frustrated and began to disapprove of this solution. In a higher decibel level, he announced that photographing could not be allowed. The other customers at the restaurant began to get disturbed and instances like these are always irritants to enjoying a good meal. Mr. Barbarian Waiter with one swift motion of his hand scooped the plate off the table, and returned with a replacement. He asked us to make sure everything was fine this time and of course, if a mike was lying around somewhere, it would have felt redundant. The message was very very loud and clear. Disturbed but determined to focus on eradicating our hunger, we ignored the strange man and went about achieving our primary objective: consumption of the red curry. Call it MBO (Management by Objectives) or Gandhian philosophy, we just forgot about the whole incident.

By the way, Gandhiji had once said, if a man slaps you on one cheek, show your other cheek too.

Some days later, we made an error in judgment. Joined by another colleague who had flown down thousands of miles, from India, we fought the wintry afternoon cold. Ignoring the cold tears that were shed from the skies above, we did not heed the omens. Making our way through the busy traffic, VK and I were determined to treat our colleague to a sumptuous lunch at the best Thai restaurant in town. Guess what, we got served by another dude this time, a bespectacled man with long side burns. Service was ok and we were leaving the restaurant. Going Dutch, we handed out credit cards or cash to the man at the cash counter. This time, the silky head Mr. Citronella was at the cash counter. So he did everything except cooking, I guess. Or maybe he tried to cook steamed rice and insectivised the rice. Anyway, he very politely asked VK if the service was fine. Then, he began to innocently explain that tip amounts reflected the service levels (as if we didn’t know!). With a $9.4 bill, VK had paid $10. The usually, relatively over- generous VK had made a grave error, supposedly. The lecture was an education on waiter compensation structure. That Salary structure of waiters had a small fixed component. The variable components came from tips. Decibel levels, an angry frowned face, attitude problems – everything that we don’t expect and certainly don’t deserve were being exhibited by the psycho. I will add here, that the other Thai restaurant in town, Angkor which has the same owner, sets new heights in hospitality and service levels. Hence, my disbelief was indescribable. But things got worse when the dude with sideburns stood on the side, burning angry words randomly coming out of his mouth, “Why me!!? We work here, you don’t!! Don’t take it out on us!!! What do you know?”

We came out shocked, humiliated, mentally disturbed and emotionally scarred. Yes, we argued back, but is that why we want to go to a restaurant for lunch? The decision to never go there again is logical but somewhere there is a feeling of incompleteness that should hopefully, go away with time. I am still wondering if the interactions were racist in nature or just the result of a sick man, who is in a wrong job. Whatever it is, I want this post to reach out to Pittsburgh downtown eaters so that they are can knowingly pick a choice of their choice. Until then, Bon Appetit

Also, read this post by VK

Peas Pulao, French Fries and Nobel Peace Prize

Nahimani Shantaram and Durjoy Das were having an interesting conversation which, needless to say, got all the more interesting when their conversation was accompanied by regular intakes of tequila shots, that were in turn accompanied (and obviously so) by salt and lime slice suckings. Here is how the conversation went:

Das: So, did Obama really deserve the Nobel? What are the criteria for awarding the Nobel Peace Prize? Hic … I heard that even Gandhiji didn’t win it.

Shantaram: Do you really want to know what happened? My cousin Shanti, the super chef, told me the secret yesterday.
About 2-3 weekends ago, when the G 20 Summit happened here in Pittsburgh, several world leaders had come together to discuss issues of major global significance. Topics like global warming, nuclear energy usage, anti-terrorism etc were being discussed in various formats – the group discussion format, monologue format, silence is golden format and other configurations as well.
Another round of the Patron tequila made its way into the discussion. Hic …

Das: So, what happened?

Shantaram: As world leaders had assembled from so many countries, the organizers had come up with a wonderful plan. Their creative juices were put to use and it was unanimously decided to get top chefs from each country. And guess what, hic … my darling cousin, Shanti represented India.

Das: Wow!! So, what’s the scoop?

Shantaram: Simple, her specialty, Peas Pulao was served. The organizer wanted a brand for each dish. Seeing modern day kings and nobles all around, he named the Peas Pulao dish as Noble Peas Pulao. Obama liked it a lot, and even parceled some for his family. Shanti was so thrilled, hic … that she gave him the Noble Peas Prize.

