F3: Sir, are you married?
R: No.
F3: What about your parents?
R: Yes, they are.
26 September 2008
4 September 2008
On the firing line
F2: Sir, I am calling from HSBC investments, sir?
R: How may I help you?
F2: Investments, Sir?
R: I just got fired from my job today. So it is not a really good time to speak.
F2: Oh! okay.
F2* - Another female tele-caller
R: How may I help you?
F2: Investments, Sir?
R: I just got fired from my job today. So it is not a really good time to speak.
F2: Oh! okay.
F2* - Another female tele-caller
27 August 2008
Proximity Problem
Danger: who is the moron who came up with the idea of placing the stupid 0 (zero) right over the o (the alphabet o) on a keyboard?
26 August 2008
30 July 2008
What was his name?
mum
yeah
mo'ommm
yeah I am liS-Ning
Who is your best friend?
You are my best friend...
No, not like that. Like nitin is my best friend. Who was yours?
I had many
Not best friendS. Best FRIEND.
Hmm.. there was this guy at college... very funny guy...What was his name?
yeah
mo'ommm
yeah I am liS-Ning
Who is your best friend?
You are my best friend...
No, not like that. Like nitin is my best friend. Who was yours?
I had many
Not best friendS. Best FRIEND.
Hmm.. there was this guy at college... very funny guy...What was his name?
29 July 2008
A happy dream
One more dream. One more battlefield. This time it is a fight between the north and the south. What is the north and what is the south? The dream did not tell me. But it was a bloody battle. I fought for the south. We were losing. But we kept on fighting, for we knew that giving up is death. 'They' kept no prisoners. I should have been fighting for many days. I was tired. But I was always alert and conscious of the impending danger. It rained hard all the time. But the rain did not bother anyone. Everyone slept in the slush. It was not a time to make comfortable beds. We ate what we found. Some we burnt before we ate and some we ate as it was. I was covered with dirt. I have been killing soldier after soldier just to keep myself alive. One after the other everyone from my troop is dead. But I have no time to mourn. I kill people. I don't derive any pleasure from killing them; I feel no sorrow as well. I live.
I feel a thud at the top of my neck. It a bullet. And then another one just below the first. And another one, making it look like three dots in a straight line. My legs go weak and I fall flat on my back. The enemy has no time to find out who I am. But I have all the time. I see him moving for his next kill. It is atul. How can he? The grey sky turns black. I feel another bout of bullets pumped into my chest. It is again one after the other. Someone is killing a dead man. It is a professor from college I did not like. But I liked the course he taught. How can he do this to me?
I wake up in civilisation to realise that the battle has ended. Our land is not occupied. Nor did we occupy theirs. But I need to go to the enemy's land to find something. What is it? I do not know. But I need to travel. I travel by many means. I am used to the rigours of hard life. So the travel does not make me sick. But my destiny does. I reach 'there' to find the Japanese chieftain declare: We have lost many men in a battle that did not yield us anything. So we pick soldiers names from the enemy's camp at random and kill them. The names will be printed alphabetically. I request the chieftain to allow me to retire to my land. But he will not until he has seen that my name is not 0n the list. Someone comes in to declare my name is not on the list. As I hurry back, the someone comes beside me and says 'Look, the list I showed has names printed till PO and your name starts with a PR. So you never know if your name is on the list or not. So you better run.' I run, I cross lands and rivers until I finally am in a bus. It is raining heavily. I realise that I will have to live the rest of my life with the fear of someone coming to kill me. But I live. Now. End Of Dream
ps: Atul's comment on the dream: wow awesome.. i got to shoot u... chah i never hav happy dreams like those
I feel a thud at the top of my neck. It a bullet. And then another one just below the first. And another one, making it look like three dots in a straight line. My legs go weak and I fall flat on my back. The enemy has no time to find out who I am. But I have all the time. I see him moving for his next kill. It is atul. How can he? The grey sky turns black. I feel another bout of bullets pumped into my chest. It is again one after the other. Someone is killing a dead man. It is a professor from college I did not like. But I liked the course he taught. How can he do this to me?
I wake up in civilisation to realise that the battle has ended. Our land is not occupied. Nor did we occupy theirs. But I need to go to the enemy's land to find something. What is it? I do not know. But I need to travel. I travel by many means. I am used to the rigours of hard life. So the travel does not make me sick. But my destiny does. I reach 'there' to find the Japanese chieftain declare: We have lost many men in a battle that did not yield us anything. So we pick soldiers names from the enemy's camp at random and kill them. The names will be printed alphabetically. I request the chieftain to allow me to retire to my land. But he will not until he has seen that my name is not 0n the list. Someone comes in to declare my name is not on the list. As I hurry back, the someone comes beside me and says 'Look, the list I showed has names printed till PO and your name starts with a PR. So you never know if your name is on the list or not. So you better run.' I run, I cross lands and rivers until I finally am in a bus. It is raining heavily. I realise that I will have to live the rest of my life with the fear of someone coming to kill me. But I live. Now. End Of Dream
ps: Atul's comment on the dream: wow awesome.. i got to shoot u... chah i never hav happy dreams like those
16 July 2008
MSc (Honours) Physics
I am also a physics major. But that is the end of the story. The year I did my physics was a disaster. But the disaster made men out of us boys. It taught us the art of putting up a bright face in moments of despair. We learnt to make jokes of those desperate moments. We learnt resilience and shamelessness instead of celestial body movements or atomic behavior.
Ok, that was a little too much. We got #$%^ed everywhere, all the time, but we still had fun. I swear.
Our names in red with a bold D (mid & end semester grades) beside them in department notice boards only evoked a sense of pride. We did what no other batch of students had done before.
In the quantum mechanics classes (which we attended only to collect our test papers), we were the only group of guys who giggled when the professor said bra; even at the end of the semester. Apparently there is a bra and a ket which makes a bracket.
We photocopied studious guys' class notes for open book exams. But the agony of not being able to match answers in the work books to the questions asked just because the moron who gave us the notes didn't write down the questions in class is inexplicable.
There was another course we did and I do not want to name it. Because, if you asked me anything other than its name, I wouldn't know. The course was for 100 marks and the final exam (alternate name: compre) contributed 40 marks to it. We did not know if we would fall into an E or a D. We wanted that D desperately. So we went to up the professor in a hope for a pullup (you get pulled to a higher grade if the professor recognised your face).
One of us: Sir, pullup
Prof: Definitely. How much did you make?
Another one of us: Sir, 25
Prof: 25 in compre. That is fantastic.
The other one of us: No sir. In total.
The look on the instructor's face said it all.
Prof: 25 in total deserves a D.
I think he intended to figuratively spit on our faces for ours marks. But we did it again! We got our Ds!
On the first day of campus interviews, I was shortlisted by the two companies selecting candidates that day. #$% was one of them. I cleared three gruelling rounds of interviews before I met the big man, the final hurdle. I believe he was a book worm once. He started of with questions from my chemical engineering. I stood unnerved for twenty minutes. He looked lost and the battle seemed to be won, until he said: What did you read in electro magnetic theory?
me: We read about the effects of electricity on magnetic properties.
My raised left eyebrow gave it all. I was shown the door. I made it at the other company!
Even today a lot of people ask me: You are a chemical engineer. But why physics? You must really like physics!
me: You bet I do!
* we, us - Balan, Kampa & myself
10 July 2008
19 June 2008
The curse of the single male - Travel woes
Every since I was a kid, I have been marginalised because I am a male. More particularly because I am a single male. I have been marginalised everywhere. Be it the limitations in choosing a fashionable dress or ordering an electric blue coloured mock tail in a pub or renting a decent place to live. It is abandoned territory everywhere for the single male.