Das: Chup saala! Tell me the truth, please, please. And lets have the next round for your cousin! Cheers …. Hic ….

Shantaram: Ok. What really happened was that Nahimani Shanti helped the French Chef Monsieur Ratatouille make French Fries. Her accent is such that she calls it pries, ha ha ….
A Swedish or Norwegian spy in the kitchen spoke on the phone and translated her name into English and immediately alerted the Nobel Committee that Nobell Peace Pries has been given to the American president by an Indian delegation.
Sensing the urgent need to act and move on the situation quickly, the challenge was to do something without damaging the reputation of the ancient Nobel tradition. The very next day, the Committee made the announcement. They were convinced about the strategy of blanking the early mover advantage of the Indians. Their cunning thought leadership in handling the situation was mind blowing. Thus, stands the humbled Barack Obama, winner of the Nobel Peace Prize.

Tears … Das is crying by now, looking at the empty Patron bottle and cannot wait to share the freak relationship between Peas Pulao, Shanti Fries and the great Nobel Prize with all his friends.

I dedicate the above PJ post to my good old friend, Mr Avik Sinha for his constant encouragement and eggs, err … egging, I mean to make me write something on Obama’s Nobel Prize. Thanks, Ahic … err, Avik!

Onks and choices

The cute little lamb was playing with a ball. It would gently touch the ball with its front leg and get thrilled seeing it roll along the ground. It would then run after the ball to kick it again with its thin legs. The smile on the little lamb’s face made Kumar happy as he watched innocence in its purest form. He stood silently, drowning himself in that indescribable feeling of bliss, savoring the sight of incorruptibility. The lamb obliviously played on, lost in its own universe.

Suddenly, he saw a big man rush to the lamb, kick the ball away rudely and pick the animal up. Kumar was not sure if the man was the lamb’s master or a thief. He was too puny and scared to confront him. So he hid in the bushes nearby and tiptoed behind them. The man walked hurriedly towards his shop. There were several such lambs there. Before Kumar knew what was happening, he was shocked to see blood spraying in different directions after the head was chopped off from the little lamb’s body. One swing of an axe was all it took to separate the present from the past. The man, Kasim, was a butcher and the shop had different lambs, mostly hanging from large hooks waiting to be bought and eaten as some form or the other, in the near future. Rogan Ghosh who was walking by, licked his lips and asked the butcher to cut the little lamb which was still bloodying, into little pieces. The personality of the lamb changed, reminding Kumar that from the inside all beings are the same complex biological creations of God. The big butcher seemed to be oblivious to the blood or the lamb’s pure character. He was stolid and continued to do his job, occasionally blood drops and pieces of flesh flying, as if to attack his t-shirt. Kasim cut the once cute lamb into several small pieces and put it in a plastic bag for Rogan to carry it away.

Kumar was too sad and hungry too. He walked on and stopped at a restaurant called Café Nirvana. The day’s specialty was Lamb Biryani. Kumar remembered the little lamb playing with the ball with the same enthusiasm that his little nephew would play whenever anybody threw a ball at him. But now the lamb was probably at the bottom of a plate, marinated with spices, cooked in oil and mixed with fragrant basmati rice. The aroma of spices was tempting too, he confessed sadly to himself. The lamb pieces in a plate belonged to different such lambs, possibly, he thought. But what the hell, at least the lamb lived and enjoyed its life; it served a purpose after it died too. His mind kept asking, what if only the lamb were big, brave and wild like a lion or maybe a tiger. Then what would Kasim have done?

Then, man would have invented a sport called Hunting and hurled arrows at the animal, hiding behind in a safe shelter. Or bought a gun with or without license and pumped a few bullets into the lion’s heart, heartlessly. A group of 20 people could have tried Lion Biryani too or maybe Lion Steak or Sher Tikka Masala probably. Shikha, his girlfriend walked up to Kumar and asked him what he was thinking. Kumar was pleasantly surprised to see her and described the events and his thoughts. Shikha laughed and said, “Hey, its ok, it is only small animals that man eats – like fish, chicken, lamb and the rest are mostly spared”. Kumar smiled wryly at the word ‘mostly’. He then saw another sign, Texan hot dog for just 10 bucks. So, a pig is small. Cows are small too, he thought.

He walked back home and it was about 430 pm. He was tired and went to sleep. He had a nightmare. In a parallel universe, evolution had progressed beyond man: from monkey to man to onk. Onks were stronger, much more intelligent and possessed magical powers too. They had men and women as pets. Ironically, one Onk was watching a performance of a man showing off his pet monkey’s dancing skills and singing, “Naach mere bulbul tho paisa milega” (Dance my Bulbul (monky) and you will get money). Men did a lot of work for Onks and could talk too, they typed out emails for Onks, cooked food for them, wrote software and even danced and composed music for their entertainment. At night, humans were chained and put in a cage. Men and women were made to breed in environments that were meant to be specialized chambers, conducive for breeding. At any time of the day, Onks would randomly pull out humans of any size or shape and feed them into Man processing machines. Hot Babes and Hot Hunks began to have different meanings – those terms meant long sausages made of corresponding meat from hot babes or hunks and served with duck sauce and beef chilly on the side. Kumar woke up with a start and was glad to be alive.

His mother called, “Kumar, dinner is ready. And surprise! grandma has excitedly cooked your favorite, lamb curry with rice”.

Kumar slowly got up and started walking towards his food …. You, Mr. Kumar, what are you going to do?

Core Competency – Alarming realization

Champions Trophy Predictions

The way the tournament is going, I love the fact that all probability models are going for a toss. England’s shocking display, SA’s losses …. enjoy! Anyway read on …
On the basis of different analyses, it is clear that the media is touting SA as favorites followed by Australia and India. As always, there is the disclaimer that we cannot ignore teams like Sri Lanka / Pakistan or even New Zealand.

Other parallel gossip include:
This is a great chance for one day cricket to stay alive and that if the tournament is interesting enough, ODI may continue to live else might soon die an unnatural death. Sponsorship deals will go begging and cricket loving corporates like LG, Pepsi, ING will recast their marketing and advertising budgets. Some Modi will change IPL’s full form to ING Pepsi LG Cup and divert all the money to a different tournament.

Yaaawn …. A late entrant like the T20 format has begun to stab the ODI format from behind its back. We have started to question the logic behind a 50 over match. Nobody is talking about a F40 or T35 or T30, it seems there is F50 or T20, nothing in between. This is deviation from earlier logic where ODIs were 60 over a side, then 55. It has stagnated at 50 overs a side for a long time now. In ODIs, 50 overs happen unless extraordinary circumstances force us to calculate what a Duck is Worth along with what a ‘Loo is’ supposed to show on a table also nicknamed the Duckworth Loo-is method.

Let me now jump to the point. Based on the schedule, I came up with a probability based calculation to get the expected points. I also notice that India meets WI only on the last day of the group match schedule. This means, Aus and Pak have higher chances of winning against WI. Reason being, West Indian full strength team might be back by then. This is again a disadvantage for India. Anyways, given where we are, here is my take on how things look like based on form and probability (due to subjective factors like weather conditions, current team structure, nature of pitch at SA etc)

Given the above scenarios, possible final could be Aus Vs Pak or SA vs Pak / SL.

Calculating actual probabilities for every team is a time consuming task and I would have to revise Bayes’ Theorem. But, taking a perspective from my approximation world, teams in descending order of probability to win the tournament are Pakistan, SA, SL, Australia, India, NZ, Eng and WI.
Being an India fan, obviously my heart lies elsewhere but my mathematical brain is pointing at a different direction.

Kolkata Durga Pujo – a different perspective

For those who dont understand Bengali, read the below, else skip this section please):
Jaano? = do you know?
Arrey, theek aachey = Tch Tch … its ok
Dhoor = expression of disgust, like Oh crap etc
Puchkas = Pani puris, golgappas, an amazing snack that is a hollow sphere, cracked at the top, filled with spicy potato etc and dipped in special pani puri water and gobbled. Has addictive side effects followed by risk of stomach upsets unless you pop Pepto Bismol pills before bed.
Prosad = after prayers, food given as gift of god. Usually consists of mixed fruits and sweets.
Cholo = come, lets go

BOMB (Bengali old man, Basu): Dibyaduti (pronounced Dibboduthy) was a self styled rebel, jaano? Anything, anybody did, he didn’t want to do that. He had to be different from the normal, a tangent to the normal, from a geometric perspective, if you see what I mean.