While my curse-of-the-single-male experiences could bulge up to a book, I am limited to write about my travel woes today due to another curse of having to work 8 hours a day to earn my daily biryani.
It all started way back when I was a kid. Even if I bought a full ticket for a bus ride, I always had to share my seat with an oversized smelly adult. Girls did not have to go through the agony as their mothers looked at it as a blot in their pristine female sanctity. I had to wait for years before I could grow up and fill the entire seat by myself.
But when I grew up, I had to content with another problem. I was travelling long distances and had to use semi-sleeper buses. A single male is always and automatically allotted a seat at the back. It does not matter even if I reserve the ticket a month in advance. When will I ever sit in seats numbered 2 or 3 and stretch my legs for an entire night?
An optimistic mind always found a solution. I found a way to stretch my legs. I started to use sleeper trains for these overnight journeys. But the curse never left. There invariably was an elderly woman or a young mother who can not climb up to the upper berth, and they invariably spotted me. I was requested to swap berths. And so the claustrophobic little hole between an iron mesh and a couple of rattling fans became the eternal berth of every acrophobic single male.
The fear of looking down the window and realising that I am kilometres above the ground and a weak bladder that is to be deflated every second hour forces me to choose an aisle seat when I travel in long haul airplanes. But here again, the plot is well set against me. Women with children and elderly people board the plane before any (un)able young man does. And so when I look to take my seat, the seat is already taken. 'Please would you sit by the window. I have a kid and he needs to go to the toilet quite often. He has a weak bladder. You know.'
'Mine is just as weak as your son's, only a little bigger'. I wish I had said that to her. But then the curse remained and I sat in a corner looking down the window.
While my curse-of-the-single-male experiences could bulge up to a book, I am limited to write about my travel woes today due to another curse of having to work 8 hours a day to earn my daily biryani.
It all started way back when I was a kid. Even if I bought a full ticket for a bus ride, I always had to share my seat with an oversized smelly adult. Girls did not have to go through the agony as their mothers looked at it as a blot in their pristine female sanctity. I had to wait for years before I could grow up and fill the entire seat by myself.
But when I grew up, I had to content with another problem. I was travelling long distances and had to use semi-sleeper buses. A single male is always and automatically allotted a seat at the back. It does not matter even if I reserve the ticket a month in advance. When will I ever sit in seats numbered 2 or 3 and stretch my legs for an entire night?
An optimistic mind always found a solution. I found a way to stretch my legs. I started to use sleeper trains for these overnight journeys. But the curse never left. There invariably was an elderly woman or a young mother who can not climb up to the upper berth, and they invariably spotted me. I was requested to swap berths. And so the claustrophobic little hole between an iron mesh and a couple of rattling fans became the eternal berth of every acrophobic single male.
The fear of looking down the window and realising that I am kilometres above the ground and a weak bladder that is to be deflated every second hour forces me to choose an aisle seat when I travel in long haul airplanes. But here again, the plot is well set against me. Women with children and elderly people board the plane before any (un)able young man does. And so when I look to take my seat, the seat is already taken. 'Please would you sit by the window. I have a kid and he needs to go to the toilet quite often. He has a weak bladder. You know.'
'Mine is just as weak as your son's, only a little bigger'. I wish I had said that to her. But then the curse remained and I sat in a corner looking down the window.
30 May 2008
How I swallowed a thousand eggs
Calcutta has not changed. No, it has. It is Kolkatta. But that's pretty much it. Or well, that's pretty much for most part of the city. But there are ofcourse these new additions, now in every Indian city, - swanking new cars, plush apartments, wide roads and glittering malls - that have become the symbols of new age urban India.
But otherwise, it has remained the Calcutta I have seen - The yellow Ambassador cabs with a honking problem, an omnipresent stink, the crowd, the traffic and the carefree trams amidst it, the rossogollas and the Howrah bridge.
But otherwise, it has remained the Calcutta I have seen - The yellow Ambassador cabs with a honking problem, an omnipresent stink, the crowd, the traffic and the carefree trams amidst it, the rossogollas and the Howrah bridge.
What was different this time was an unexpected shower of hospitality from one of my colleagues. I was invited to his parents' place. For the next 3 hours I spent my time watching Tom & Jerry and eating the innumerous sweets, delicacies, fruits and the many more things that were sprawled across the table. That was probably the first time I ate a Lichi fruit. Tastes just like the Lichi drink from Real. Or is that supposed to be otherwise!
What followed next was a sumptuous meal with rice, dhal, and fish curry. It was kind of queer to find fish and dry fish used in the same curry. And I being a gourmet had to ask.
' No, no, no. That is not dry fish. Those are fish eggs!'
That is when the head goes spinning for a minutest moment. Eggs of fish? How many did I eat? Won't they hatch inside my stomach and make a pond out of it? There must have been hundreds of them? It is psychological thing when you eat something new and something that you have not imagined to eat. That is exactly how I felt when I accidently boiled ants along with maggi. The noodles tasted just like usual until I saw the first dead body. I couldn't push another spoon of it.
'So how do you like it.'
'Oh, it's fantastic!'
(Is it? Dry fish is fantastic and this tastes like dry fish. So this has to be fantastic. But this is an agglomeration of a thousand fish eggs!)
'So you should eat more of it. May be you should try the fried ones. They taste even better.'
When Antony Bourdain can eat sheep testicles, can't I eat fish eggs?
27 May 2008
Costly affair
Doc: Which part of the country is clothes cheap?
Ananth: I don't know. May be Calcutta, Bombay. No Surat.
Doc: I then have to plan an official trip there to purchase uniforms for my kids. Clothes have become very expensive here.
Ananth: I don't know. May be Calcutta, Bombay. No Surat.
Doc: I then have to plan an official trip there to purchase uniforms for my kids. Clothes have become very expensive here.
Just in time
I reached the Kharagpur railway station at 5:30 in the morning - 25 minutes before the train's scheduled arrival. The information board did not specify my train's platform number. I therefore went up to the enquiry cell and asked for the platform number.
'Riybpt'
'What?'
'See riybpt' (See right)
'Yeah, but the board does not work.'
'Waibt. It will work.'
I went again to him; this time at 5:50
' Waibt, it will come.'
' Come on, the train arrives in 5 minutes. And the board does not work. There is no information from the PA systems as well. And look at those monstrous steps I might have to climb.'
'Waibt. I will conbpfirm.'
He picked up the phone and spoke to someone in Bangla.
'The train will come in platpform two or pfour.' 'Or pfive.'
'It is another minute or two for the train to arrive and you tell me it could be in 2 or 4, or 5?
The PA system intervened. The train will be arriving in platform 2. I lunged towards the stairs.
Platform 1 >>
Platform 2, 2a, 4 >>
What?? How can one set of stairs lead to 3 platforms? What the heck? Let's go.
And there it was. I was standing on the world's longest railway platform. Three platforms in one platform. Each separated from the other by an iron partition.
The platform did not indicate where the AC compartment would stop. So I stood somewhere in the mid-section of the platform. And as it always should be, I had to walk, jog and run a bit to get to the coach before the train started again.
The TTR checked the tickets.
'The other two who were to travel with me are not traveling.'
No response.
Then he said, 'Get rebphund' and walked away with the ticket.
'Hey. Wait. why are you walking away with my ticket.'
By then he was gone. I had to endure being bumped, cornered and crushed by many suitcases and fat ladies before I found the TTR again. (Praise the guy who brought in the rule that TTRs wear coats. How else would I have identified him.)