OWL (Old woman, Lopa): Bappi (nick name of Dibboduthy) is in Teckshaas (Texas) for a very long time. Why do you suddenly remember him now?

BOMB: Arrey, he is our son. Not remembering him, maaney? This is Durga Pujo – Thakur Maa is home, when else will I remember Bappi. He didn’t even call us yet. Just wired us some more money for organizing the community pujos. Dhoor!

OWL: Arrey, theek aachey, he is a good boy with values. Even today, he does listen to Robindroshongit and reads Bengali books. His son also knows about Aurobindo, Netaji and all the other illustrious Bangaalis including Raja Ram Mohan Roy. They have not forgotten our roots.

BOMB: As a little boy, he used to hate the crowds. Remember, how we walked from Tollygunge Metro station all the way to Bhowanipore and did pandal hopping. He hated the crowds. The only things he liked then were the giant wheel at Deshapriyo Park and shooting balloons with those long rifles or air guns or whatever these people call them. Of course the puchkas and other junk food.

OWL: The next day, he couldn’t even eat prosad because of his stomach upset.

BOMB: Of course, he then began to have friends and god knows where all they used to roam around the entire night. Pujos is absolutely fantastic with all those lightings and brilliant designs of pandals. Why is he not coming home for the Pujos even after missing the last 12 years?

OWL: Arrey baaba, relax. He is a busy man and cannot visit us at this time of the year. Cholo, lets go inside. Dutta babu, Bulbul di, Babloo and Tuki are coming home. I have asked Narayon to be ready with rosogollas.

In a parallel world at Texas, Dibyaduti Basu (new nickname Dib) is telling his wife the same things he tells her every Pujas:
“Alice, how I wish I was at home now, in Kolkata. How I wish I were there for the school reunion at Maddox Square Garden on the 26th at 3 pm. My friends, my schoolmates, my old crushes, they will all be there. They would have grown older by 20 years but it is so awesome that they are still able to be where we were at least during the grandest time of the year in Calcutta. I hated the crowds during the Pujas back then. But wow, what a grand assortment of colors it used to be. The whole city would come together and celebrate the home coming of the Goddess. Everybody – rich or poor would wear new clothes, walk around, sing, dance and have a blast. Movie theatres would overflow and unlike any other time of the year, during the Pujas, Calcutta would go nocturnal. A million lights arranged in different patterns would brighten up the place. Brisk business everywhere and something for everybody of all ages, sizes, shapes, religions – it has to be seen to be believed. I have seen no other place like that in the world, actually”

Alice: Every year, for the last 12 years, you have said the same thing about what you did then. How you didn’t enjoy so much then but now miss it like mad. I have heard about the buffalo, demon, the pet lion of the Goddess, flanked by various gods and their pets or vehicles. I know, Dib, I know all that by heart. But now, you are also talking about long lost friends. Why don’t we go there next year at least, Dib? But, I must tell you wiki has a treasure of knowledge on Puja and hey, why don’t we go to Univ of Minnesota. That’s after all the only place to have Pujas within their campus!

Dib: Yeah, some day we should go there, Kolkata, I mean. I will then introduce you to all my school friends and maybe even the teachers. Meanwhile, I wish all my Kolkata friends a very very happy Pujos. Shubho Bijoya and see you next year with Alice and Bhuju (Bhuju is nick name of Dib Jr.)

Abhimanyu could have been saved with a Brahmastra

Problems in life seem to arrange themselves in a Chakra Vyuha formation. Like Abhimanyu, who knew how to enter the Chakravyuha but didn’t know how to come out of it, we become Abhimanyus when it comes to dealing with problems. Office, work, home, money, love, exercising, hobbies, time management are top of the mind warriors attacking us within the chakravyuh boundaries. Abhimanyu was a brave and skilled fighter who faced greats like Drona, Duryodhana, Karna, Kripa etc. He fought hard and stunned the Kaurava army inside the circle of death. But it was a matter of time before he had to die, there was no way he would win the battle single handedly. We keep praising the way he fought but finally he died in a sad manner – Dushashan’s son, hit him from behind with a mace and he fell to the ground, dead.