'Sir, you took my ticket away. And I can't get down without a ticket.'
'I am giving you rebphund. Two people did not come know.'
There is a saviour everywhere. Or did I mumble too loud to let the TTR know that I have little money and was looking for an ATM.
'That is very nice of you.' Money always makes me smile.
He filled in a form as I waited to sign at the bottom and collect 'my' money.
'Here, gibve the pform in railway istation and get rebphund.'
I didn't ask for paper money? I want real money.
'Riybpt'
'What?'
'See riybpt' (See right)
'Yeah, but the board does not work.'
'Waibt. It will work.'
I went again to him; this time at 5:50
' Waibt, it will come.'
' Come on, the train arrives in 5 minutes. And the board does not work. There is no information from the PA systems as well. And look at those monstrous steps I might have to climb.'
'Waibt. I will conbpfirm.'
He picked up the phone and spoke to someone in Bangla.
'The train will come in platpform two or pfour.' 'Or pfive.'
'It is another minute or two for the train to arrive and you tell me it could be in 2 or 4, or 5?
The PA system intervened. The train will be arriving in platform 2. I lunged towards the stairs.
Platform 1 >>
Platform 2, 2a, 4 >>
What?? How can one set of stairs lead to 3 platforms? What the heck? Let's go.
And there it was. I was standing on the world's longest railway platform. Three platforms in one platform. Each separated from the other by an iron partition.
The platform did not indicate where the AC compartment would stop. So I stood somewhere in the mid-section of the platform. And as it always should be, I had to walk, jog and run a bit to get to the coach before the train started again.
The TTR checked the tickets.
'The other two who were to travel with me are not traveling.'
No response.
Then he said, 'Get rebphund' and walked away with the ticket.
'Hey. Wait. why are you walking away with my ticket.'
By then he was gone. I had to endure being bumped, cornered and crushed by many suitcases and fat ladies before I found the TTR again. (Praise the guy who brought in the rule that TTRs wear coats. How else would I have identified him.)
'Sir, you took my ticket away. And I can't get down without a ticket.'
'I am giving you rebphund. Two people did not come know.'
There is a saviour everywhere. Or did I mumble too loud to let the TTR know that I have little money and was looking for an ATM.
'That is very nice of you.' Money always makes me smile.
He filled in a form as I waited to sign at the bottom and collect 'my' money.
'Here, gibve the pform in railway istation and get rebphund.'
I didn't ask for paper money? I want real money.
Speed limit
Have you ever wondered why several motorists drive at hair raising speeds in the road abutting the Elliot's beach? I have; several times; until I solved the riddle this morning.
20 May 2008
Money matters
F: Sir I am calling from Tata AIG Life Insurance.
R: If you are trying to sell me an insurance, the chances are very less that I will buy one.
F: Why Sir?
R: Because I think I am too young to be insured.
F: Are you under 18?
R: No.
F: Then you need to be insured.
R: The truth is I don't have enough money for myself.
F: Oh!
F* - Female caller with a sexy voice
R* - Raja
R: If you are trying to sell me an insurance, the chances are very less that I will buy one.
F: Why Sir?
R: Because I think I am too young to be insured.
F: Are you under 18?
R: No.
F: Then you need to be insured.
R: The truth is I don't have enough money for myself.
F: Oh!
F* - Female caller with a sexy voice
R* - Raja
19 May 2008
From a deflated wallet on an inflated economy
I have been with Raja for a long time now. He told me the other day that he has managed to save close to 10k in the two and half years that he has been working. I will not blame him. Prices are rising. The house he lives costed 6.5k a month six months back. It will be 10K from June. The other houses in the same building cost 12k. The owner has been very magnanimous to him. That is primarily because he does not drink or smoke at home with his friends till 2 am on weekends and wake the neighbours. The other day Jose, Raja and I were at a restaurant. After the two of them drank some coffee, Raja pulled 20 bucks out of me to pay for the coffee. 2 cups of coffee for 18 bucks. Atrocious. And a 2 rupee tip for that sweet milky cocktail? No wonder why he has saved only about 10k.
There was a time when I was fat and big. Varad always made sure I was fed full with 100s. Those were the days when Raja and I left home early in the morning and came back after sunset. Although we entertained ourselves in everyway we could, which included movies, splurging at restaurants, philanthropy among many things, I hardly lost a 100 rupee note. That was ten years back.
The parottas at the evening stalls which used to be 2 rupees a piece is now 4 bucks. What would you call that? Prices are soaring so high that the common man would be able to drink beer only once a week. I used to pay 100 bucks for 2.16 litres of petrol not long ago. Then it became 2.04 litres for the same money; and now 1.89 litres. I remember my dad telling me that Varad used to pay Rs 19.50 for a litre of petrol and 50 ml of oil. Rkay will have to get back to eating full meals as the Subway salads have moved past Rs. 200. This is exactly why Raja stopped buying free food to other people. There will soon be a day when he will stop buying them free beer too.
Of all the undesired things that are happening, the one thing that pains me most is that I no longer get to carry as many crispy 100 rupee notes as I used to. They are replaced by stale, smelly and old 10 rupee notes. However, I am waiting for that day, when 10 rupee notes will become extinct and when the crispy 100 rupee note will become the smallest denomination.
There was a time when I was fat and big. Varad always made sure I was fed full with 100s. Those were the days when Raja and I left home early in the morning and came back after sunset. Although we entertained ourselves in everyway we could, which included movies, splurging at restaurants, philanthropy among many things, I hardly lost a 100 rupee note. That was ten years back.
The parottas at the evening stalls which used to be 2 rupees a piece is now 4 bucks. What would you call that? Prices are soaring so high that the common man would be able to drink beer only once a week. I used to pay 100 bucks for 2.16 litres of petrol not long ago. Then it became 2.04 litres for the same money; and now 1.89 litres. I remember my dad telling me that Varad used to pay Rs 19.50 for a litre of petrol and 50 ml of oil. Rkay will have to get back to eating full meals as the Subway salads have moved past Rs. 200. This is exactly why Raja stopped buying free food to other people. There will soon be a day when he will stop buying them free beer too.
Of all the undesired things that are happening, the one thing that pains me most is that I no longer get to carry as many crispy 100 rupee notes as I used to. They are replaced by stale, smelly and old 10 rupee notes. However, I am waiting for that day, when 10 rupee notes will become extinct and when the crispy 100 rupee note will become the smallest denomination.
16 May 2008
115!
Balu says his bike can clock 100 kmph just like that. Mine is a Discover too. A 125. I however have always struggled to reach 100. 90 is doable in most roads. But a 100? It has always been the thing that you could do but you wouldn't do. I always feel the bike to be running out of breath beyond 90 and I hate bruising the machine. It was the same story, until a few days back...
I had to be out one early morning and as I reached close to the Tidel Park signal, something whizzed past me and stopped at the signal for the red light - A Suzuki Burgman 650. I had the bike serviced a few days back and was in no mood to crank the accelerator. But this was an open invitation.
A 650 cc machine pumping out 54 bhp looked like a gaint compared to my bike. But what the heck. That one looks like a scooter. May be a gaint scooter. And bikes are always faster then scooters. I had to race.
There is an unspoken language at all traffic signals. As you brake and look around, you always notice 'them', and 'they' always notice 'you'. Then all of you, together, crouch and look at your visors for a second, lift up your heads and gaze at the traffic lights. The light at the adjacent signal goes yellow. Three. Two. One. It's green and go.
It is familiar territory from here on. A straight road, trees on the side that look like a hazy splash of never-ending green, a bump in the road that is always ignored, a blurry image of bikes in the rear view mirror, a feeling of intoxication, joy and elation all at one go and the speedometer reading... 115! a one hundred-and-fifteen!
As I slowed down near the Madhya Kailash turn, the Burgman whizzed past me.
I told you! Bikes are faster than Scooters!
I had to be out one early morning and as I reached close to the Tidel Park signal, something whizzed past me and stopped at the signal for the red light - A Suzuki Burgman 650. I had the bike serviced a few days back and was in no mood to crank the accelerator. But this was an open invitation.
A 650 cc machine pumping out 54 bhp looked like a gaint compared to my bike. But what the heck. That one looks like a scooter. May be a gaint scooter. And bikes are always faster then scooters. I had to race.
There is an unspoken language at all traffic signals. As you brake and look around, you always notice 'them', and 'they' always notice 'you'. Then all of you, together, crouch and look at your visors for a second, lift up your heads and gaze at the traffic lights. The light at the adjacent signal goes yellow. Three. Two. One. It's green and go.
It is familiar territory from here on. A straight road, trees on the side that look like a hazy splash of never-ending green, a bump in the road that is always ignored, a blurry image of bikes in the rear view mirror, a feeling of intoxication, joy and elation all at one go and the speedometer reading... 115! a one hundred-and-fifteen!
As I slowed down near the Madhya Kailash turn, the Burgman whizzed past me.
I told you! Bikes are faster than Scooters!
Kiraned!
Kiran is touching lives. I was surprised to see this post in Balu's blog.
http://vishwassusikar.blogspot.com/2007/12/where-is-nail-cutter.html
No wonder! Everyone gets kiraned at some point of their lives.
http://vishwassusikar.blogspot.com/2007/12/where-is-nail-cutter.html
No wonder! Everyone gets kiraned at some point of their lives.
30 April 2008
Building walls around you
visu: do you know anything about housing loans?
raja: yeah, they restrict you from spending on anything else for the next 20 years.
raja: yeah, they restrict you from spending on anything else for the next 20 years.
16 April 2008
Job aspirations
The profiles in many of my friends' and their friends' blogs state this.
kindergarten, city >> school, city >> high school, city >> higher secondary, city >> college, city/village/out of civilization >> company I worked for, city >> CAT >> CAT >> new company I work for, city >> CAT >> CAT...
CAT is what is common in all these profiles. There is also another set of friends and classmates I know - people who prepare for IAS. I am not sure if they maintain blogs like many of the MBA aspirants. But I am sure that they also prepare for higher education. I also know that they are all awfully short of preparation time. Managing work, play, tv, dinners (the ones with girlfriends), drinking parties (those without girlfriends) along with preparing for tests is a very very difficult thing to do. My sympathies and good luck wishes to all of us.
It was on one such difficult to manage Monday mornings that I noticed the security guard at our office solving problems at his desk. He continued to work out as I left for home that day. On close observation for some more days I noticed that the security guard had nothing more to do during work than enter names, in and out timings of visitors. And visitors were few.
It was only then I realised that a security guard job could be the job to be to many of the MBA and IAS aspirants who are desperate for time. More so for the IAS aspirants who quit their jobs for a year or two to devote all their time to prepare for the entrance examinations. The money is less, but is better than not earning anything at all.
So the next time you are in serious thought of quitting your job to prepare for higher education, think about this. Instead of quitting, you might as well ask for a inter-department transfer...
kindergarten, city >> school, city >> high school, city >> higher secondary, city >> college, city/village/out of civilization >> company I worked for, city >> CAT >> CAT >> new company I work for, city >> CAT >> CAT...
CAT is what is common in all these profiles. There is also another set of friends and classmates I know - people who prepare for IAS. I am not sure if they maintain blogs like many of the MBA aspirants. But I am sure that they also prepare for higher education. I also know that they are all awfully short of preparation time. Managing work, play, tv, dinners (the ones with girlfriends), drinking parties (those without girlfriends) along with preparing for tests is a very very difficult thing to do. My sympathies and good luck wishes to all of us.
It was on one such difficult to manage Monday mornings that I noticed the security guard at our office solving problems at his desk. He continued to work out as I left for home that day. On close observation for some more days I noticed that the security guard had nothing more to do during work than enter names, in and out timings of visitors. And visitors were few.
It was only then I realised that a security guard job could be the job to be to many of the MBA and IAS aspirants who are desperate for time. More so for the IAS aspirants who quit their jobs for a year or two to devote all their time to prepare for the entrance examinations. The money is less, but is better than not earning anything at all.
So the next time you are in serious thought of quitting your job to prepare for higher education, think about this. Instead of quitting, you might as well ask for a inter-department transfer...
11 April 2008
Someday...
Chennai - Rameshwaram - Kanyakumari - Cochin - Goa - Pune - Mumbai - Udaipur - Wagah - Srinagar - Chandigarh - New Delhi - Agra - Kolkata - Puri - Vishakapatnam - Hyderabad - Chennai
~ 7,700 kms
~ 7,700 kms
10 April 2008
The story of a box full of chocolates
raja: kiran, how did a box full of chocolates end up in our fridge? I am sure you did not buy them.
kiran: humg humg (kiran's usual sheepish muffled grin) (meaning: I did not buy them)
raja: did someone give them to you?
kiran: humg humg (yes)
raja: was it a girl?
kiran: humg humg (yes)
raja: was it a mallu girl?
kiran: humg humg (yes)
Yet another girl. Yet another month of midnight questions.
kiran: humg humg (kiran's usual sheepish muffled grin) (meaning: I did not buy them)
raja: did someone give them to you?
kiran: humg humg (yes)
raja: was it a girl?
kiran: humg humg (yes)
raja: was it a mallu girl?
kiran: humg humg (yes)
Yet another girl. Yet another month of midnight questions.
4 April 2008
Hampi
The Tungabadhra dam near Hospet was our next stop. Colli wanted me to make a special mention of the dam in the blog.
Note: You can buy gooseberries at the dam
One of the perils of meandering where the car takes you is that you are not fully aware of the places you are going to visit. Though you are exuberant at seeing things you have not imagined to see, you are grossly under prepared for the place. At Hampi we were totally lost for time. We had an evening and another morning for Hampi but the place deserved atleast 3 days.
Miles and miles of ruins - that is Hampi. Temples, towers, pathways, ponds, public baths, private baths; its stones everywhere. The entire range of adjoining mountains must have been dug out to build the city and it is a pity to see it all knocked off because of the savage will of a conqueror. Jealousy could be one reason for the rampage - who would imagine such intricacy in artwork and complexity of structural design at such a time. The city is vast and you would only be doing yourself a disservice to try wrap your trip in a day. We did that, but we will definitely look to revisit it again.
Do's
Stay in Hospet and travel to Hampi everyday
Try not to eat at Hampi. If you want to know why, try a meal there
Have loads of space in your memory card
There is a hillock quite close to the ruins. Do an early morning trek. One can have a bird's eye view of the entire city from there.
28 March 2008
Goa2Hampi - Chandlering across the border
It was good that we did not get Ashwin his #5 and #7. The policemen at the inter-state check post got us all out of the car and frisked every bag and pouch in it. It was finally Colli who chandlered them to let us go. 'Hum bahut acha loug hai'.
Karnataka must be given a special award for its roads. We drove at 90 kmph until the Goa side of the checkpost but lugged along at 30 kmph on the other side. It was confusion time once again as we came to an intersection. We as usual were divided on the road to travel. The locals adviced us to travel to Belgaum and then head to Hospet. Apparently the zen would not survive the shorter route.