The problems I mentioned are like the warriors who will somehow pin you down and kill you unless you approach the formation differently. The more you fight, the more tired you will be. If you increase the frequency of arrows shot at the problems, there will be more arrows shot back at you, maybe accompanied with spears and mace blows too.

Could there have been a way out? What if Abhimanyu could manage to send a sms to Arjun’s iPhone?. Arjuna was fighting some other component of the Kaurava army but if he got the sms or mms, surely, he would have hurled a few weapons and saved his son. Maybe even used the Brahmastra. The sms sending is not important then, it is the Brahma astra or Naga astra or some other powerful weapon that could have saved Abhimanyu. Did such weapons exist? Absolutely yes, but the context of the battle was different. It was Abhimanyu vs The Obvious winners. If you have seen Magadheera, the fight scene reminds you of Abhimanyu, you know the hero has to die but find yourselves marveling at his courage and fighting spirit. Big deal, what’s the use? That’s another perspective if you are serious in extricating yourselves from the web of problems.

First, believe that there is a Brahma Astra somewhere for you. You or somebody else for you (upward or downward or sideways delegation, I mean) can hurl that at your enemies (enemies = problem sources). Unlike Brahma Astra that could only be used once, you have the power to directly or indirectly use it infinite times. The problems are like Rakthbheeja (RB) rakshasa, who got a boon that one drop of blood falling from body will transform to one Rakthabheeja. Hmm … what a cost effective cloning technique, I say! Problems are like RBs too, kill one, another comes flying at you, murder that, use another brahmastra, another problem, astra, problem, astra …. Infinite do loop will continue and you will ultimately crib that even a million brahmastras couldn’t save you. So, lets go back to original Chakravyuh problem and come out of it first. Lets say you have lots of work, got to take girlfriend out for dinner, submit report to big boss and also watch the Thursday night Steelers game. Whatever you do, you cannot be at all places at once. Here is where Lateral Thinking comes to play. If you approach the solution in a straight forward manner, you will end up solving one of the problems alone. Most probably, the boss’ report will be sent out. You will be sad, feel defeated, girlfriend will not let you near her, Steelers would play without missing your cheering. With traditional problem solving methods, hey, good luck to you. Hope your savings will take care of your funeral services, because death is inevitable. If you stand a chance, it’s only by adopting a different non-linear approach. Think of how you will solve all these yourself or with help from any and every source or resource you can leverage. Maybe you could record the game and watch it later, come back from a quick dinner and continue with your report or outsource report creation to a colleague or at least part of it – there is no one correct way, but unless you believe you CAN resolve the problems, forget about it. Your post mortem report will read, “This Abhimanyu died when Problem Money, hit his head with Financial Bankruptcy Mace” or some similar template where Money and Financial Bankruptcy are variables that can be replaced by different values.

Brahma Astra zindabad!
Lateral Thinking ki Jai!
If you are normal, more often than not, there will be one issue or another, to attack and at that time, use Lateral Thinking. Because there will be a Brahma Astra somewhere to be found. Good luck with your search capabilities. Be better than Google in searching, else drown in grief. Go figure!

p.s: Abhimanyu = Abhi + Many + u = right now, there are many yous = you can use multiple brahmastras and achieve many things at the same time if you want to by solving multiple problems at the same time.

Soap and Love uncles’ walking discussion

Meet SOAP and LOVE, two young Telegu green card flaunting men in their late twenties. They are working in Government jobs in the US of A, but are more glued to ETV, Eenadu newspaper than Fox News or even TOI.
Mr. Speaker of All Points (SOAP) is self styled Fundaguru, who likes to express his opinions on anything and everything. An observation without a thought and a thought without a comment is not possible for SOAP babaai.
Mr. Listener of Virtually Everything (LOVE), on the other hand, would listen and reply with a counter question. Love gaaru is a serious, lost in his own world type dude, who is nicknamed Love Uncle by his friends.
Soap and Love are taking a stroll around the perimeter of their apartment complex at Pittsburgh.