From there on (Londa) to Belgaum, cellphones were our saviours as we were updated from back home every half hour on the road to go. I have always loathed Airtel. This is because, while I was surviving BITS, all my friends here were happily cementing new girlfriends with their phones and I hated being denied the opportunity just because we did not have a cell phone tower until we got to our final year. But for once, now, I say 'Airtel Everywhere'.
Karnataka is the land of bad roads; and trucks. I have never seen that many trucks in one night. I must have easily seen over a thousand of them. It is also the place to get the stereotyped image of the rash truck driver out of your head. I have never seen a more organised fleet of trucks moving in symphony hour after hour at the same speed. Infact it felt more secure to be travelling between the trucks than behind a bus or a car.
The security did not last long as the front tyre burst. It was 10 pm and the closest village was 15 kms away. It was 2 am by the time we changed tyres, found a hotel to stay for the night, dined and raised a toast to mark a yet another exciting day. It was a long way from Belgaum as we pulled the blankets over our heads.
Karnataka must be given a special award for its roads. We drove at 90 kmph until the Goa side of the checkpost but lugged along at 30 kmph on the other side. It was confusion time once again as we came to an intersection. We as usual were divided on the road to travel. The locals adviced us to travel to Belgaum and then head to Hospet. Apparently the zen would not survive the shorter route.
From there on (Londa) to Belgaum, cellphones were our saviours as we were updated from back home every half hour on the road to go. I have always loathed Airtel. This is because, while I was surviving BITS, all my friends here were happily cementing new girlfriends with their phones and I hated being denied the opportunity just because we did not have a cell phone tower until we got to our final year. But for once, now, I say 'Airtel Everywhere'.
Karnataka is the land of bad roads; and trucks. I have never seen that many trucks in one night. I must have easily seen over a thousand of them. It is also the place to get the stereotyped image of the rash truck driver out of your head. I have never seen a more organised fleet of trucks moving in symphony hour after hour at the same speed. Infact it felt more secure to be travelling between the trucks than behind a bus or a car.
The security did not last long as the front tyre burst. It was 10 pm and the closest village was 15 kms away. It was 2 am by the time we changed tyres, found a hotel to stay for the night, dined and raised a toast to mark a yet another exciting day. It was a long way from Belgaum as we pulled the blankets over our heads.
26 March 2008
My motorcycle diaries - The missing NH205
Balan and Nirmal's combined threats to leave me behind if I rode the motorcycle to Goa made me abandon the plan. Although Balan had consented to travelling to Pondicherry on our bikes, he has never had the time since he started to prepare for his k-interviews. Nirmal has vowed never to ask for travel plans ever since I told him that we should ride upto Rameshwaram on a weekend.
The best I could possibly think of to get my bike on to the highway was to sneak out without anyone's knowledge. I managed to do that this good friday. I decided to ride to Kone falls, which is on the way to Tirupati. A 2 minute search on google maps revealed that the falls is in Andhra Pradesh and is about 150 kms from my apartment. My apartment - Mount Road - North Madras - NH5 - NH205 - Kone Falls.
It was more than 25 kms before I crossed Chennai. The 4 laned NH5 is a fantastic road to ride. I could consistently keep the speedometer locked at 90kmph. It is however good to keep an alert foot over the brake as many truck drivers seemed like former pizza delivery boys. They just won't stick to one lane. Lack of trees on the highway also meant that it was very windy for a comfortable ride in some sections.
Unlike Karnataka, the signboards were in English. Infact it was hard to find jelabis. However, the signboards were few and very hard to find. The NH205 never came and I realised at one point that I was travelling quite close to Nellore.
I thanked myself for having honed my 'objective' language skills during the trip to Goa and Hampi. "Tirupati". "Kone Falls". "Falls". All fingers pointed to the direction I had driven from. All fingers pointed to Tada. I did not know that there existed a place called Tada and I did not know there was a falls in Tada. It was the Ubbalamadugu falls - around 20 kms off the highway through mud roads and boulders; plus a trek up the mountains.
I skipped the trek. I had not eaten since the night before and a 5 km trek on a man-less jungle didn't seem the right thing to do. The stream that trickled from the falls was good enough for a splash.
The journey back home was much quicker until I was close to Chennai and when it began to rain. It was supposedly the heaviest rain in many Aprils. I was wet to the skin and the raincoat didn't help at all.
Back at home, I skipped gym for the day, hogged 2 days' meals in one go and headed to bed; wondering how I missed the 205.
The best I could possibly think of to get my bike on to the highway was to sneak out without anyone's knowledge. I managed to do that this good friday. I decided to ride to Kone falls, which is on the way to Tirupati. A 2 minute search on google maps revealed that the falls is in Andhra Pradesh and is about 150 kms from my apartment. My apartment - Mount Road - North Madras - NH5 - NH205 - Kone Falls.
It was more than 25 kms before I crossed Chennai. The 4 laned NH5 is a fantastic road to ride. I could consistently keep the speedometer locked at 90kmph. It is however good to keep an alert foot over the brake as many truck drivers seemed like former pizza delivery boys. They just won't stick to one lane. Lack of trees on the highway also meant that it was very windy for a comfortable ride in some sections.
Unlike Karnataka, the signboards were in English. Infact it was hard to find jelabis. However, the signboards were few and very hard to find. The NH205 never came and I realised at one point that I was travelling quite close to Nellore.
I thanked myself for having honed my 'objective' language skills during the trip to Goa and Hampi. "Tirupati". "Kone Falls". "Falls". All fingers pointed to the direction I had driven from. All fingers pointed to Tada. I did not know that there existed a place called Tada and I did not know there was a falls in Tada. It was the Ubbalamadugu falls - around 20 kms off the highway through mud roads and boulders; plus a trek up the mountains.
I skipped the trek. I had not eaten since the night before and a 5 km trek on a man-less jungle didn't seem the right thing to do. The stream that trickled from the falls was good enough for a splash.
The journey back home was much quicker until I was close to Chennai and when it began to rain. It was supposedly the heaviest rain in many Aprils. I was wet to the skin and the raincoat didn't help at all.
Back at home, I skipped gym for the day, hogged 2 days' meals in one go and headed to bed; wondering how I missed the 205.
5 March 2008
Identity
satya: yesterday one of your friends was in my dream.
raja: who?
satya: the guy we met in delhi who has now become very very fat(?)
raja: who?
satya: the guy we met in delhi who has now become very very fat(?)
3 March 2008
Monday morning
'They are coming in from the south'
'You three, move down one floor and check them out. In the meantime, keep firing at them guys.' I was howling at the top of my voice as I saw a shell splitting the man on my left into two.
'Run, come on this way.'
They looked like abandoned skyscrapers. What am I doing here? There was no time to think. All I am to do is defend the building.
'They have got into through the seventh floor', crackled the radio. It was just a matter of minutes. They were like flies over a box of black grapes. 'Slay as many as you can. And keep running.'
I couldn't believe that there were families living in this building. It was not important. 'Let me hide in here. I am fighting for you.' The little girl showed me the dump room.
'Where are they?'
'In there.'
Balu! I was transfixed for a while as I saw Balu checking the room. He was fighting for the other side. He would kill me if he sighted me. The camouflage helped me survive.
I came out and thrust the butt of my gun onto his stomach as he coiled on the ground. I said 'Traitor' as I put my foot on his neck. He is only doing what he could to save him and his family. I left the house looking for a safer place. I had to get out of the building. I have been fighting for hours now.