Soap: Strange are we the humans.

Love: Why do you say that?

Soap: On one hand, we want things to get faster and faster – instant coffee, instant noodles, high speed internet etc – anything that can give us more comfort we want that, no?

Love: Yeah, so?

Soap: So nothing, Love! We want more time to waste more time.

Love: What are we going to do wasting more time? What about YSR, he got instant death, no?

Soap: That is exactly where I was going. When it comes to death, we cannot face or accept it, especially, the instant variety.

Love: Why? Death in any form is unacceptable.

Soap: The natural way of looking at things has conditioned us in strange ways. Look at the day to night transition, change of seasons, growing up from baby to man. Obviously, we would find it strange to encounter a bright afternoon hot sun one moment, suddenly followed by darkness of the night. Or a hot sultry summer day followed by a snow storm in the next one hour. Nature gives us time to adjust our lenses, cone and rod cells in the eyes to adjust from evening to night. Cone and red cells or something like that, I remember from those days of Biology classes in school.

Love: What is your point?

Soap: Well, we want slow transition; instant change is only acceptable when a sari clad homely heroine in Bollywood suddenly changes into a mini skirt for a dream song and dances around in the rain with macho hero.

Love: But why did people commit suicide?

Soap: Initially, I was aghast. But look at those people and how their heads are wired. They did because they were unable to accept change.

Love: Wired?

Soap: Thought process, Love, their way of thinking is like that. They feel they are a body while their blood is YSR. So, when blood splits out, they have to end their lives. Haven’t you seen Kamal Hasan’s Nayagan? How old women pour petrol and light fire to themselves.

Love: Yeah. Does Kamal have a similar hot kissing scene like Vinod Khanna and Madhuri in the Hindi version, Dayavan?

Soap: Love!!! Where is YSR and where is a hot smooch? You are one strange thinker.

Love: Ok. So what about YSR’s son being projected as the CM candidate?

Soap: With great power comes great responsibility. The CM’s post equals great power and mark my words, new candidates will come up. Sonia will handle it well, though, by maintaining status quo, probably.

Love: Shall we go? I am hungry.

Soap: Your last sentence was not a question!! So, let us go.

We are the Pittsburgh Stealers

We never get invited to parties. We just go and take what is available. Some call it stealing and if and when we are caught, do not hesitate to beat us to death. One small morsel of food from a huge pile can also hurt the men who will never share with us. We can hurt them but they hit back and we hit back stronger, then they hurl whatever they can grab to hurt us, with the intention of murdering us. There is no concept of catching us and handing us over to the police or sentencing us to punishment in a court of law. Our families have endured this injustice for ages and lived this way for ages. This is exactly how we are going to be, we know that and that is what makes us stronger. Government policies and plans around us mean more of us will die than receive any benefits.
Last Friday, I saw a group of 15 men spreading a huge banquet of amazing food – pizzas, cakes, biryanis, kabas and what not. They uncorked bottles of champagne and began to celebrate somebody’s triumph. Not sure whether they already knew that Force India F1 team would finish second in Belgian Grand Prix. But the celebrations were akin to what Mallya threw on Sunday.
My friend and I hid behind the curtain and waited for the right opportunity to steal some food and run off to feed our children. After a while, the men were talking more loudly, even the ones who had been quiet began to get up and shake their legs in what seemed like an apology of a disco dance. My friend grew impatient and slowly rushed towards a pizza, when nobody seemed to be looking. But one of the relatively sober party animals spotted him and hurled a glass at him. It hit my friend’s left leg but he still nibbled on a piece of the pizza, coughed at the high spice levels and tried his best to escape and come back to me. By this time, 3 more boys joined and with whatever they could hold, like a stick, the champagne bottle and even bare hands ran in all directions to kill my friend. I watched helplessly and all I could do was pray.
My friend is an expert who kept cool, maneuvered his path expertly and escaped. I am risk averse and just fled from the scene. We had already planned on our exit route, the narrow gap between the slightly ajar door and the wall that opened into the balcony.
What a life, we flies lead. And men don’t even allow us to feed on resources that are rightfully ours.
We have a meeting tomorrow to discuss on how we can carry more viruses and attack those boys, who could have killed my friend in front of my eyes. We want to avenge the deaths of King Fly and Queen Fly, who were crushed to death by a man’s shoe some days back. So far, our partnership with pigs has been successful and we are doing a great job carrying the swine flu virus. We look forward to more such partnerships with different animals and attack the bloody humans and obliterate them from the face of this earth.