I somehow reached the ground floor and managed to crawl across some more building. 'That is the end,' thought I, as I felt a sharp object pressed at the back of my neck. I raised my hands in submission, all the while looking for some, any means to survive.
It was Jinku. He was on the other side too!
'I am not going to kill you. Go away.'
I reached a murky looking building. I was hungry and thirsty. 'Hey, you are amongst us. Come on here. We have got more people in here.' I could do nothing but believe and follow obediently.
After many winding stairways, we finally reached a dark landing where a group of four or five men sat huddled. There was someone frying something for them to eat. I sat with them and ate as much as I could.
More shells. All around. 'They are here as well. Run.'
'Where do we run? There is nowhere to run.'
'Come, I know what to do.' That was Nirmal. We came out of the building with our food in our hands and sat up in the open air. A feeling of numbness crept in as I saw the troops approaching us. I had no clue of what to do when Nirmal pointed to a building on the far end of the road. I had not felt any happier as I saw them jostling towards the building.
It was more like evening when I reached the coast. 'What do we do? All we have is the sea.' That was Ula ( 50 first dates??!).
' C'mon.' I dived into the water as Ula followed me.
It was an underwater tower. The tower was heavily decorated with pearls, rubies and emeralds.
'Huh, this is wonderful. Let me dig a few.'
'Shut up Ula. The tower will crash if you pull out any of these.'
The mermaids were leisurely collecting the rubies that had fallen off on to the sand bed.
We swam around the tower a couple of times. 'What are you looking for?'
'I will tell you.' I was annoyed by his restlessness.
I showed him a small slit into the tower.
'what is this?'
'It is the passage to the lateral universe. We have to slide in through to the other side.'
We were like corpses digging themselves out of their graves as we pierced our way out of the red soil.
The gnomes were not surprised by our entry into their world. The king of the gnomes welcomed us to a grand reception. They were all dressed in dark pink and their faces were painted in black.
I alighted a set of steps and sat beside the king when a messenger came running to him.
'Sire, there is an army coming to attack us.'
I woke up startled by the sound of my alarm. It was yet another Monday morning.
'You three, move down one floor and check them out. In the meantime, keep firing at them guys.' I was howling at the top of my voice as I saw a shell splitting the man on my left into two.
'Run, come on this way.'
They looked like abandoned skyscrapers. What am I doing here? There was no time to think. All I am to do is defend the building.
'They have got into through the seventh floor', crackled the radio. It was just a matter of minutes. They were like flies over a box of black grapes. 'Slay as many as you can. And keep running.'
I couldn't believe that there were families living in this building. It was not important. 'Let me hide in here. I am fighting for you.' The little girl showed me the dump room.
'Where are they?'
'In there.'
Balu! I was transfixed for a while as I saw Balu checking the room. He was fighting for the other side. He would kill me if he sighted me. The camouflage helped me survive.
I came out and thrust the butt of my gun onto his stomach as he coiled on the ground. I said 'Traitor' as I put my foot on his neck. He is only doing what he could to save him and his family. I left the house looking for a safer place. I had to get out of the building. I have been fighting for hours now.
I somehow reached the ground floor and managed to crawl across some more building. 'That is the end,' thought I, as I felt a sharp object pressed at the back of my neck. I raised my hands in submission, all the while looking for some, any means to survive.
It was Jinku. He was on the other side too!
'I am not going to kill you. Go away.'
I reached a murky looking building. I was hungry and thirsty. 'Hey, you are amongst us. Come on here. We have got more people in here.' I could do nothing but believe and follow obediently.
After many winding stairways, we finally reached a dark landing where a group of four or five men sat huddled. There was someone frying something for them to eat. I sat with them and ate as much as I could.
More shells. All around. 'They are here as well. Run.'
'Where do we run? There is nowhere to run.'
'Come, I know what to do.' That was Nirmal. We came out of the building with our food in our hands and sat up in the open air. A feeling of numbness crept in as I saw the troops approaching us. I had no clue of what to do when Nirmal pointed to a building on the far end of the road. I had not felt any happier as I saw them jostling towards the building.
It was more like evening when I reached the coast. 'What do we do? All we have is the sea.' That was Ula ( 50 first dates??!).
' C'mon.' I dived into the water as Ula followed me.
It was an underwater tower. The tower was heavily decorated with pearls, rubies and emeralds.
'Huh, this is wonderful. Let me dig a few.'
'Shut up Ula. The tower will crash if you pull out any of these.'
The mermaids were leisurely collecting the rubies that had fallen off on to the sand bed.
We swam around the tower a couple of times. 'What are you looking for?'
'I will tell you.' I was annoyed by his restlessness.
I showed him a small slit into the tower.
'what is this?'
'It is the passage to the lateral universe. We have to slide in through to the other side.'
We were like corpses digging themselves out of their graves as we pierced our way out of the red soil.
The gnomes were not surprised by our entry into their world. The king of the gnomes welcomed us to a grand reception. They were all dressed in dark pink and their faces were painted in black.
I alighted a set of steps and sat beside the king when a messenger came running to him.
'Sire, there is an army coming to attack us.'
I woke up startled by the sound of my alarm. It was yet another Monday morning.
19 February 2008
Goa: Driving on the coastline
The Mangalore masala dosas had re-ignited my taste buds that I decided to eat indulgently whereever I was to go on the tour. Someone told me that lunch is served for free at the Udupi temple! Or well, that is what I understood from the se7en kannada words I had learned during the stay at Mangalore. But whatever be, how could I miss it for anything. I therefore began to scheme to preach the other guys about the divinity and the artistic intricacy of the Udupi temple without the littlest clue of what to expect.
But before that; we decided to go to the Malpe Beach and St. Mary's Island. It is best to pack your breakfast to Malpe. The food there reminded me of the worm infested, sour and stale idlis I was served for 10 days at an NCC camp earlier during my school days.
St. Mary's Island is an uninhabited island and is a 20 minute boat ride from the coast. It was quite exciting and scary to be standing close to the bow of the boat, with camera in one hand and the cabin's slippery door handle for support on the other as the boat tossed us up and down where the backwaters met the sea.
Serene is the word to describe St. Mary's Island. It is nearly unexploited, beautiful and takes your breath away. Be there to believe me.
We stopped at Maravanthe beach in the afternoon before heading for Murudeshwar. I read on the internet that there is a restaurant in the middle of the sea at Murudeshwar. Bull. The restaurant is on the shore. The main attractions here are the temple with a mammoth Shiva statue and a crowded beach.
It was close to ten when we reached Calangute; the place we are to stay in Goa for the next four days.
More bulls from the internet-
bull 2 - The highway splits the river and the Maravanthe beach
bull 3 - You drive with the sea constantly on your left as you move from Mangalore to Goa
Some G.K.: Goa is not one city as I thought before I got there.
Route: Mangalore-Udupi -(detour: Malpe, St. Mary's Island) - back to the highway - (detour: Murudeshwar) - Karwar (port; never seen so many trucks in one place) -Panaji - Calangute
Distance: ~ 350 kms
But before that; we decided to go to the Malpe Beach and St. Mary's Island. It is best to pack your breakfast to Malpe. The food there reminded me of the worm infested, sour and stale idlis I was served for 10 days at an NCC camp earlier during my school days.
St. Mary's Island is an uninhabited island and is a 20 minute boat ride from the coast. It was quite exciting and scary to be standing close to the bow of the boat, with camera in one hand and the cabin's slippery door handle for support on the other as the boat tossed us up and down where the backwaters met the sea.
Serene is the word to describe St. Mary's Island. It is nearly unexploited, beautiful and takes your breath away. Be there to believe me.
St. Mary's Island
For once food took a backstep and we decided to look out for as many beaches as possible before it got dark. Malpe effect. And so we skipped Udupi.
We stopped at Maravanthe beach in the afternoon before heading for Murudeshwar. I read on the internet that there is a restaurant in the middle of the sea at Murudeshwar. Bull. The restaurant is on the shore. The main attractions here are the temple with a mammoth Shiva statue and a crowded beach.
It was close to ten when we reached Calangute; the place we are to stay in Goa for the next four days.
More bulls from the internet-
bull 2 - The highway splits the river and the Maravanthe beach
bull 3 - You drive with the sea constantly on your left as you move from Mangalore to Goa
Some G.K.: Goa is not one city as I thought before I got there.
Route: Mangalore-Udupi -(detour: Malpe, St. Mary's Island) - back to the highway - (detour: Murudeshwar) - Karwar (port; never seen so many trucks in one place) -Panaji - Calangute
Distance: ~ 350 kms
18 February 2008
Goa: Kannada Ghothilla Guru
The last thing you want after a long and tiring drive is to have the waiter bring you something other than what you ordered because he could not understand what you were trying to convey to him. But that is exactly what happened to me. I tried to tell him to bring me a steaming boli after looking at one in a policeman's plate and instead ended up eating three fat uthapams. Nevertheless it tasted good.
Unlike Bangalore, food is usually good in Mangalore. I am downplaying to call it just good. It was great. And for someone who has been living in Chennai for a few years now, it is very cheap too. It is THE place for early morning eaters like me as you find restaurants open as early as 6 AM. But for you to eat, move around the town or talk to any of the many beautiful damsels in Mangalore, you must hone your language skills.
By the time we took another bumpy road out of Mangalore, here is what I could add to my bulging wordlist.
guru - equivalent to Chennai's Boss
baeku - want
baeda - do not want
solpa - some
seedha hogi - go straight
left/right thakho - take left/right
cha - tea
Recommended activity at Mangalore: Bird watching
Unlike Bangalore, food is usually good in Mangalore. I am downplaying to call it just good. It was great. And for someone who has been living in Chennai for a few years now, it is very cheap too. It is THE place for early morning eaters like me as you find restaurants open as early as 6 AM. But for you to eat, move around the town or talk to any of the many beautiful damsels in Mangalore, you must hone your language skills.
By the time we took another bumpy road out of Mangalore, here is what I could add to my bulging wordlist.
guru - equivalent to Chennai's Boss
baeku - want
baeda - do not want
solpa - some
seedha hogi - go straight
left/right thakho - take left/right
cha - tea
Recommended activity at Mangalore: Bird watching
15 February 2008
Goa: Conquering the Ghats
I woke up to the splatter of a wheel cap zipping across the road like a flying saucer. By the time we could go and collect it, the vehicles behind us had made a mincemeat out of it. We continued our journey towards mangalore with colli now behind the wheel. When colli has the steering wheel, anything that is on less than four wheels is to be overlooked, trampled and forgotten. We fortunately did not have any victims that day.
Another colli surviver
Pitstop 2: Ghat effect
Another colli surviverKarnataka must be commended for it's undying love for it's native language. Every hoarding, every signboard, every milestone had nothing but Jelabis spewed on them. No English. It took us some intelligent guesswork to convince ourselves that we were on the right direction until we say a signboard that read in english, 'Road under construction. Take diversion'.
The diversion took us into the mountainous ghats and it was not until half an hour into the diversion that we realised that not a single vehicle from the other side had crossed us. It took us a while to realise that we were lost in the wilderness.
I always imagined estate owners in India to be old, pot-bellied, dhoti-clad and driving a mahindra jeep. Welcome to the new India. These guys were denim-clad, wore hats and sunglasses, and drove SUVs at 80 kmph in the winding ghats. It was quite a thrill to be tailing these guys as they offered to show us the real way to mangalore and it was such a disappointment to see ourselves driving into the 'Take Diversion' sign road.
Breakneck speed!
Lesson: When in karnataka, if a roadsign requests you to take diversion, drive through it.
The next four hours (we covered 30 kms) must be rated as my slowest driving experince ever. The car wouldn't go beyond the second gear as we say everything except the road. -potholes and boulders and even bigger boulders. There was a point when I thought we should turn back, but to get back to a real road we will have to go through the entire stretch again. We decided to keep all our eyes on the road and hope for smaller boulders.
By the time we managed to cross the ghats, both our front power windows had come crashing down and it was another pitstop at a roadside garage before we ambled into mangalore.
Pitstop 2: Ghat effectPublic interest message: While on the ghats, we saw a couple of guys lighting a cigarette and throwing the matchstick on the grass below. It immediately caught fire and all their efforts to stop it from spreading didn't help. All they could do was run away from that place. So if you guys are smokers, use a lighter and not a matchstick.
Route: Bangalore-Hasan-Seklashpur-Mangalore
Distance: ~ 320 kms
Route: Bangalore-Hasan-Seklashpur-Mangalore
Distance: ~ 320 kms
14 February 2008
Goa: Day 0
It was the perfect start.
We were scheduled to start at 7 PM friday evening and the don calls up at 6 to tell us that a bug (e-bug) had swamped his work and it had to be fixed before he left for his long vacation. Once we reached nirmal's home (9 PM) where the car was, we realised we had packed much more than the car can take. With great hope that colli would carry nothing more than an underwear we lugged in all our rugsacks and prepared to leave (10 PM).
We had not crossed the city limits when we realised that something was missing. After a lot of investigation we found out that the headlight's high beam was not functioning! And so instead of driving to bangalore we drove to a mechanic shop. It took the mechanic more than 2 hours to put his hands up in despair. It was a magical problem that is not to be resolved.
midnight mechanics
While colli stretched himself to sleep in his bed in bangalore, giving up on us, I snuggled into the backseat among the bags for a dreamy night, with the comforting thought that balan's experience behind the wheel and nirmal's torchlight would carry us all safely to bangalore.
It was 12:30 AM. And day 1.
ps: The don is known by several names. don balan, balu, ballu, team leader and many more.
Route: Chennai-Kanchipuram-Vellore-Ambur-Vaniyambadi-Krishnagiri-Hosur-Bangalore
Distance: ~ 360 kms
We were scheduled to start at 7 PM friday evening and the don calls up at 6 to tell us that a bug (e-bug) had swamped his work and it had to be fixed before he left for his long vacation. Once we reached nirmal's home (9 PM) where the car was, we realised we had packed much more than the car can take. With great hope that colli would carry nothing more than an underwear we lugged in all our rugsacks and prepared to leave (10 PM).
We had not crossed the city limits when we realised that something was missing. After a lot of investigation we found out that the headlight's high beam was not functioning! And so instead of driving to bangalore we drove to a mechanic shop. It took the mechanic more than 2 hours to put his hands up in despair. It was a magical problem that is not to be resolved.
midnight mechanicsWhile colli stretched himself to sleep in his bed in bangalore, giving up on us, I snuggled into the backseat among the bags for a dreamy night, with the comforting thought that balan's experience behind the wheel and nirmal's torchlight would carry us all safely to bangalore.
It was 12:30 AM. And day 1.
ps: The don is known by several names. don balan, balu, ballu, team leader and many more.
Route: Chennai-Kanchipuram-Vellore-Ambur-Vaniyambadi-Krishnagiri-Hosur-Bangalore
Distance: ~ 360 kms
13 February 2008
Go-ah!: And the road becomes my bride...