p.s: I am a Steelers fan myself, so my fellow fans, please dont beat me now

Ashes – a strategic perspective

As the Ashes cricket series comes to an end, it is interesting to see how the media is now only focusing on how great the English win was. Stuart Broad bowled so beautifully that Miss Universe 2009, in an ideal world is just a runner up. The actual winner would have been the beauty of Broad’s bowling. At last, the media claims, Flintoff’s successor has been found. They are now so Broad minded, I see. They even praise how well the English selectors have excelled in succession planning exercise over the years. Yeah, a win can make the wiring in the brain say anything, I suppose. In reality the English selectors are only better than Pakistani selectors, my feeble brain protests. Who cares for my analysis, though!

This is so different from tossing improbable situations at the world for considerations just ten days ago. Different perspectives arise from the discussion around recalling Mark Ramprakash and Marcus Trescothick for the final test.

Let us consider a situation where the US is planning to regain their hold on the 100 & 200 meters track events. They are currently struck by a giant Jamaican bolt and even the Americans discovered that running the third fastest time in history is also not good enough. Bolt hurls thunderbolts at world records again and again. Hmm … so let us get Carl Lewis back! What an idea? Or, maybe hold the next event at any place that doesn’t start with B like Berlin or Beijing. B for Bolt – that’s favorable lettering advantage for Usain, huh! Heights (or depths) of lateral thinking, I must say.

What about Tennis? How can Americas win all Slams and Davis Cups? Oh, that, just get McEnroe and Connors to beat the other nations, they were the best anyways. Or Sampras and Agassi, if they are available. If you are wondering that is preposterous, in my opinion, Mark Ramprakash coming back to play for England for the 5th test was an equally outrageous proposition. Trescothick is not in the team due to his nervous breakdowns and to bring him into a situation like the Ashes decider test would have been impossible. But naughty Trescos made it interesting by having a good record this season.

Consider that it was just a fantastic strategy! The Aussies were always proud of their mind games, arrogant talk and dismissive attitude. They did win the 4th test convincingly. The Aussies were laughing at how England was finished, desperate (even more desperate than Warne ever was trying to find the right barmaid) and had to be totally out of their minds to seriously consider such old warriors for modern day wars. They should be showing faith in their current bunch of guns, they said, instead of using rusted swords. But of course how could England, when their middle order together could not muster a quarter century in both innings of the previous test cumulatively. Over confidence once again began to creep in slowly into the Aussie minds. On top of that, there was immense self inflicted pressure on the Australians. They began to talk about this being the mother of all tests ever played, particularly for star players, Ponting and Hussey. While the former had to exact revenge, the latter had to play well and keep his place in the side. Before they knew what hit them, a slump from 80 odd for 1 to 160 all out and then, 2 brilliant run outs, a weak bowling display, an amazing century on debut by Trott and the media as always, did a U turn, forgot everything about the past and started focusing on what went wrong for the Australians. No Hauritz, 4 pacemen strategy, Ponting’s leadership, Johnson’s form – well, all of that could be possible reasons, but the trap was laid before the first ball was bowled.

In war, distracting an enemy is an effective strategy – distract, make the opponent feel they will win and in the actual battlefield, hit them so hard that they don’t recover from the killer punch. Well done England, it is probably the first time in many years that I have seen English cricket plot a recovery and hit at a depleted Australia side like this. They did it even without KP’s services for most part of the series, and that is truly amazing! It was a good series – few great performances, but overall keenly fought between two equally strong (or teams with long term strategy to get stronger and stronger) sides. Before I say bye, looks like the ODIs are starting. This is an over overdose of cricket.