We had been dreaming of a dil chahta hai style road trip for a long time and we finally managed one. - not the exact replication but only a little different. First, we didnt start from Bombay, but Chennai. Second, we didnt drive a merc but a zippy zen. And we were four. And then; Chan and The don couldnt get themselves duped by any girl inspite of all their sincere efforts.
It was our first long trip on the road -2636 kms- and we planned as naively as we all collectively could; we carried one rugsack each (2 overgrown and 2 undergrown adults with 4 rugsacks cramped in a lilliputian car), we lost our way on countless occasions and never had a contingency plan for any aberation. But our naivity was all the fun - we constructed five word sentences using five different languages, drove where the roads took us, and thrilled ourselves as the unexpected took our breaths away time and again.
2636 kms 28 January 2008
Monster Houses Land
I imagined chetti-land to be a land of mouth-watery cuisines and massive houses guarded by octogenarian grannys. It was all as I expected. What I did not expect was the near extinction of mankind in this region. I reached Sivagangai by saturday afternoon to find the town deserted. Most of the people of the town reside in Madurai and commute to work everyday. They pack and head for home in the weekends. The queen, who is a descendant of Rani Velu Naachiyar, lives in her palace in Sivagangai, the sivagangai cheemai, a neglected fortress which is slowly being turned into a new age shopping complex.
kumar offered to show me around his house if I managed to reach Kottayur before sunset. It seemed very funny to me. Of all the things that he could show me, he chooses to show his house? And how long will it take to go around a house? Nevertheless I got on to the next available bus to Karaikudi. Kottayur is an auto-ride away from Karaikudi. One of the better things in this part of the state is that there are no gender specific seats in the bus and you can actually go and sit beside any pretty lady you like; if you find any.
Karaikudi was no different than Sivagangai. There were hardly any people. But the place was swarmed with policemen. Apparently, there had been a mob clash that afternoon over the destruction of a statue erected by a particular sect. The wide clean roads of Karaikudi narrowed to bumpy dark alleys as we neared Kottayur.
Kottayur deserves to be called Kottayur (fort-town). Every building was massive and grand. I realised only a little while later that they were not just massive but were steeped in the grandiose history of the chettiyars.
In a distant past, the chettis were traders who resided on the southern coastline of Tamilnadu. They travelled across the world trading their goods and bringing back wealth and memories from distant lands. It however was not always a happy ending. They came home to find their homes and families washed away by the violent seas. They then collectively decided to search and settle in a place that was far away from the sea; in a place that was too dry for a flood. And that is how they founded chetti-land.
The chettis are so paranoid about floods that their homes are built on basements that are nearly 10 feet high. It is immaterial even if they live in a place that is as dry as Karaikudi. It reminds me to warn everyone traveling to Karakudi to carry a sunscreen, a lipguard and a bottle full of water.
All Karaikudi homes are similar in plan. They only differ in sizes. Some are big and the others are bigger. They usually stretch the entire distance between two parallel streets. But one thing that is common to all these homes is that they all leave an undeletable impression on you. They are grand, their intricate artwork leaves you awe stuck and their sizes humble you. They are so insurmountable that I struggle to find the energy and words to describe them to you. I therefore am forced to abandon my story telling midway and let my pictures tell you the rest of it.
Remains of Sivagangai Cheemai
My next stop was Kaalayar Koil - a temple that was discontinued while under construction due to a British invasion. We know the rest of the story, don't we? - The stories of Muthu Vaduga Natha Thevar and Maruthu Pandiyars.
kumar offered to show me around his house if I managed to reach Kottayur before sunset. It seemed very funny to me. Of all the things that he could show me, he chooses to show his house? And how long will it take to go around a house? Nevertheless I got on to the next available bus to Karaikudi. Kottayur is an auto-ride away from Karaikudi. One of the better things in this part of the state is that there are no gender specific seats in the bus and you can actually go and sit beside any pretty lady you like; if you find any.
Karaikudi was no different than Sivagangai. There were hardly any people. But the place was swarmed with policemen. Apparently, there had been a mob clash that afternoon over the destruction of a statue erected by a particular sect. The wide clean roads of Karaikudi narrowed to bumpy dark alleys as we neared Kottayur.
Kottayur deserves to be called Kottayur (fort-town). Every building was massive and grand. I realised only a little while later that they were not just massive but were steeped in the grandiose history of the chettiyars.
In a distant past, the chettis were traders who resided on the southern coastline of Tamilnadu. They travelled across the world trading their goods and bringing back wealth and memories from distant lands. It however was not always a happy ending. They came home to find their homes and families washed away by the violent seas. They then collectively decided to search and settle in a place that was far away from the sea; in a place that was too dry for a flood. And that is how they founded chetti-land.
The chettis are so paranoid about floods that their homes are built on basements that are nearly 10 feet high. It is immaterial even if they live in a place that is as dry as Karaikudi. It reminds me to warn everyone traveling to Karakudi to carry a sunscreen, a lipguard and a bottle full of water.
All Karaikudi homes are similar in plan. They only differ in sizes. Some are big and the others are bigger. They usually stretch the entire distance between two parallel streets. But one thing that is common to all these homes is that they all leave an undeletable impression on you. They are grand, their intricate artwork leaves you awe stuck and their sizes humble you. They are so insurmountable that I struggle to find the energy and words to describe them to you. I therefore am forced to abandon my story telling midway and let my pictures tell you the rest of it.
ps: kumar's wedding was at kumari's house. kumar did not offer anything to chance that he tied all the three knots by himself; inspite of being offered to help.
And by the way, kumari is also known as devi.
16 January 2008
Wedding Bells
kumar is getting married! I didn't believe it either and I still don't. It took me a day to come to terms with it and realise that even kumar could get married. How can I forget the evenings at 6.5 when kumar stood coffee mug in hand, lips stuck to each other for hours, as mahesh and tatek went about kadala vuvathufying, oblivious to the presence of a giant six footer nodding at everything the two said to each other. Or, the innumerable bets san and ka had on each other to see if they could muster up and talk to 40-some aunties. Or, stories of kumar being rejected by chetti beauties chosen by his grandma because they were frightened to death everytime ka yelped out his american 'yeayh'. However, looking at it retrospectively, if only could he had gone past his 'zzup dude, howya doin', then I am sure he could have floored every female of every species on earth. But let us not talk about what could have happened and see what to lookout from this. The first best thing is that if kumar can, san, so can you. The next best thing is that I am going to chetti-land for ka's wedding!
But before all that...
My hearty congratulations to kumar and kumari on their wedding!
But before all that...
My hearty congratulations to kumar and kumari on their wedding!
8 January 2008
Don Biscuits
raja: This biscuit tastes good. And... it is healthy.
don god balan: It tastes like dog biscuit.
raja: How do you know?
don god balan: I eat dog biscuits.
Note: Reproduced with permission from The Don.
don god balan: It tastes like dog biscuit.
raja: How do you know?
don god balan: I eat dog biscuits.
Note: Reproduced with permission from The Don.
6 January 2008
Territorial Behaviour
raja: why the @#$% is he sleeping in my room?
prashanth: when a dog pisses in a certain spot, the spot becomes its territory.
prashanth: when a dog pisses in a certain spot, the spot becomes its territory.
3 January 2008
Starved
CNN-IBN Correspondent: Are Indians Sex starved?
kiran: (gnarling) YESSS....
When the poll concluded half an hour later, it was announced that 93% of the respondents were kirans.
kiran: (gnarling) YESSS....
When the poll concluded half an hour later, it was announced that 93% of the respondents were kirans.
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