Jealous Bastard, Possibility and Humanity

I have written about 5 to 10 poems as a kid but threw them all away decades ago, thinking they were not good. But with my paradigm shift in thinking and ‘who cares?’ attitude, I broke the barriers. Barriers of too much of thinking ‘will this be good enough to post’ or ‘should I even share something I suck at’ but finally going ahead with what I feel is an honest attempt at poetry! Ha ha … as I said, who the heck cares? Enjoy!

Hi, My name is Jealous Bastard

When others doing better I see, green I go with envy,
By green I go, not the environmental green impact, I mean,
Implied is the envy bloodied green that makes my life go topsy turvy,
And to I, better than me, anybody is so difficult to be seen.

Eternally looking for ways to ridicule and discourage go getters,
For known I have that all possibilities cannot just be made to happen,
Somebody when does manages to break the impossibility fetters,
Quickly I all let be known how the achiever was luck stricken.

Selfish I am and care not for why and what around me, people want,
Because, I, me and myself is all that is worth I bother about,
Right I am, and others are wrong, even if all that know me, do me taunt
All time, alive and kicking I am for a reason and an excuse to shout.

Hi, My name is Mr. Possibility

Open to learning I am, from the others’ success stories
Learn also I do from failures of others, so to not repeat them in my life.
Team player I am and believe that with possibility reality marries,
Only if with pessimism, resentment and regret you be not at strife.

The future is full of possibilities and can we make anything happen
A dreamy eyed soul I am and ensuring success I love for our team
Knowing, our resolve, focus and belief in mind if we sharpen
We can get anything, matter not how tough it may seem.

Unstoppable and happily moving towards our goals, we go
Marching ahead, not afraid of failure or success as a result,
Because that’s the one and only way it has got to be so
For failure can only teach and is not to our efforts an insult.

Who you want to be is a matter of your choice,
Being Somebody Else or Jealous Bastard or Mr. Possibility?
Whoever – but may your choice be wise enough to rejoice,
Please, good you be as each of us play roles shaping humanity.

Around giants

I dozed off in the car – I always do that whenever the drive is more than 10 minutes. Obviously I do that only when I am not driving. When I woke up, I was completely shocked at what I saw. I had come to a mall for giants. I had never seen so many gigantic creatures before. They were walking around, talking to each other excitedly, some were big and some were not so big but even the smallest giant was at least 5 times my size.

I saw giants that had come from different parts of the world. The Hindu giants or Rakshasas were busy discussing something in a language I did not understand. I was certain they were going to roast me and eat me for breakfast.

There was an angular faced giant and I was certain he was Greek. He had a technical name, Ajax and his shorter friend, a slow moving Herodotus was looking at me hungrily.

Then, there were the Norse giants too, frost giants (hrímþursar), fire giants (eldjötnar), and mountain giants (bergrisar), all sounding strange. The women giants wore short skirts but I was too scared to look up fearing an angry reaction from them or their protective boyfriends. Ogres and trolls were roaming around freely at the mall often picking up dresses and putting it on them.

Was I so small that they didn’t notice me or were they too busy in their own worlds? Whatever the truth, I was increasingly unsure of how long it would be before my end would happen. It seemed inevitable.

I felt helpless and scared to do anything. I began to get restless because the giants were busy with whatever they were doing and didn’t seem to be intent on crushing me. What if some giant lifted me and ran away? Would I be kept in a cage like the parrot at my neighbor’s house? Would the giant watch the same TV programmes that I do or would he beat me or what else awaited me – a medley of thoughts ran through my mind mainly out of fear and insecurity. Suddenly I felt that I was moving through the crowd – I didn’t do anything myself, something was making me move, actually meander through the madding crowd of those colossal beings – I was going straight but all of a sudden found myself moved to the left and then to the right, then straight again. This state of being, where I had absolutely no control of what was happening around me or to me and being surrounded by all the smelly giants was making me puke. When I looked up, I could only see up to the asses of those creatures. Their faces seemed so far above. Then, I knew how to bring the situation under control, I knew exactly how to be safe.

All I had to do was cry and cry out loud! I did that and immediately, got a bottle of milk stuffed into my mouth. My mom giant and father giant are always so nice to me. By the way, hi, I am Dinesh and I am seven months old. God knows why my parents take me to malls!